Lucky wished he could have shielded the pups from more sad news. But he could do nothing. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he whimpered. “Was he your brother?”

“No!” yipped the larger male, his voice sharp. Lucky waited for him to say more but he just stood there on his sturdy little legs, glaring.

“Lucky, we should get out of here. . . .” Mickey whined.

The Farm Dog was right. Something strange—and awful—had happened in this Dog-Garden.

Crows swooped down to the high trees surrounding the camp. The Sun-Dog had started his slow descent along the horizon. Lucky returned to the shallow grave, digging until it was large enough for the Mother-Dog.

Mickey dug a much smaller hole alongside it for the dead pup. He took the limp body by the scruff and gently dragged him to the hole, laying him down carefully. Then he helped Lucky carry the Mother-Dog out from beneath the wooden boards. They gripped the heavy black collar at her neck and tugged with their teeth. She was incredibly heavy—Lucky could hardly believe that a dog could weigh that much. The hole they had dug was only just deep enough.

The three pups whined and yelped as Lucky and Mickey covered the dead pup’s grave with soil, then attempted to do the same for the Mother-Dog. Lucky could hardly bear the sound of the pups’ grief, and tried to swallow his sadness.

He and Mickey weren’t able to move enough dirt to cover the Mother-Dog completely. Lucky stood for a moment, wondering what to do. Then he ran to the side of the camp to gather a mouthful of grass and leaves. He returned to the Mother-Dog, tossing his head to throw it over her body on top of the pile. He did this a couple of times until the dead Mother-Dog was reasonably well covered.

Lucky turned to the three pups. “The Earth-Dog will look after your mother now,” he said solemnly.

“I don’t want Earth-Dog to have her,” whimpered the smallest male pup in a tiny voice.

The female leaned over and licked him on the ears. Lucky turned to peer into the long grass, wishing there was something he could do to ease their grief.

Mickey whined. Lucky turned back to him and spoke in a low voice so the pups couldn’t hear. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Everything’s wrong,” Mickey replied. His dark eyes scanned the sky. “The Sun-Dog is going to his lair. Are we really going to enter the forest with these three when it is dark?”

Lucky wished that he had another idea. But Mickey was right.

The forest at night is dangerous enough for a couple of adult dogs—how will we manage with three young pups to look after?