Mickey started hopping and prancing back and forth. “Can’t or won’t? When will you stop pretending that you’re better off on your own? You’re safer and happier in the Pack; you know you are!” He nipped Lucky’s ear playfully. “You clearly belong with other dogs. And the Pack needs you, as well. We’ve only survived this far with your help.”

Lucky didn’t answer this but gave Mickey a good-natured shove with his head, pleased to see his friend’s spirits so high. He hadn’t expected him to recover so quickly.

I’ve come all this way to keep him safe, Lucky thought. I can’t waste an opportunity to do just that. “Let’s go,” he said, his tail starting to wag in spite of himself.

Mickey growled happily, nudging Lucky as the two dogs play-fought in the long grass. Then Lucky broke away and started bounding along the road, making toward the path out of the city.

“Wait!” Mickey barked.

Lucky turned, his ears pricked up. “Is something wrong?”

“No. There’s just something I need to do. . . .”

Lucky watched as Mickey disappeared behind a loudcage, the one where he had first spotted the black-and-white dog watching his longpaws’ house. A moment later, Mickey reappeared, the longpaw glove held in his jaws. It was worn and filthy, stuffing trailing from a tear in the fabric, but Mickey carried it as though it was the most precious thing on earth. His tail no longer wagging, he walked solemnly toward the house. Lucky was about to stop him when Mickey paused before the front lawn that was now dusted white.

He stood a few minutes in silence, gazing at the wrecked house. Then he trod carefully over the lawn, kicking up puffs of dust. He set down the glove on the broken front step where the door used to be. He gave it a tentative lick, cleansing it of dust and dirt. Then he took a step back.

The glove shone clean and fragile like a small creature amid the rubble. Mickey seemed to speak directly to it as he whined:

“I am going now. I have to leave you behind and go into the wild to live with the Pack. Everything has changed, and in this world without longpaws, dogs must make their own way.”

Mickey glanced at Lucky, who lowered his muzzle respectfully. He didn’t understand the way the Farm Dog felt. He had never shared a bond with a longpaw. But if it made Mickey so loyal that he would defend their house even after they’d abandoned him . . . well, maybe they weren’t all bad.