This was friggin' it. Mr Barkston had had enough of the crap he was being fed by That Guy He Knew. He wasn't going to sit back idly and eat what was meant to be good for him, what would make him live longer. Instead, he'd be somewhat less than idle and find something with actual flavor. He listened to his stomach and knew: he wanted--no, he needed--a hot dog.

Though it was May, a post-rain chill was still hanging damply in the air. It felt great to the bloodhound. He had just spent the afternoon baking in the heat of the kitchen, as someone other than the guy who fed him furiously stirred red sauce. It was that which created in him the desire for real food. The streets were mostly empty, though they usually were lately, and Mr Barkston feared that it might be too late to find a hot dog vendor. He refused to let this deter him, as he turned east and toward the center of the city.

It didn't take long for the dog to begin panting. He hadn't had this much exercise since the time That Guy He Knew thought it would be fun to play frisbee. He recalled the disc soaring past him, and the chants of encouragement from the man's direction. He wanted him to "fetch" the thing? Why the hell did he throw it away from him then? He wasn't about to play that game, and he didn't. He had more dignity than that. He trot around briefly for show, and then collapsed in the shade of a large oak.

As he thought about this, he realized that sitting down for a while was exactly what he needed. It had begun to rain again anyway. He found a spot in the doorway of what appeared to be an abandoned bicycle store, and stretched out to wait out the approaching storm.

LoveGun threw up her fist towards the sky and cursed. How was she suppose to find a new parrot with it raining like this. She frowned, but her mouth just twisted in an unpleasant way. A newspaper had been tossed away like a box full of abandoned kittens on the side of an old country road, but LoveGun ran to rescue it. She gave it purpose, putting it over her head so she would survive the rain. When the sky cried in the city it was different, it didn't fall as evenly and smelled strange. LoveGun was worried the toxins of pollution had altered it and if enough of it got on her she'd melt.

She made one last look up into the trees of the park, but didn't see any birds. As she skittered out to find better shelter, she could already feel her skin becoming softer, an old man sneered at her. She sneered back.

Ol' dir'y scally wag!

LoveGun shouted at him, but that's when he started to chase her. Maybe he could smell the booze she carried on her. She rushed out of the park, but the man was quick and kept only a tiny bit behind her. LoveGun thought about pulling out her pistol, but what was she going to do with a dead body in the middle of the day. No, she'd have to trick him and escape.

After turning a corner and then another she threw herself into an empty doorway and hunkered down for a bit. LoveGun was pretty sure he had lost the bum at least a block back, but there was still the issue of the rain. She watched it cover the sidewalk, watched piddle down the buildings and puddle on the streets. LoveGun reached into her bag for the bottle of rum and took a swig. That's when she noticed the dog.

Mr Barkston was not in the least bit surprised when That Girl From The Boat turned into the doorstep. He had met the woman previously and could recognize her scent--that is, a curious mixture of booze and saltwater--a mile away. It was this scent that stirred him into action. Her aroma was simply too intense for his sensitive nose. He stood from where he lie, gave her a look that he hoped conveyed annoyance, and left his shelter. Given the choice of staying dry or smelling her, he'd choose the rain shower any day.

He walked a block, then two, then realized that the scent was not going to stop burning his nostrils. Mr Barkston turned a corner, thinking that if were no longer walking downwind of her, her smell would dissipate. When he turned, however, he noticed the woman following. He weighed his options. He could attempt to outrun her, but that was out of the question--he couldn't outrun a tortoise. He could bite her, but if she smelled so wretched, he didn't even want to think what she'd taste like. That left only one choice. He turned to face her, and he barked. It was low, and throaty, and he felt that it accurately explained how badly she needed to leave him be.

He stared at her. It became clear that she wasn't going anywhere. This was not his night.

LoveGun creaped through the streets behind the pup. She took large, silent steps as if she were Godzilla marching down Tokyo, minus the noise. The newspaper was still held above her head and she believed that if she melted the pup would collect her and bring her to a voodoo doctor to put her back together.

When the pup stopped, so did she. LoveGun was pleasantly surprised and honored when he decided he would speak in her presence. The bark was nothing much, but it was music to her ears. She hadn't had a four legged companion call for her in quite some time. Her mouth spun into a grin.

Come here pup.

She called for him with her hand out stretched trying to will him towards her with the rum she was currently offering him.

Pup, pup.

As she stared at him, took in the color of his fur, the height of his body and the certain way his tail wagged the gears in her head started to turn. She knew this pup from somewhere. LoveGun put her left index finger up to her lips as she contemplated.

I be knowin' ya from somewhere.

Then, like a firework, the answer burst into her head. She immediately crouched to his level and wrapped her arms around him.

Ya be th' one tha' be savin' me!

This could not be happening. What the hell was wrong with this woman? Her stench was like poison gas, and he felt his eyes begin to water. His throat constricted and he began to choke. Surely, this was it, he thought, he was going to die on a street corner without ever having gotten a delicious hot dog. The hot dog! He had almost forgotten about it. He was so wrapped up in escaping from That Girl From The Boat, that the hunger in his stomach had slipped his mind entirely. He had to overcome.

With all the strength he could muster, Mr Barkston managed another, this time more desperate, bark. He tried to squirm free, but her hold was firm. He barked again. He thought once more about biting her, but then he remembered how he had found her on that boat, near death and bloody. That image had stuck with him, and he didn't possess the ability to hurt her as a result. Thus, he continued to fight against her grip. When she wouldn't release him, he took a deep breath and did the only thing he could think of to make her let go: he licked her across the face. He realized that this was a mistake as soon as he did it.

For whatever reason, it did not occur to Mr Barkston in that moment that a dog licking a human's face almost certainly expresses delight or affection. He had been spending far too much time around humans, and thought that another's germs would certainly cause the woman to recoil in horror. He was, of course, wrong. The result was the forging of a bond between the two. He couldn't have wanted anything less.

All of LoveGun's dreams of finding a new parrot flew out of her head as the pups wet tongue slid down her face. She leaned back, wide eyed and paused for a moment. Quickly, she found herself again and leaned into the pup giving him an extra tight hug squealing like a small child. She then jumped up almost pulling off his head with her excitement, but let go just in time. LoveGun clapped.

Pup, w'll be mates for life.

She patted him on the top of the his head as he looked mournfully up at her.

I know wha' ya be needin'.

He continued to look gloomy.

Nah, ya be not be needin' a leash pup. Nev'r.

LoveGun patted her stomach as it rumbled.

Food. Tha's wha' we be needin'. T' celebrate!

All thought disappeared with the utterance of "food." The word was magic. Time practically stood still for the dog. He was like putty in the woman's heavily-callused hands. As if on cue, his tail had begun to wag and a pool of saliva formed in his mouth. He eagerly looked up at her. Where was this food? It wasn't in her hands. He looked her up and down. He looked at the soggy newspaper on the ground next to her. He sniffed at it. There was no way she was considering feeding that to him. He sniffed the air, but could smell nothing aside from the acrid scent that That Girl From The Boat emitted.

Mr Barkston circled her and, upon not finding the food she had mentioned, began to bark. He wanted the food. He'd do anything for the food. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing in the world he had ever wanted more than food from this strange woman. He waited impatiently for the woman to produce a steak from one of her pockets, as ridiculous as that would be. He knew she had nothing--he could smell that--but he still hoped.

LoveGun walked a few paces away from the pup and thought. The she wandered to the other side of the pup and leaned against a wall, thinking. A few moments later she took lazy strides to the pup's left and put her left index finger to her lips once again, lost in the depths of her mind. Finally, she came full circle and took the pup's right. LoveGun looked down at him.

And th' million gold pieces of a quest'n be, wha'd d' we be eatin'?

She continued to look down at the pup as he began to bark again. Her eyes grew wide as she listened to what he was saying.

No, no, ya can't be eatin' me leg.

LoveGun toddled away from the pup. Her eyes still as round as double full moons.

Oh ye I know it'd pro'ly be tastin' quite nice in ya mouth, but see I be needin' this leg.

A gust of wind blew past them as LoveGun was explaining to the pup of why exactly she needed both of her legs. To swim was one of the reason, to hide away from the rain was another. To kick a crazed bum away from her was the third. The gentle breeze distracted her from continuing on though. Notes of beef floated through the air, followed along with that weird sauce that wasn't to be put on noodles and it's partner, the yellow stuff. Sometimes LoveGun had even seen green sauce be placed with the red and yellow. Strange food here on land. Her stomach then growled again, but LoveGun was already on the move with her nose stuck into the air she walked towards the aroma. The pup followed close to her side.

Mr Barkston, still hypnotized by the possibility of being fed, tried his best to keep the pace set by the woman and she marched toward an unknown destination. It wasn't long before he slowed to his regular speed, which was none at all. He was pleased to see that she accommodated him by slowing as well, because he simply didn't know what he would do if she left him behind when there was surely food on the horizon.

Then, the smell hit him. He didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before. Perhaps it was because they had taken a sharp turn and the wind, mercifully, was no longer blowing past That Girl From The Boat. There were hot dogs nearby, and they beckoned to him. His stomach growled with emptiness in reply. The dog followed the woman up this new street. When they reached their destination, Mr Barkston was surprised to find that it was not a vendor's stall as he had expected. They stood before a large, brick structure instead. The delicious smell came from inside.

The three-story building was in the center of the block. It had a single door, which was illuminated from a fixture posted above it. There were no windows on the first floor, but the dog was certain he saw a bit of light coming from inside a window on an upper level. He wanted to bark, but thought better of it. He didn't know this part of town, or the type of people that populated it. Quiet was better, he thought. His stomach had other plans, and continued to make noises that the dog couldn't silence. He was hungry, and the smell of the hot dogs was torture. There had to be a way into that building.

LoveGun tried the door knob, it turned, she didn't open it. Instead, she took a step back and looked at it. The door was simple in wood, painted red. It looked sturdy, the knob looked clean and the stoop was swept. Obviously this was a trick, there had to be another way in.

Dir'y trenchery.

She mummbled under her breath as she took a few paces back. As LoveGun looked up at the building she bit her lip in deep problem solving thought. She noticed the pup stare up at the building, up at the second floor, up at the second floor windows, up at the open second floor window.

Tha's it!

LoveGun exclaimed and moved to the brick wall. She griped the old uneven bricks with her hands, dug her toes into the wall and attempted to climb. Three inches later she wasn't any farther off the ground, her hand was just extended up towards the open window as if another, very long hand, would stretch out and pull her up. She would then slip inside, knock out whoever was making this delicious food, run down the stairs avoiding the booby traps and sneak out the front door sharing her booty with the pup. She fell off the wall just as her hand stretched up another centimeter and all fantasies fell away into the wind never to be seen again.

If only ther' be a door to this place.

Mr Barkston watched in disbelief as the woman attempted to scale the brick exterior. She was out of her mind. She clung to the wall for much longer than he had expected possible. When she finally collapsed to the ground, the dog turned the corner and into an alleyway. As expected, the building's side door was sandwiched between a pile of crates and an overflowing trash can.

The trash can had promise. As the dog had gone well over an hour now without consuming some food or other, he was no longer picky. If he didn't eat soon, he would likely die of starvation. For this reason, Mr Barkston completely ignored that the door to Hot Dog Mecca was ajar. He buried his snout into the pile of garbage with gusto, hoping to find the discarded remains of someone's dinner. Just as he found a particularly appetizing scrap of chicken, his ears perked up. There was noise coming from nearby, and it wasn't the clumsy din constantly present when That Girl From The Boat was around. He dropped the chicken and removed his head from the bin.

From the dark of the alley, Mr Barkston could see the outline of two men approaching. He wished himself invisible and did his best to stop panting, though it was hard after the garbage induced fervor. Thankfully, the men either did not see or chose to ignore the dog, and entered the open door. This was all the invitation Mr Barkston needed. He left the trash alone and followed them.

LoveGun poked her head around the building abruptly. She leaned forward trying to catch of what was going on and caught the pup entering the building. Another trap! They were going to eat her pup!

She quickly took the corner and clamored down the side of the building, but quickly realized she couldn't just burst into who knows what. LoveGun quieted her pace and tip toed near the door determined to save the pup from the terrible fate he just stepped in. Or maybe what she had just stepped in. LoveGun looked at the bottom of her boot, gross. She attempted to scrape the waste on the brick wall, but it wasn't coming off so she continued on her adventure.

Ahoy mateys!

LoveGun greeted the people on the other side of the door.

I'm here for the...

She scrunched up her face.

...the milk delivery.

It came off as a question and the man across from her almost started to answer, but then he realized she wasn't holding any milk. Her eyes flicked into full moons and she grinned.

So's do ya be putin' dog in ya bread?

LoveGun looked widely around the kitchen, bakery, kitchen, kitchenbakery for the pup, but didn't see him.

Mr Barkston was not deceived by the kitchen-like appearance of the kitchen. There were no hot dogs there. It took his all-powerful nose less than a second to reach this conclusion, and drew him up a flight of stairs to the source of the smell instead. There, at long last, was his prize. A plate of hot dogs sat on a table before him. Victory was within his reach.

Reach was the dog's exact problem however. The table was far too high for him to access the delicious treasure it held. Even on his hind legs, he could barely touch the edge of the surface. Chairs would have made his task simpler, but there were none to be found. He wanted to howl in defeat, but thought this would bring unwanted attention to his presence. Where was That Girl From The Boat? In her absence, Mr Barkston decided to do the only thing reasonable in this situation: he repeatedly rammed his body against the table's leg. If he kept this up for long enough, the plate would certainly be shaken closer to the table's edge. Then, they would be his. Oh yes, they'd be his.