Gwendolyn’s father never did like Bogart.
     The house where they lived was huge and set back from the road in spacious gardens.
     Bogart liked it. It was the only home he knew. Gwendolyn was the only friend he had. They played together during the time she was not at school and he sat beside her in the lounge in front of a blazing log fire in the evenings before bedtime. At night he would sleep on the rug in Gwendolyn’s bedroom with a fluffy teddy bear for company. He knew he had to keep away from Gwendolyn’s father, Arnold, but in a house of that size it was easy and anyway, Bogart knew the sound of Arnold’s footsteps so keeping a low profile was not too difficult, especially when Gwendolyn was at school. But every time he heard Arnold’s raised voice Bogart’s little heart leapt and he would look nervously round the corner of the room Arnold was in and catch him pointing a finger in his direction. Bogart did not know the reason Arnold disliked him and he would never have the chance to find out and possibly redeem any wrong Bogart thought he may have done.
     One chill night as Bogart sat in front of the fire while Gwendolyn read a picture book Bogart heard the heavy thud of Arnold’s approaching footsteps. He had only time to open his dreary eyes before a large pair of hands grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and whipped him up away from the warmth of the fire.
     In a whirl of confusion he heard Gwendolyn’s voice cry out and saw her mother with hands wrung standing at the door to the lounge as he was carried towards the front door. The chandelier, the windows, the paintings on the walls and the staircase which led up to Gwendolyn’s bedroom and sanctuary spun before his eyes as Arnold’s hand twisted the front door handle and pulled the door open to let in a blast of cold air.
     As he was hauled down the steps Bogart’s eyes looked up into a black sky dotted with bright stars.
     They came to a car and Bogart saw Arnold’s hand grip the handle to the trunk and open the lid.
     Bogart was thrown into the space where he stood on shaking legs unable to comprehend what was happening.
     As the trunk lid started to close Bogart had one last look at the house that had so recently been his home. The porch lights blazed, as did the downstairs lights in the lounge where the fire still roared with Bogart’s empty basket in front of it.
     Upstairs in Gwen’s room where he had known such happiness and where the first thing she did each morning when she woke was to stroke his head as he wearily stirred, the light in her bedroom cast her shadow against the window.
     Then the trunk lid slammed shut.
     Bogart looked round his new surroundings but could discern nothing in the total blackness. He felt the Hudson settle on one side and heard the door close, the engine turn over and roar into life. With a slight jolt the vehicle started to move and Bogart had to steady himself on his wobbly legs. He felt the car come to a stop, turn sharply and accelerate, the whine of the axle loud in the cavernous space where Bogart stood.
     Bogart turned round and round and settled in the corner, his back against the side of the trunk for comfort. Falling into a fitful sleep he dreamed of Gwen and his basket by the fire. He jolted awake and expected to see Gwen coming towards him to pat his head but his heart sank when he realised he was cold and the car had come to a stop.
     The car door opened and he felt the car rise slightly on one side. He listened but could hear nothing. The trunk lid suddenly opened. Bogart felt a rush of cold air. He blinked at Arnold’s outline against a full moon.
     ‘Okay, mutt, out you get.’
     Arnold leaned forward and thrust his hand into the trunk, grabbing Bogart by the neck. Bogart pulled away and cowered to one side to avoid the outstretched arm, trying to shrink further into the rear of the trunk but Arnold was determined. He swept his hand across the space until it caught Bogart by a tuft of fur, and pulled. Bogart yelped as he was dragged from the trunk, his claws scraping the floor looking for grip, but there was none. Arnold’s other hand reached in and took Bogart by his underside, lifting him from the trunk and throwing him onto the grass verge.
     Arnold aimed a kick, but Bogart sidestepped and scampered to safety in the damp grass.
     Bogart looked up forlornly as Arnold slammed the trunk lid shut and without a backward glance walk round to the side of the car and get in, closing the door. Bogart listened as the Hudson shifted into gear and turned in the empty road to face the way it had come, the headlights sweeping across Bogart’s watchful eyes. The engine roared and the car sped off, tail-lights vanishing in the distance as two small specks in the blackness, Bogart blinking as the exhaust fumes washed over him.

