Chapter 3: Marble Floors, Cold Hearts

“Quick, check Tyler for any injuries. I heard some of the big dogs around here have gone crazy. If there’s rabies, that’d be a disaster!”

He spoke with the confidence of a man used to getting his way. I could picture his pressed polo shirt, his jaw clenched as he took in the scene.

The woman anxiously examined Tyler. When she turned and saw me sprawled on the ground, bloodied and barely breathing, her face went ghostly pale.

She covered her mouth, frozen for a heartbeat, caught between fear for her son and shock at the sight of me.

Tyler clung to her, choking through his sobs:

“I’m okay, but the doggy saved me, *sniff*... He chased away the big dog, but he’s hurt real bad. Is he gonna die, Mommy? I don’t want him to die. Can we help him, please?”

His voice cracked, every word desperate. He buried his face in her shoulder, sobbing so hard his little body shook.

Mr. Mason patted Tyler’s head and looked down at me with a heavy sigh:

“He’s really hurt. For a stray like this, if we don’t get him help soon, he probably won’t make it...”

He crouched beside me, concern flickering in his eyes. Even the richest man in Maple Heights seemed humbled by a bleeding stray and his son’s tears.

At those words, Tyler’s crying grew even louder.

His wails echoed across the park, drawing stares from a couple of joggers and a mom with a stroller. I saw Mrs. Mason’s eyes go glossy with tears, too.

At that moment, the neighborhood association director came running. When he heard the youngest Mason had been attacked by a stray, he nearly tripped over his own feet.

He was a pudgy man in a faded golf shirt, sweat beading on his brow as he hustled up, wringing his hands. “Oh, sweet Jesus, please let everything be okay,” he muttered in a thick Midwestern accent.

“Mr. Mason, is your boy alright?” He wiped his forehead and hurried forward, falling over himself to apologize.

He shot nervous glances at the Masons, then at me, clearly worried about what this could mean for the neighborhood association.

“This little mutt’s the friendliest stray on our block. He’s always helping the kids fetch their balls from the bushes.”

He tried to smile, voice shaky. “He’s a good pup, honest. Never caused a lick of trouble.”

“It’s his lucky day, saving the young master.”

He looked at me, almost hoping I’d back him up. I wagged my tail weakly, doing my best to look trustworthy.

Tyler sniffled:

“Mommy, Daddy, let’s take him home.”

His cheeks were streaked with tears, but hope shone in his eyes. He looked up at his parents with that unshakeable trust only a kid can have.

Mrs. Mason frowned:

“Honey, we already have a pet at home. Are you sure you want to bring another dog back?”

She looked unsure, eyes darting to Mr. Mason for backup. The idea of bringing home a stray clearly made her nervous.

Tyler nodded, his little chin set stubbornly: