Chapter 6: Fame’s Shadow, Family’s Light

“Maybe we should send him away. It’s not right to keep a dog we can’t handle.”

The idea hung in the air, unspoken but clear.

But Tyler hugged my brother tight, shaking his head desperately:

“No, he’s not a bad dog. He was so brave when he saved me. I’ll teach him to go outside and not chew things up. Please, Daddy, Mommy, don’t send him away.”

Tyler wrapped his arms around my brother, pleading. He even promised to do extra chores if they’d let him keep his dog.

But my brother didn’t appreciate it and turned around and bit Tyler.

It was the last straw. The bite wasn’t deep, but it was enough to make the Masons furious.

Hurting their precious son—no way was the richest man in town going to let that slide. In the end, they had Animal Control break my brother’s leg and toss him out.

The staff didn’t hesitate. They made the call, and just like that, my brother was out on the curb—limping, broken, alone.

Afterward, all the neighborhood dogs circled around, tails wagging with mean delight. “Told you he wouldn’t last,” they barked, their voices carrying across the manicured lawns.

“Isn’t that the mutt? Sure enough, he got tossed.”

Even the cats on the fence watched, eyes narrowed in judgment.

“How can a stray ever be a pet like us?”

Their laughter stung more than the cold wind. My brother curled up, shivering, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

That winter, my brother curled up by the roadside, staring at the giant digital billboard that kept playing my videos—my platinum dog food commercial looping over and over.

He watched me prance across the screen, my coat shiny and eyes bright. His reflection flickered in the glass—thin, ragged, and full of regret.

That day, after my brother left in the Escalade, I was heartbroken and whimpered after him. Unexpectedly, a passing influencer spotted me, thought my sad puppy face was hilarious, and posted me on Instagram. Just like that, I was an overnight sensation—America’s favorite meme dog.

My photo went viral—#SadSingleDog was trending by sundown. The influencer, Chris Martin, cackled as the likes poured in. People sent me care packages and toys, and I slept on a real dog bed for the first time ever.

Wherever I went, people wanted to pet me. The rights to my sad dog expressions were sold by Chris for a sky-high price. I was fed well, my coat grew glossy, and I was no longer the skinny, scared mutt I’d been before—totally different from my brother now.

There were magazine covers, plush toys, even a limited-edition dog food with my face on the bag. I almost forgot what it was like to go hungry.

Because of this, my brother hated me. Using our similar looks, he snuck into the influencer’s house again. Seeing me in new dog clothes, with my own room and a mountain of toys and food, my brother grew even more jealous and attacked me, biting my neck in a fit of rage.

He slipped in when nobody was watching, fur still matted from the street. The jealousy in his eyes burned like wildfire. One minute I was napping, the next, pain exploded in my neck, and everything faded to black.

When I opened my eyes again, it was now.

The world was fresh, bright, and full of possibility. I blinked, unsure if I was dreaming or really alive again.

After being patched up, I was brought home from the animal hospital by Tyler.

The vet’s office smelled like bleach and fear. Tyler stroked my head the whole way home, whispering, “You’re safe now, Comet.”

Living in the wealthiest man’s house isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. From the moment I walked in, I felt the cold stares from the driver, security guard, and even the housekeeper. They all frowned, clearly wondering why the young master brought home such an ordinary mutt.

The staff whispered behind my back, their voices echoing off the marble floors. But I kept my head up, determined to prove I belonged.

Tyler set me up in the pet room, his eyes shining:

“Don’t worry. From now on, this is your home.”

He laid out a soft bed, lined up a row of squeaky Kong toys, and smiled so wide his dimples showed. I wagged my tail, hope blooming in my chest.

I licked his hand and barked softly, showing I accepted his kindness. Seeing how gentle and well-behaved I was, the Mason couple looked surprised.

Mr. Mason raised an eyebrow, and Mrs. Mason’s lips twitched into a smile, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit.

“I want to give you a mighty and heroic name!”

Tyler’s eyes sparkled as he bounced on his toes, clearly excited to name me.

The Mason couple looked at Tyler expectantly, curious to see what their precious son would choose. Tyler clenched his little fist, thought hard, and finally declared:

“Since I already have Rocket, then you’ll be called Comet!”

He beamed, proud as can be, like he’d just named a new planet. I barked once, half in protest, half in delight.

Me: “...”

Well, it could’ve been worse. At least he didn’t call me Fido.

Truly mighty and heroic.

