The small tuft of black and white fur disappeared behind the leg of an unexpected passerby, only a hint of his red scarf appearing for a moment as the dog dodged behind a lamp post, disappearing entirely for a few seconds before reappearing further down the crowded sidewalk. Brady Rogers wound his way through people leisurely walking from one shop to the next, making the most of the mild, early December day when the temperature was in the high forties, instead of the low thirties, or colder, which it usually was in Connecticut this time of year.

"Hey! Stop!" Brady shouted again, accidentally clipping the jacket of a dad walking alongside his wife and kids as he hurried after the little dog. "Pardon me," he said, glad he hadn't knocked the man off balance. So far, there hadn't been any head on collisions or casualties, but as the crowd thickened, and the dog got further away, Brady feared he might take out one of the older townsfolk or run over a child.

He didn't slow, though, just continued to weave his way through the shoppers, hoping the dog would head toward the less congested park down the block and across the street. Or, the animal could simply drop the scarf he'd plucked from around Brady's neck as he studied the dilapidated parking lot he was charged with evaluation for revamping. That would make all of this much easier.

Brady left the sidewalk for a moment, leaping across a rare, empty parking slot near the quaint shops that lined either side of the thoroughfare before returning to the walkway, keeping an eye on the dog, which was almost a full block ahead of him now. Not only did he want his scarf back, he was afraid for the dog's safety as well. There were cars using the road, and even though none of them were going more than five or ten miles per hour because of all of the people, the dog was small enough that a driver might not see the obstruction until it was too late.

"Come on!" Brady muttered under his breath. "Just drop it." Initially, when the dog had taken off, and only a few people had been around in the less busy stretch of sidewalk nearer the parking lot, he had shouted at the critter to release the scarf, but then, as they reached the more congested area, people began to look at him as if he'd lost his mind, so he'd done his best to keep his mouth closed, only occasionally muttering to himself, wishing the dog would just cooperate.

For a moment, it seemed perhaps it would as it darted across the street, dragging his scarf through whatever was on the road, headed for the park. Brady glanced each way and then took off behind the animal, glad there was no snow on the ground at the moment as that would've made the stolen item even more of a muddy mess.

Once his feet hit the grass of the park, he took a moment to look around. The dog had paused, too, looking back at him, its wide eyes beckoning him to come on. It all seemed so strange. Why had the dog snatched that particular garment when nearly everyone was wearing a scarf? Why did it insist on keeping it tucked neatly between its sharp little teeth while it ran, and why was it looking at him now, making sure he hadn't given up his pursuit?

Brady sucked in air, thankful he hadn't stopped his daily five mile jog even though his life had gotten hectic with his recent move from Milwaukee to Holiday Hills, and then started out again.

The dog managed a yip without dropping the scarf and took off once more, running toward the area of the park where children were swinging and going down slides, bundled in their coats, hats, and a rainbow of scarves that hadn't been stolen. Benches beneath trees were dotted with older people, reading the newspaper or a book, sipping warm drinks from paper cups. Brady prayed one of them would notice the pup and slow it down, maybe hoping for a quick pat on the head. Kids liked dogs, didn't they? He thought so. The family he was currently staying with, his college roommate Rob and his wife Kyla didn't have any kids yet, but their neighbor had two kids, and those children were constantly petting Rob's massive border collie, Rufus, every chance they got.

The little dog disappeared behind the trunk of a large oak tree, and for a moment, Brady thought it had just vanished into thin air. Expecting the animal to reappear on the other side of the tree, he kept his eyes trained on the path he assumed it would take but saw nothing. Even when he reached the tree and passed it, he didn't see the dog.

***

Brady heard a voice say, "Well, look at you! Aren't you just darling!"

His eyes followed the sound of a middle—aged woman's chirp as she continued to dote on what he quickly saw was the little thief. She was sitting with her back to him on one of the benches, a cup in one hand, her other hand stroking the fur of the little tramp.

Quickly, Brady trotted over, a stitch in his side, despite his frequent exercise routine. "Thank goodness," he murmured as he noted the scarf was no longer trapped in the dog's teeth. It was lying next to him on the bench. Even from a few feet away, Brady could see it was soiled with mud, perhaps some oil from the road, but it wasn't torn. That was something.

"Oh, is this your dog?" The woman slipped her hand beneath the red collar around the dog's neck, and for the first time Brady noticed the collar was the exact same shade as the scarf it had stolen.

"No, no it's not," Brady said, thankful she had her hand around the collar so the dog couldn't dart away again. Reaching down, he picked up the scarf off of the bench. "But this is mine."

The woman, who appeared to be in her fifties or perhaps early sixties, with curly blonde hair with streaks of white and a sweet smile, looked disappointed. "That's too bad. Who do you belong to, little fella?" she asked, tugging on the collar as she checked to see if there was an address or phone number on the tag.

The dog sat still, not pulling or trying to get away. For the first time, Brady gave the dog a good look. He was small, no more than fifteen pounds, mostly white with some black tufts of fur. Shaggy, and muddy around the paws, he looked as if he had been on the streets for a little while, but not forever. He wasn't skinny or matted. Perhaps he had just gotten away from his owner.

"Oh, dear," the woman said. "No address or phone number. Just his name——Pooch. Even his rabies tag is so rubbed off. I can't make out the name of the vet, just that he's up to date on his shots. That's a good thing. At least your scarf doesn't have to worry about contracting rabies." She laughed then, a cheerful rumble, her red lips parting to reveal teeth so straight and perfect, he thought they might be dentures. Or veneers. She was dressed so nicely, he imagined she must be someone important in this little town, though he hadn't lived there long enough to meet many people.

"That is too bad," Brady said, thinking someone had to be missing this little fur ball. "Is there some place we can take him? A shelter or something?"

"We?" she said. "Oh, not me, dear. I have to get to the salon. It's my weekly appointment, and I never miss." She scooped the fur ball into her arms. The little dog's head turned, his wide, dark eyes focused on Brady's face. "You can take him to the shelter. It's a no kill, so we don't have to worry about that. A little cutie like this will be snatched up as soon as he's off his fourteen day release."

"Me? Take the dog? To the shelter?"