The road is dusty, and after about ten minutes of trotting along the side of it, I have to stop and sneeze.  I shake my head and focus again on the tree in the distance.  Where the shabby evergreen is I can see that there is a fork in the road.  Since Tim decided to put me in that darned box with only tiny pinpoints of light to see by, I have no idea which direction to turn.  I’ve recently come up with a new saying while I was walking.  I figure that when I’m famous, I might as well have some quotes that people can know me by. 
Here goes:  When in doubt, go right because right starts with R and so does Runt ~Runt, adventure puppy.
So when I reach the fork in the road, I obviously go to the right. This path is a little nicer, with cobblestones instead of tightly packed dirt.   My newly shortened toenails click along the stones as I hop along the side.  That way, when Tim realizes that I’m gone, get’s in his loud truck and comes looking for me, I’ll be able to jump into the bushes quickly and avoid being spotted.
Soon enough, I hear the truck zooming down the road.  I dive into the bushes, but Tim never drives past me.  He must have gone down the left road, purposely ignoring my intellectual reason to turn right.  I climb out of the brambles that line the road and dust myself off.  I jumped in those bushes for nothing!  My pride is seriously injured.  I should get stitches.  I should go to the emergency room!
One time, when I was little, Whiney Sister and I had to go to the emergency room because we both stepped on some glass.  It smelled like antiseptic and cigarette smoke.  The floors were white and so slippery that the farmer almost fell and dropped me.  The lady that helped us was named Nurse Matilda.  She had graying hair and the nicest smile.  She was very gentle with Whiney Sister and me.  They gave me some stuff that made me all sleepy and see colors.  The only bad part was that after, my paws felt all big and awkward because they were swollen.  They also put a thing called the cone of shame on my neck.  I couldn’t even lick my poor feet to get rid of some of the pain! 
Maybe my pride will heal on it’s own and I won’t have to go to that horrid place again. After another fifteen minutes of walking down the street, I come to another fork.  Both the right and the left side have signs in front of them.  Being a scatterbrained puppy, I’ve already forgotten my saying for which way to go.  The left side has a big fence for cows in front of the sign, which is filled with tons of writing that I can’t begin to understand.  The right side also has a fence, but for this one, the sign is just a picture of a dog, cat, and pig with an X through it.  I go left. 
Almost immediately I come to a small farmhouse.  It’s painted light blue in chipped eggshell paint and has a sagging front porch.  I trot up the steps and sit outside the door, thumping my tail on the rotting wood and making my ‘I’m-just-a-poor-lost-puppy-please-help-me’ eyes. An old woman comes to the door and opens it, her eyes widen as she sees me and she exclaims with a very pronounced Italian accent,
“Oh! Poor puppy, come inside, come inside!” As soon as I take one step forward, she scoops me up, hugging me against her chest.  She smells like lavender soap and fresh rain.  “Amelia, Scott! Come here, I have a surprise!” Two teenagers immerge from the back room.  The girl, Amelia looks to be about fifteen with light brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and gray eyes.  Scott has the same hair and eyes as Amelia and the old woman, but after that, the resemblance stops.  He has a big nose and towers over everyone else in the room.  He’s probably somewhere around eighteen.  Both Scott and Amelia have headphones over their ears, and are staring at the old woman with disinterest.
“What is it, Grandmama?” Scott asks in a rumbly voice.  He looks like he’s going to add a surly comment, but Amelia interrupts him when she sees me.
“Oh.  My.  God.  Grandmama! A puppy!  Where’d you get him?” She rushes forward, taking me from Grandmama.   I sneeze, Amelia smells like coconut with a strong underlying scent of cigarette smoke.  “Oh, poor baby, you must have been outside for so long,” She says to me, then to Grandmama, “I’ll go get him cleaned up in the bathtub.”
Grandmama starts to protest, saying something about rabies shots and cleanliness, but Amelia’s already taken me into the bathroom.  I squirm, knowing what comes next, but Amelia’s having none of it. She locks the door and plops me in the tub, talking to me the whole time.
