Caillou lay bleeding on the sofa, much to the chagrin of his mother, Doris, whose primary concern volleyed between the ruined upholstery and the mangled condition of the boy's leg. Dad was still leaning against the credenza they'd hastily shoved across the front door, his rifle trained vaguely across the lawn. Somewhere through her shock at the events of the last few minutes, a keening wail suddenly captured her attention. Rosie. She sat at her mother's knee, scared. Probably traumatized. But not bleeding.

Where did that dog come from? she wondered. The grey Scottish terrier had entered their lives at the top of the episode, and quickly turned into a violent, feral beast. The thing had shredded Caillou's leg so badly she could barely tell what was fabric and what was flesh.

Oh, God, where was grandmother?

Doris winced, remembering that grandma had gone to bring in the cat, Gilbert. Now they were both out there. With that thing.

If she had been paying attention to the other shows on the network, she might have known how this happened. She was just so damned busy being mom to Caillou. She couldn't know that a neighboring show, about a dog named Kipper, had just gone through a minor upheaval. It began with a lost dollar bill...