“Kids,” he yawned loudly. “I hate to interrupt your reunion, but it’s almost 5:30.”

This brought many yelps form outside, and many more feet sprinting into the barn. The odor of sweat and dirt spread quickly, which didn’t bother him one bit; he had gotten used to it ever since he and his family moved here. The puppies clamored themselves around the telly, waiting for their usual program to begin.

Meanwhile, in the back, Pongo rocked himself back and forth, trying to warm himself from the cold, maybe even depressed feeling. It wasn’t working, though. He couldn’t understand why he had been feeling like this ever since the clock struck one. He hadn’t felt like this when he watched Perdita and the puppies go on their trip to the pet shop with Nanny at seven. He remembered not feeling this way when he had organized everyone’s belongings together, which had lasted from eight to ten-thirty. He didn’t feel that way when he lay down to take a nap at eleven. It was at one, when he woke up, that he began to feel this way: cold and depressed.

He had figured that it must’ve been a germ brought from outside and proceeded to close the windows to the barn. He hoped that he could become better by staying inside and resting. By five, however, he felt worse. He then considered that he was feeling loneliness, and that it was increasing with every passing moment. He set to pacing in the barn until they came home, which was about 5:24, if he remembered correctly. He felt better when he opened the barn door and saw them again, and reassured himself that he would feel better.

He wasn’t feeling better, though. Even with his mate and puppies there, he felt the same as before.

He rocked faster while the Kanine Krunchies commercial played on the black-and-white telly. He must’ve looked weird, because Perdita strolled over to him, a worried expression worn on her face.

“Are you okay, Pongo,” she asked in her soft-spoken voice.

He scratched his ear wildly, and then shook his head even wilder. It wasn’t working. He sighed. “I don’t know.”

She licked his face warmly. He hardly reacted, which put a confused face on Perdita. “I think you may be sick.” She turned to the plethora of puppies flooded around the telly. “Cadpig!”

The smallest of their puppies came over to them, pointy ears flopping and mouth smiling widely.

“Daddy needs your help, sweetie. Can you help him?”

“Of course, mom.”

“Thanks, Cadpig.” With that, Perdita returned to the other side of the barn, to rest and await the program. Meanwhile, Cadpig went over to her nook, and brought out a clipboard and her reading glasses. She also brought out a fountain pen which Pongo had never seen before, and began making a few notes. “Patient Name: Dad A.K.A. Pongo. Illness: Unknown.”

She proceeded to circle him and make more observations and notes. Pongo rested there, wondering why Perdita thought she could help him. After all, he thought to himself, no one could help me. How can she?

She was now in front of him, sitting and looking over her notes.

“Tell me, patient . . .”

He decided to entertain her by acting like an actual patient. “Yes?” He tried to sound as inquisitive as his voice could muster.

“Do you feel cold?”

“Cadpig, my furs warm. You should’ve felt that.” He was becoming annoyed.

“You haven’t answered my question. Do you feel cold?”

Okay. Lucky guess. “Well, now that you mention it . . .”

“Enough said.” She made another note on the clipboard. “Depressed?”

This is beginning to become weird. “Most likely.”

“Now,” she stared directly into his eyes. He stared with the best bored expression he could put on, which was easy enough. “Have you been outside at all today?”

Pongo was stunned. How could she have guessed that? She was at the store. She has a new hat to prove it! “How did you . . .”

“It was pretty easy to tell, with your lack of energy and cold feeling.” She made a long note on the clipboard. “I think some sunlight will do you good, dad.”

Maybe. He hadn’t been outside all day, from the organizing to the nap to the lock-in. “Thanks, Dr. Cadpig.”

“No prob, dad. Patient Pongo checked.” With that and a huge checkmark on her clipboard, she threw her stuff into the nook and disappeared with her siblings.

. . . What the blimey just happened? Pongo wasn’t registering anything, but he knew, somehow, that she was right. He got up, stretched his legs, and proceeded for the nearest exit, which was the window facing the pet’s house. He crawled onto the stacked boxes which held some beds, and jumped out the window. The last thing he heard in the barn was the start of the program.