The Mason couple couldn’t help but smile. Well, Comet it is. Still better than the mutt Buddy from next door.

Mr. Mason chuckled, shaking his head. Mrs. Mason ruffled Tyler’s hair. “Comet it is, then. Welcome to the family.”

I rubbed my bandaged head against Tyler’s feet and wagged my tail gently.

Tyler giggled, kneeling down to hug me. For a moment, everything felt right.

“Daddy, Mommy, Comet seems to really like his name!”

Tyler grinned, his eyes shining with pride. I barked softly, agreeing.

“Hey, hey, Rocket, don’t shove!”

A border collie’s head popped into view. I met his eyes and saw deep disdain in his sharp gaze.

Rocket’s black-and-white fur was glossy, his eyes bright and calculating as he sized me up. He let out a low, annoyed bark, already staking his claim on the room.

This had to be the border collie who’d bullied my brother last time. But it made sense—he’d been with Tyler for six years and was part of the family. For a newcomer like me, he’d be wary, maybe even jealous.

He circled me, nose twitching, as if sizing up a new rival for Tyler’s affection.

“Rocket, this is Comet, your new friend. You two can play together from now on.”

Tyler’s voice was hopeful, but Rocket’s glare said otherwise. I lowered my head, trying to look harmless.

Rocket flicked his tail irritably:

“Who wants to be friends with you, mutt! You think you’re sleeping in my bed?”

He trotted away, nose in the air, disdain radiating from every step. I curled up on my bed, determined to win him over—eventually.

The Mason couple still hesitated:

“Comet’s a mutt, after all. He’ll need special training to learn bathroom manners...”

Mrs. Mason’s voice was gentle but uncertain. I could sense her worry—one accident and I’d be in the doghouse.

Before they finished, I hopped off the bed, looked around, found the spot where Rocket usually peed, and did my business there.

I sniffed the air, found the right spot, and made sure to be neat. The humans watched, wide-eyed, as I finished and trotted back, tail wagging.

Behind me, the Mason couple stared in disbelief.

Mr. Mason let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be...”

“Is he really that smart?!”

Mrs. Mason’s eyes sparkled with amazement. Tyler clapped his hands, cheering.

“He actually knows this is the bathroom spot. Looks like he doesn’t have the habit of making a mess!”

They exchanged glances, relief flooding their faces. Maybe I wouldn’t be so much trouble after all.

Mrs. Mason was also amazed:

“I heard dogs have a keen sense of smell, but I didn’t expect it to be this good. He seems almost human—knows where the bathroom is without being shown.”

She crouched down, stroking my head. “Good boy, Comet.”

I wagged my tail proudly:

Of course, I’ve been a smart pup since forever. That’s how I made so many friends on Maple Avenue—except for my brother...

I glanced at the window, wondering where he was now. Maybe this time things would work out for both of us.

Thinking about it, my brother should’ve been picked up by the influencer by now. I wondered how he was doing.

I hoped he’d find a little happiness—though I doubted it with Chris Martin running the show.

I’m a smart and kind puppy, and I like smart and kind humans. Likewise, smart and kind humans like me. At least during this month healing at Tyler’s house, I’ve already won over the staff’s hearts.

Aunt Carol, the housekeeper, started sneaking me bits of roast chicken from the kitchen. Even the grumpy gardener let me nap in the sun while he worked.

When Aunt Carol dropped her cleaning rag, I trotted over and picked it up for her. When her back ached and she sat down with a groan, I dragged over a pillow for her to lean on. When the driver forgot his keys in the garage, I chased after him with the keys clamped in my teeth.

Word spread fast—Comet wasn’t just smart, he was helpful. The staff started sneaking me extra belly rubs and leftovers from dinner.

“Oh, Comet’s the sweetest dog I’ve ever met!”

Aunt Carol dabbed her eyes, telling the cook all about me.

“Once Comet’s fur grows back, he’ll be a real looker.”

The gardener nodded, giving me a rare smile as he ruffled my ears.

Listening to their chatter and praise, I puffed out my chest with pride. Some even wiped away tears, touched by my story:

“Who knows what Comet went through as a stray to end up this smart. Poor thing.”

They’d pat my head, voices gentle. I’d wag my tail and nuzzle their hands, soaking up every bit of kindness.

Honestly, it wasn’t so bad. I haven’t suffered that much—the people I’ve met have mostly been kind. Except for that influencer, Chris Martin.