     When the sound of the Hudson had faded and the tail-lights had been swallowed up in the night, Bogart looked round at his new surroundings filled with hostile and unfamiliar smells. One way was a straight road with only the blackness as far as he could see, home to a thousand unknowns, while the other way from where he had come the sky glowed with light.
     He shivered as a cold wind swept across the open fields on either side of the road and started to walk towards the light, hoping to reach it before his legs grew tired lest he would have to spend the night in the strange surroundings. He hurried past noises and shadows in the undergrowth on each side of the road not daring to look up. Once or twice he glanced in the direction he travelled wondering if he was any nearer civilisation, but it seemed to him as if he were walking and standing still at the same time.
     On and on he trotted with dogged determination, passing some lights coming from a house in the field to his right. Bogart stopped and a thought passed through his head that if he were to walk over he might find sanctuary, but a resident hound must have sensed his presence and a throaty roar of a bark echoed across the still countryside. Bogart was not about to take on a dog with a bark such as this so he dipped his head and hurried on.
     An hour later Bogart arrived at the edge of town.
     He looked each way for a friendly face but saw only the empty night.
     He crossed a railway track and passed blackened warehouses with some spotlights shining onto the wet tarmac of a yard. He carried on down a road with rubbish-strewn sidewalks and rundown shops and terraced houses where cats eyed him warily as they rummaged through overflowing bins.
     Bogart carried on until the streets became wider, the houses larger with small front gardens. He padded on along a sidewalk past large shops with lights shining from windows onto the pavement. He stopped by an alleyway between two shops and sniffed the air. Walking a little deeper into the dark confines of the alley he stood on his hind legs and with his front paws pulled a crumpled box from a bin. It fell to the ground and Bogart stuck his snout in and licked it clean of cold leftovers some restaurant had thrown out. Further into the alley he lapped up some dank rainwater from an overturned bin lid.
     And the weeks passed.
     By day Bogart wandered the sidewalks getting used to the ways and noises of a large town; the cars and the people, the smells coming from food stores and delicatessens and cafes. By night he found a place to sleep where he would not be disturbed by others like him, of which there were many.
     It was on one of those days Bogart saw the little girl. She held onto her mother’s hand and pointed at him as they strolled along. Bogart watched them from an alley as he sat looking at the passers-by. The little girl stopped and tugged at her mother’s hand.
     The girl’s mother looked round and saw Bogart staring at them with his large eyes, a look of sorrow which he had unintentionally perfected the past few weeks.
     The little girl’s mother said something to her daughter and they both walked into a small café. Bogart shifted from one paw to the other in eager anticipation. They re-appeared a few moments later, the girl carrying a hot meat pie in a piece of paper. Bogart watched her as she placed it on a piece of cardboard in the alley and patted Bogart on his head. Bogart tore into the pie, the first hot food he had eaten in weeks, leaving not a crumb and licking the paper clean.
     The little girl called him Fweddy.
     Bogart liked that.
     He also liked the hot meat pie they brought him every day.
     And Fweddy’s thin frame started to fill.

     One day the three dogs appeared.
     They were bigger than Fweddy, brutes from the dark side of town who knew how to survive the harshness of a dog’s life on the streets. But Fweddy was tough and he stood his ground because it was a jungle on Main Street and only the strong survived.
     They must have been walking the sidewalk one morning and sniffed the air, catching the scent of a meal, and that is how they found Fweddy’s place of dining. They stood shoulder to shoulder facing Fweddy as he stood over his pie.
     One of them growled.
     Another snarled.
     One bared his fangs.
     Then they pounced.
     A commotion started with growls and yelps and snarls which threatened to get out of hand, and a crowd gathered, and a policeman’s boot appeared from nowhere and the dogs, including Fweddy, forgot the hot meat pie and scattered down alleys and along the sidewalk.
     Fweddy glanced behind to make sure he was not being pursued, catching sight of the little girl’s tearful eyes as she watched him turn a corner and vanish along a side street.
