All Chapters of A Bark in the Park: Chapter 41 - Chapter 45

One week later, I stood in the park that we fought to save and let the sunlight settle over my skin like a reward we’d earned. The air was warm, thick with the scent of grass and magnolia flowers, and the breeze carried the faint hum of the city around us—distant traffic, a saxophone wailing from a subway grate, someone jogging with earbuds in. A week ago, this park had been the center of a protest. Legal threats. And now, it was the place for peaceful walks and celebrations. Today was our celebration. The entire dog family and their people had come in full force. Pockets arrived first, wearing a flower crown made of clover, bounding off ahead of Makayla and Lilac before they even finished parking. Reese and Don showed up with their arms full—Calli and Aoide on leashes in one hand, and the twins, Leocádia and Nikolaos, in a double stroller. Tootles came strutting in like royalty, dressed in a tiny bowtie that matched Apollo’s shirt, Dionysia trailing behind in a sundress and wedge

Sunlight flooded across the windows of our new Harlem apartment, anointing everything it hit with gold. I awoke to light, blinded for a moment by the brilliance, then smiled as I stretched in the warm linen sheets. Rufio lay at my feet, back up, one paw shaking as he chased something, probably a squirrel, in a dream, no doubt racing through a dream landscape of Marigold Grove. His happy snores filled the air like waves washing over a shore. Our home didn’t look like something out of a magazine, but it looked like us. My sketches were framed and hung on the walls, some playful, some intricate. In the living room there was one drawing of Rufio nose deep in a shoe and another of Alan, unguarded and grinning. The punching bag Alan had insisted on bringing from the safe house hung in the corner of the small den, now more a comfort than a necessity. And then there was Rufio’s toys—balls, ropes, a plush otter missing half its stuffing, scattered like colorful confetti across the hardw

Life at the house was nothing short of glorious these last two years. I had space. Glorious, glorious space. A yard so big I could run full speed until my paws barely touched the ground, ears flying, heart racing, the wind in my fur like applause. It was paradise—a canvas for all my zoomies, a battleground for every bird that dared linger on the fence, and my own personal patrol post. The squirrels knew better now. Even the mailman had learned to show proper respect. This wasn’t just any yard. This was mine. The house, too. My humans had filled it with laughter, furniture that wasn’t off-limits, and rugs just squishy enough to roll around on. The best part? My throne. A sun-drenched patch of floor right by the big window—warm, perfect, and shaped just right for my stretch-and-snooze routine. That spot was mine. That view was mine. This life... it was all ours. But lately, something had been wrong. My humans were gone. Alan and Amaya hadn’t come home in two whole nights. And before