Even the mailman, who usually steered clear of dogs, started bringing me treats. I made sure to steer clear of Chris Martin’s street, just in case.

I licked their hands to comfort them. As a result, they hugged me with such pity, rubbing and petting me so much my new fur was nearly rubbed off.

Sometimes I’d flop onto my back, paws in the air, just to make them laugh. It worked every time.

Rocket stood at the top of the stairs, barking in discontent. He was a purebred—his parents both champions. He was smart and always wary of me, never letting me near Tyler.

Rocket eyed me from the landing, barking if I got too close to Tyler, but I knew he was just jealous.

“You think you’re clever, huh? Sucking up for treats!”

He’d grumble under his breath, but I could see the curiosity in his eyes. Maybe he’d come around, eventually.

Border collies are smart. I’d heard stories about them leading other dogs astray. But I’m different—I won’t fall for his tricks.

Still, no matter how careful I was, I didn’t expect him to purposely knock over my bowl and scatter dog food everywhere to frame me.

One afternoon, I came in from the yard to find kibble all over the floor. Rocket stood nearby, wagging his tail like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

When Mrs. Mason came home and saw the mess in the pet room, she exclaimed:

She stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. “Oh my goodness, what happened in here?”

“It’s Comet’s bowl! How did food get everywhere?”

She knelt down, lips pressed tight, examining the mess.

Mr. Mason tried to reassure her:

“Sigh, he’s a mutt. It’s to be expected. Maybe we should send him for a few days of training, just in case.”

He tried to sound calm, but I could hear the disappointment in his voice. My heart sank.

I glared at Rocket, who was gloating in the corner, growling softly in frustration.

Rocket’s tail wagged, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I bared my teeth, but he just turned away, smug as ever.

Mrs. Mason was uneasy when she saw this:

She watched me closely, worry creasing her forehead. “Is Comet going to be a problem?” she whispered to Mr. Mason.

“Why does Comet look so upset? Will it be dangerous for Tyler to keep him?”

She hugged Tyler tighter, glancing nervously between us.

Hearing that I might be sent away, Tyler wouldn’t have it and hugged me tightly:

He threw his arms around my neck, voice trembling. “Please, don’t send Comet away. He’s not a bad dog.”

“No, don’t send Comet away! I heard those trainers are mean—they yell and scare dogs to make them obey.”

Tyler’s eyes filled with tears. “They’ll hurt him, Mommy. Please, don’t let them.”

He lowered his head to hug me, then suddenly paused, clutching the bare red string on his neck, and cried out:

He gasped, searching frantically at his collarbone. “Where’s my locket? Mommy, my locket’s gone!”

“Mommy, where’s my locket? My locket is gone!”

His voice rose in panic, hands shaking as he tugged at the empty string.

The Mason couple’s eyes fell on Tyler’s neck—sure enough, only the red string was left, the locket missing.

Mrs. Mason said anxiously:

She rushed over, checking the floor and Tyler’s pockets. “It’s gone, it’s really gone! What will we do?”

“How did you lose it? What should we do? That was Grandma’s heirloom she left you when she passed away!”

Her voice quivered, grief and worry mingling together. She knelt beside Tyler, hugging him close.

Mr. Mason was all seriousness:

He knelt down, putting a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “We’ll find it, buddy. Just think—where were you today?”

“Don’t worry, son. Think carefully about where you put it.”

His tone was calm, but I could see the worry in his eyes.

Tyler was so anxious his face turned red, but he still couldn’t remember.

He scrunched up his face, trying to recall, but the memory wouldn’t come.

I wagged my tail and sniffed the air carefully. A dog’s sense of smell is sharp—especially for a smart dog like me. I barked a few times, signaling them to follow.

I trotted to the door, barking insistently, looking back to make sure they were coming. Tyler wiped his nose and hurried after me.

The Mason couple carried Tyler, half-believing, half-doubting, and followed me. We twisted and turned, finally arriving behind the old attic in the backyard. I stopped and barked at the back of the attic.

The garden was overgrown, the attic door creaking in the wind. I sniffed around, then pawed at a pile of leaves by the wall, catching the scent of cut grass and a wind chime tinkling nearby.

Mrs. Mason was puzzled:

She looked around, brow furrowed. “Comet, are you sure?”

“Why did Comet bring us here? Could he mean the locket was lost here? How is that possible? How could Tyler come to a place like this?”

She exchanged a glance with Mr. Mason, clearly skeptical.