     Fweddy stayed the night in a nearby alley, far from his usual haunt, because he was fearful not of the other dogs but the man in blue. Snuggling up on a rag he fell asleep with an empty stomach, vowing to return to the alley the following day when he hoped the air had cleared.
     But the next day the little girl did not appear. Nor the day after. Fweddy gave it another day and when the little girl failed to turn up Fweddy decided to return to the bins for his daily needs.

     One afternoon, when folks were going home from work and cars hooted and jostled along the street, Fweddy saw Annie slunk in a doorway halfway down an alley. He didn’t know her name was Annie, but he named her that after hearing someone call out the name to a friend on the sidewalk.
     She was resplendent in beige and he in black and white, and the moment their eyes locked they knew it was love.
     Fweddy went over to her and touched her face with his snout.
     Annie responded by licking his face.
     She looked hungry so Fweddy nudged her to follow him to some bins he knew would be full of leftovers.
     They tucked in and as darkness began to fall Annie looked around the unfamiliar surroundings for a place to sleep for the night.
     But this was Fweddy’s patch and he knew all the best places. He led her along the alley to a doorway out of the wind, and they sat on a patch of cardboard. She lay down and looked up at Fweddy. He lay next to her, covering her thin frame against the night chill. She lay her head on his paw and he lay his head on her back and they went to sleep.
     They kept company for many days and it was the happiest Fweddy had been in a long time.
     On a bright day they would walk to the park and run in the grass and drink from a water fountain. Children patted them and offered sweets or a chunk of chocolate which they ate, Fweddy always standing back to let Annie have the first morsel.
     On other days they slumbered in the grass in the sun down by the river, listening to fishes coming to the surface and if they were lucky they received a piece of a sandwich each from someone fishing on the river bank.
     Fweddy would look into Annie’s eyes and conjure up a story of why she was homeless like him. They were wonderful days, a friendship forged out of a homeless existence in a strange town.
     One morning they were walking the sidewalk when a man dressed in blue happened to look at them. Fweddy noticed him out of the corner of his eye and nudged Annie onward. The man in blue started to walk after them. Fweddy yelped and he and Annie hastened their way along the sidewalk. The man in blue quickened his pace. People stood aside. Fweddy glanced over his shoulder and barked and he and Annie started to run because he knew the men in blue would call for a van to take them away and he would never see Annie again. Fweddy looked back again. The man in blue was gaining. Fweddy and Annie bolted between people, some folks lifting a leg as they sprinted past. They turned the corner and standing in front of them with his arms folded was another man in blue. Fweddy jolted to a stop, Annie beside him. The man in blue chasing them turned the corner and stood waiting.
     Fweddy and Annie were trapped!
     Annie panted with exertion, her little tongue hanging from her mouth as she looked pleadingly at Fweddy for guidance. Her eyes looked around for an escape and she suddenly ran towards the kerb and out into the road.
     Fweddy yelped to warn her.
     Annie half-turned expecting Fweddy to be following.
     A car horn blared.
     A screech of brakes.
     A dull thud.
     Someone cried out.
     Fweddy scampered into an alley.
     The two men in blue walked into the road.
     A car had stopped and its doors flew open.
     A crowd gathered.
     Annie lay quite still, her small chest moving in short movements, her eyes looking around desperately until they fell on Fweddy through a mass of legs. Fweddy sat upright in the alley looking each was, moving his paws up and down, whining quietly to himself.
     More folks gathered.
     Fweddy looked back at Annie.
     He saw a flicker of a smile in her eyes.
     Then they slowly closed.
     People started to walk away.
     A truck came along and a man lifted Annie into the back and drove away.
     The men in blue went their separate ways, their job done.
     Fweddy waited in the alley until it was dark when the people were few and the cars fewer.
     Looking both ways along the sidewalk he walked to the kerb and into the road and looked at where Annie had lain.
     He sniffed the ground.
     With a trace of Annie’s scent in his nostrils he turned away to find a place to sleep.
     And the nights were getting colder, a raw wind blowing in from the north with sometimes rain and other times sleet falling at angles across town. And less people were going out in the evenings. And fewer scraps were to be found in the bins. And Fweddy once again felt hunger gnaw at his scrawny stomach that even a hardened crust failed to satisfy.