“Last time, on The Adventures of Thu . . .”

The first thing he noticed when he stepped outside was that the grass was green. He stared at it, thinking it shouldn’t be a big deal. I guess 10 ½ hours of being cooped up makes one appreciate the outside . . . The next thing he noticed was that he was cold, and there was neither wind nor breeze. He looked to the ground and realized that he was in the shade of the barn. He walked the broad side to round the corner.

Once he turned right, he felt it: the soothing rays of the sun hitting his fur, and penetrating onto his skin and into the rest of him. It was so much of a shock for Pongo that he gasped loudly. He could feel the cold depressed feeling dying within him. For the first time since the trip to the pet shop, he smiled a real smile.

Suddenly, he found himself running. Around the barn, around the house, wherever he could reach in the boundaries. He leapt and pranced, testing his newly rekindled muscles, and enjoying it all the while. The ground was soft one moment, firm the next. At one soft spot next to the wheelbarrow, he stopped. Gasping for air has never felt so good. With this, he let his body drop to the ground.

“Dad!”

Pongo was taken completely by surprise when he heard this voice out of nowhere. He leapt up, bashing his head on the wheelbarrow in the process, and looked to see who was being addressed, and by whom. When he looked to the hill above the pond, he saw one of his puppies rushing towards him. She had obviously addressed him, as she bee-lined towards him.

“Are you all right? I saw you collapse, and then you hit your head, and . . .”

Pongo grinned at her. By the look on her face, he had thrown her off track. “Yeah, honey, I’m all right. I was just *grunt* resting.”

“Your head . . .”

“It’ll be fine.” He smiled at her, to reassure her that was, indeed, all right.

It worked. “OK, dad.” With that, she began to walk back towards the hill, leaving Pongo to ponder. Her voice . . . it was softer then Perdita’s. He then realized where the little pup was: outside. She should be watching the program.

He walked towards the little one, who had taken a seat under the tree above the pond. She was staring towards the sun. She’s not blinking. Pongo stared at her more intensely. Her eyes. What color are they? I know I’ve seen that color before in the park. The crayons . . . those crayons the boy was using . . . Goldenrod! That was it. He became confused. I don’t remember any of our puppies having goldenrod eyes. He bent over to sniff her.

He recognized her scent. She was one of the 99.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t realize that he had been caught. She was staring at him, eyes wide. “Um, I was just *clears throat* checking to see if you had your bath yet.” He couldn’t believe that he was stammering to one of his own.

“Wow, was it really time?” Pongo was lost when she asked. “The day’s lasting long.”

He realized that it hadn’t been bath time yet, because the program was still on. Wait a minute . . . the program!

“You know,” he began. “It’s 5:30.”

Her face contorted with confusion. “So it hasn’t been bath time yet?”

It was his turn to, once again today, become confused. “No no no no no, I’m saying that the program is on.” He was becoming frustrated.

“What program?”

What?! He did a double-take when he heard this joke. Every puppy on the plantation knew about the program; how could she not? All the same, he decided to keep patient with her.

“The Adventures of Thunderbolt, sweetie.”

“Who?”

He couldn’t believe that she would attempt to joke with him for this long. His patience was wearing thin.

“Thunderbolt,” he began through gritted teeth, “is a canine legend on the telly. Everyone knows of his good deeds . . . well, everyone who’s anyone, at least.”

He said that last part to coax her out of her lie. It backfired.

“Sorry,” she whispered, and hung her head as if ashamed.

Pongo’s smile contorted along with his face in surprise. What? Did I do something? All I said was the everyone knew of h . . .”

He had a sudden realization. With hesitation, he quietly approached her.

“You really don’t know who he is, do you?”

“No.” It was barely audible.

Pongo brought her towards him, and nuzzled her gently. “It’s ok, honey. You really don’t need to know him. After all, he’s not better than me.”

She giggled, and returned the nuzzle.