Tyler nimbly crawled in and, sure enough, picked up the locket from the ground.

He let out a triumphant yell, holding the locket high. “Found it!”

“Daddy, Mommy, I found it! I remember now—this morning I played hide and seek with Rocket, and I hid here. Maybe that’s when I lost it.”

He hugged the locket to his chest, relief flooding his face. Mrs. Mason burst into tears, hugging him tight.

The Mason couple joyfully picked up the locket and patted my head to reward me:

Mr. Mason knelt down, scratching behind my ears. “Good boy, Comet. You saved the day.”

“Good, good, good! Comet did a great job!”

Tyler beamed at me, and I wagged my tail so hard it thumped against the porch.

Since then, the Mason couple never mentioned sending me to training again.

I got extra treats that night, and Rocket had to share his favorite chew toy with me. Victory tasted sweet.

Rocket was indignant and always barked at me:

He glared from his spot on the rug, muttering under his breath. “Show-off,” he grumbled, but I could tell he was secretly impressed.

“What’s there to brag about, mutt! I could’ve found it too—you just got lucky!”

He huffed, flicking his tail. I just grinned, knowing I’d earned my spot.

I bared my teeth at him, letting him know I wasn’t easy to push around. I wasn’t as timid as my brother was in the last life. If he kept bullying me, I’d stand my ground!

I stood tall, meeting his glare head-on. He looked away first.

As I expected, my brother became popular just like I did in my last life.

His face started popping up on billboards, in meme packs, and on TV. Tyler pointed him out excitedly every time.

I saw my brother on Tyler’s iPad. Tyler was scrolling through TikTok. In a short video with a million likes, I saw the familiar influencer and my brother. His “Sad Single Dog” meme was everywhere online, even bought by multiple apps as a sticker pack.

Chris Martin had him wearing hats, sunglasses, even little costumes. My brother’s eyes looked tired, but he wagged his tail for the camera.

The influencer, Chris Martin, used him to shoot videos, purposely pulling my brother’s face into a sad expression for views. Some people in the comments felt sorry:

There were comments from dog lovers, worried about his well-being. “That dog looks so sad,” one wrote. “Is he okay?”

“Is the influencer too rough? The dog’s mouth corners are hurt.”

Another posted a close-up, showing the raw skin around his mouth.

“People nowadays do anything for money. The dog’s tail is always tucked—he’s clearly scared.”

A few tried to start a hashtag, but most just laughed at the memes.

But those voices were quickly drowned out by others. For a while, the “Sad Single Dog” meme exploded online. My brother was the top dog influencer. This time, he got what he wanted. But who knows what it cost him behind the scenes.

He had fame, sure, but at what price? I knew how lonely it could be, even with a million followers.

But that was his choice. It’s not my concern anymore. I have my own family now.

I curled up in my bed, listening to Tyler’s soft snores. This was home.

This weekend, the Mason couple took Tyler, me, and Rocket to the mall. Rocket and I wore matching dog outfits and little sneakers, our collars sparkling, turning heads everywhere we went.

People stopped to stare, snapping photos and pointing. Tyler grinned, proud to show off his two dogs.

“Wow, they’ve got two dogs! That’s awesome!”

A little girl tugged her mom’s sleeve, asking if she could pet me. I wagged my tail, letting her scratch behind my ears.

“That border collie’s gorgeous—bet he’s real smart!”

Rocket pranced, head held high, loving every second. I let him have his moment.

“What’s the other one? Looks pretty plain.”

A group of teens whispered, glancing at me. I didn’t mind—I knew what I was worth.

“Just a mutt, I guess. The collie’s way fancier.”

The words stung a little, but Tyler squeezed my leash and whispered, “Don’t listen to them, Comet. You’re my hero.”

I ignored the comments and took in the sights—Auntie Anne’s pretzels wafting through the air, the bright lights of Target, and the chatter from the food court. In my last life, Chris Martin never let me out except for video shoots. The rest of the time I was locked in a tiny room, so outings like this were a dream.

After a round of shopping, we left the mall. As we passed the curb, I spotted my brother filming a video by the roadside!

He was dressed in a silly costume, Chris Martin waving a squeaky toy to get his attention. Our eyes met for a second. He hesitated, then looked away, his tail tucked tight. I watched him for a long time as we walked away, grateful for the family that had chosen me—for real, this time. Maybe, just maybe, I’d finally found where I belonged—and maybe, next time, I’d be ready for whatever life threw at me.