    One evening, when Fweddy had already hankered down in an alley on a piece of damp cardboard in a back doorway, seeking a little shelter from the bitter wind that brought with it the first flakes of snow, he heard a scream.
     He lifted his tired little head from dreaming about Annie and his sleepy eyes opened.
     Another faint scream.
     He shook the sleepiness from his head and was out of the doorway, standing firm-footed in the alleyway looking both ways.
     Was he dreaming?
     No, there it was again, a little louder now, carried on the wind.
     Fweddy tilted his head one way then the other before darting off down the alley, his claws sliding on the ground as he came to a halt on the sidewalk. Bright lights from a hundred shops lit the street like day. He looked each way. He saw a few passing cars, a biting wind and no people.
     There it was again.
     Fweddy shot off down the street, his paws hardly touching the sidewalk, his head down against the wind, tongue flapping loose, ears flying back.
     He skidded to a stop by an alleyway. Panting, Fweddy looked into the shadows and saw a struggle. A man was trying to tear the handbag from a woman he held up against a wall. On the floor clutching at her mother and in tears was the little girl.
     Fweddy’s eyes hardened. From deep in his throat came a low growl that grew to a fierce snarl.
     He bared his teeth.
     The little girl looked round.
     Fweddy leapt at the man, clawing up his back and sinking his teeth into the arm that held the woman against the wall. The man hesitated, turned and tried to shake off Fweddy. But Fweddy was in no mood to be brushed off. He tightened his jaws on the man’s arm, who gave a howl of pain. He turned on Fweddy and with his free hand ripped Fweddy from him and threw him against the wall. But Fweddy was not finished. He went back and bit hard on the man’s leg until he was shrugged off, and then turned to the other leg, sinking his fangs deep into the man’s calf. The man sent Fweddy reeling back with a yelp of pain as a blow from the man’s fist sank into Fweddy’s thin frame.
     A cry for help came from the sidewalk. A policeman shone a torch into the darkness, lighting up the frightened little girl clutching hold of her sobbing mother. The man looked up and ran off down the alley into the myriad of back alleys.
     People came running. Another policeman appeared. Cars stopped at the sight of the disturbance.
     Fweddy stood on wobbly legs and hobbled away, head sunk as he felt pain move through him with every step.
     ‘Is this the man’s mutt?’ a policeman asked. ‘Let’s get him to the pound,’ the other policeman said, holding Fweddy by the neck.
     ‘It’s Fweddy!’ the little girl cried.
     ‘Who?’
     The woman dried her eyes and looked down at her daughter.
     ‘It’s our dog,’ she said.

     They wrapped Fweddy in a blanket and took him home to a house with a front and rear garden, just like he’d seen those days when he walked the streets looking for shelter and a meal.
     The house was warm and brightly lit, and the little girl wouldn’t let go of him.
     That night she gave him a bath, the first one he had in months.
     Then the little girl put a clean bowl on the floor brimming with food.
     After that she showed Fweddy to a basket in front of the fire. Fweddy carefully stepped in, sniffing it and settling himself on a thick woollen blanket.
     A man walked into the room and looked at Fweddy.
     The man said something to the little girl and walked over to the basket.
     Fweddy cowered and licked his lips.
     The man stroked Fweddy’s head and ran his hand down his side. ‘I think we’d better give this little fella some more food; he looks a mite thin to me.’
     The little girl went to the kitchen for more food.
     The man knelt and stroked Fweddy some more. ‘You know, fella,’ he said, ‘we’ll go out for a walk tomorrow and I’ll show you round the neighbourhood.’
     ‘Can I come?’ the little girl said, putting biscuits on some paper in front of Fweddy’s basket.
     ‘Sure you can, honey, Fweddy’s part of the family now.’

     The little girl stayed with Fweddy until it was time for her to go to bed.
     ‘Goodnight, Fweddy, I’ll see you in the morning.’
     Fweddy looked up and gave a happy yelp.
     Later that night, when the family were all asleep and the last embers of the fire were falling to the bottom of the grate with a loud rustle, Fweddy dreamed of Annie, his front paws twitching in time to the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.