“I have some doggy shampoo from our other dogs, Lassie and Benji.”  She turns on the faucet and steamy water cascades over my fur, weighing me down.  Amelia massages the green tea scented shampoo into my skin, and then washes it out, the dust from the road coming with it.  After she’s done, she rubs me off with a towel and straps a leash around my neck dragging me along after her.
“Grandmama, what do you think we should name him?” My pulse spikes up a bit.  Name me? My name is Runt, adventure puppy. They can’t change that!  I try barking that at them, but Amelia holds my snout shut and I’m forced to shut up.
“How about Bowie?” she suggests, and I squirm some more.
“After that old singer guy that died?” Amelia asks, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, Amelia, David Bowie. I suggest that we name the puppy after him, but if you have another suggestion then don’t be shy, speak up.”
“Fine.  Bowie it is.  What kind of dog do you think he is?”
“Sheepdog, definitely. No doubt about it.”
“Didn’t… John just get a litter of sheepdogs?”
“Mmhhm.”
“Do you think Bowie ran away?”
“Mmhhm.”
“Should we give him back?”
“In time.”
“Well you’re being mighty helpful Grandmama, I’m going to take Bowie for a walk.”’
“Mmhhm.”
“Ugh!” Amelia exclaims, storming outside.  I follow her.  We walk through the grass wet with dew from this morning.  After ten minutes, we reach a barn.  I’m struck by déjà vu.  It’s so similar to John’s old barn where Mother and all my siblings still are.
“This is where Lassie and Benji live.  I’ll take you in tomorrow to meet them.  Let’s go see the horses now.”  We go into the stables behind the barn.  They have about seven horses, all jet black but for one.
“This is our newest horse, Bolt, he isn’t tame yet.”
I stare up at the horse’s face, his beautiful chocolate brown eyes.  He stares back, and everything changes.

It’s like we have an instant connection.  Bolt whinnies, letting me know that he feels it too and that it’s safe to come closer.  I strain against my leash, but Amelia holds me back.
“Careful, Bowie, the horsey isn’t trained yet.” She says, talking to me lie I’m not Runt, adventure puppy.  I bark softly as Amelia drags me out the door.  The last thing I see is the wide open door to the stables before Amelia scoops me up and forces my head to face forward.
*~*~*
That night, I’m stuck in Amelia’s bedroom.  It’s painted pinky-orange and hurts my eyes.  She has an overflowing dresser and no books whatsoever.  By her bed is a media table filled with a computer, iPad, tablet, and her phone.  A mess of charging cords and ear buds cover the floor, making it hard to walk without hurting my feet.
Luckily, she leaves her bedroom door open so I’m able to sneak out.  I follow the path to the stables and go to stand in front of Bolt.  He’s still awake, his eyes mellow and observing, roam the hay floor.  When he sees me he whinnies and I come closer.  I jump up so that my front paws are on the door and my hind legs rest on the ground.  I stretch my neck so that I can grip my teeth around the rope that opens the door to his cubicle.  I pull downward and the door swings open, and I’m forced to scramble out of the way as Bolt rushes out of the stall.  He helps me to my feet by nudging me with his nose.
He’s gigantic, all muscle and limbs.  He looks much for fit for racing then farm work.  I don’t even go up to his knees.  Bolt starts to walk toward the exit, looking back to see if I’m following.  I trot next to him as we walk next to the strawberry fields.  Every few moments, Bolt leans down and sucks up a juicy berry.  I copy him, the perfectly ripe ones almost melting in my mouth.  After twenty minutes of eating, Bolt suddenly breaks into a run.  I follow him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride.  I laugh, which in human terms sounds like a bark, twirling in circles while I run.  Maybe I’ll finally give my tail what it deserves.
For the first time in my life, I feel free.  Bolt doesn’t know me as Runt, the smallest dejected puppy in the litter.  He will only ever know Bowie, carefree and joyous.
Bolt suddenly comes to a screeching halt in front of the apple tree orchard.  Unable to stop my short puppy legs, I keep on running.  I finally get my paws to obey about 100 feet into the trees.  Bolt snorts and follows me, sitting down where I stand.  I bark and curl up with him, laying my head on his neck.
Amelia finds us like this in the morning, and scolds us both profusely, but I don’t mind.  I have found my real happy place: next to my new best friend, Bolt.