“So, you want to go inside? Thunderbolt’s on right now, if you wanna see him.”

She pondered for a second, then replied, “Maybe some other time, dad. I’m gonna stay out here and watch the sunset.”

Pongo watched as she returned to her original posture. “O . . . Okay. If that’s what you want.” He started for the barn.

What are you doing?

I’m going back inside.

Do you even remember how you felt in there?

The cold depressing feeling, Pongo decided in a split second, was not worth probably ten minutes of Thunderbolt. He crept over to her as silently as possible, and lay down in the grass beside her.

The sun was bright, as it always had been, but it was low enough behind the mountains to see the background. The sky was a blurry rainbow, beginning from a crimson red at the heart, spanning to a sea-type green, and evolving to the cerulean that covered the rest of the sky. The mountains had taken a deep brown color, and the shadows around them became gigantic around them. The rays were still warm, and a breeze made itself present.

Pongo could hear his heartbeat from within him . . . maybe even from outside him. He could also feel it, becoming stronger as he stared. He soon lost all control of form, as colors meshed and sounds mixed, distinguishable yet harmonious.

BOOM!

Pongo jumped at the sudden explosion, as did the little one. It took a couple of seconds for Pongo to realize that it was Anita’s muffler that had made that noise. She was back from her presentation which he knew nothing more about.

“Good evening, Pongo. Good evening, cutie.” Anita winked at the little one before proceeding, hands full of papers, to the pet’s house.

“I seriously thought she’d be home later on,” Pongo confessed to the little one. “Like, at night.”

“Ummm . . . dad?”

She motioned to the sky, and he looked up. What the blimey? It’s already dark! The stars were already out, as was the black night, the moon, and the wind. Pongo looked at her, who was still smiling.

“So,” he started. She turned her head slowly to meet his eyes. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Of course. I always enjoy the sunset.”

That seemed to trigger something. “Is that why you miss Thunderbolt?”

“You mean the telly?” She sighed. “Yes. That’s why.” She cocked her head around her dad, and said, “I think mum’s looking for you.”

Sure enough, Perdita was outside wandering, most likely looking for him. “I’ll be right back.”

“There you are!” Perdita seemed relieved as he came closer to her. “I thought something bad happened to you. Where were you?”

“I was out here.”

“. . . Where out here?”

“On the hill, watching the sunset with her.”

Perdita looked over him to see her, watching them. She smiled at Pongo. “Feeling better?”

“Loads.”

“I’m glad.” She licked his face, and this time he grinned and stood erect. She laughed. “Call her inside, dear. It’s time for bed.”

Perdita walked back inside, and began to command her puppies to sleep. He turned to the hill, opened his mouth . . .

. . . and balked. Balk? I shouldn’t be balking. I should just call her in. He couldn’t find the word, though. He mustered up all of his memory, and . . . nothing.

Oh, gosh, what is her name?

He couldn’t be helped by her name tag, because she wasn’t wearing it. I just have to man up. Just ask her. I am her father, for Pete’s pudding!

“Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.”

Her smile instantly vanished, and was replaced with a look of shock and hurt. He expected this, but he didn’t expect this. “Well, you see, there are just so many of you that I kinda sorta get names mixed up. Please don’t feel hurt and . . .

“It’s okay, dad.” She rubbed her head against his chest, and he, relieved that it was over, slouched even more to nuzzle her. “I know how hard it must be. Who can blame you?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, good night.”

“Good night, sweetie.”

She sprinted as fast as she could back to the barn. He watched, happy that he could make amends.

wait . . .

Wait . . .

WAIT . . .

“Oh, crud. Wait!”

She stopped only steps outside. He walked briskly over to her.

“Young lady, I . . .”

“Please, dad. I’m really tired, and . . .”

“Your name.”

She sighed deeply, dropping her head.

“I still don’t know it.”

“I know.”

She walked past Pongo slowly, tears hitting the floor, yet crying silently. She opened the door and, standing there, whispered, only barely audibly,

“Neither do I.”