Chapter 2: Second Chances, Same Streets

But he didn’t realize: when a person gets famous, it means money and status. When a dog gets famous, it means endless hours of training, harsh commands, and torment behind the scenes with the influencer.

People don’t see the hours under the hot ring lights, the endless takes, the sharp yank on the leash if you don’t pose just right. Fame for a dog isn’t steak dinners—it’s a choke collar you never get to take off.

I lay on the ground, my side torn up by the crazed big dog. The little boy curled up next to me, helpless, sobbing so hard his whole body shook.

The world spun, my heartbeat booming in my ears. I could smell my own blood—sharp, metallic, overwhelming. The boy’s tiny hands shook as he pressed them to my side, his tears hot against my fur.

I recognized him: Tyler Mason, son of the wealthiest man in Maple Heights, the same kid I’d saved before.

He looked just like I remembered—messy brown hair, big blue eyes shining with terror. Even through the pain, I wanted to nuzzle his cheek, let him know he’d be okay.

Pain shot through my front legs and tail, and the blood from my torn ear blurred my vision. I was dazed, my mind floating somewhere far away.

The world tilted and spun, the maple leaves overhead swirling in the breeze. I tried to focus, tried to stay awake, but everything faded and flickered.

Because somehow—I realized I’d come back to life!

A strange rush of hope surged through me. Wasn’t this what folks meant when they talked about turning over a new leaf, or getting a do-over? I could almost hear the old guys at the barbershop muttering, “Sometimes you get a mulligan, son.”

I was back on the day I saved Tyler.

It was like the universe had hit rewind, letting me try again. I made a silent promise to myself: this time, I’d do it right.

I lay panting on the ground, feeling my dog life slipping away. I wasn’t big; I’d chased off the attacking dog, but I’d taken a beating for it.

Every breath burned. My sides heaved, the taste of blood thick on my tongue. I wanted to close my eyes, but Tyler’s cries kept me holding on.

After a while, a flurry of frantic footsteps and panicked voices filled the air:

“Tyler! Why did you run off? Mommy and Daddy have been searching everywhere!”

The sharp click of high heels on the sidewalk. The sweet scent of Chanel No. 5 mixed with the tang of worry. Someone’s keys jingled as they hurried closer.

A beautiful woman swept Tyler into her arms, her face tight with fear.

Her hair was perfectly curled, her nails painted a glossy red. She rocked Tyler, whispering soothing words and brushing the hair from his forehead.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Her voice quivered, fear breaking through her practiced calm. She checked him over, hands shaking as she searched for wounds.

The wealthiest man’s voice rang out, firm and commanding: