The Adventure Of Buster

At the end of the path, the scent grew faint. Buster lifted his head. A fountain splashed to his left. A music cart played a cheerful tune to his right. The family scent seemed to float between them.

Buster chose the fountain.

He trotted around the basin, nose close to the stones. Nothing. He checked behind a trash can. Nothing but a paper cup and the sharp smell of soap.

A woman noticed him and smiled. “Hello, little pup. Are you looking for someone?”

Buster wagged and looked past her.

“Your family must be close,” she said kindly.

Buster wished he could tell her exactly where they were. He gave a small bark and hurried on.

He tried the path beside the music cart next. The tune grew louder, and people crowded around a painted wagon. Buster sniffed shoes, bags, and coats. The family scent appeared for one moment, then vanished beneath the smell of popcorn.

Buster sat down.

His paws felt dusty. His ears drooped. He had thought the trail would be a straight line, like a string tied to his family. Instead, it was breaking apart.

A breeze swept through the park and carried the scent away.

Buster sneezed.

He tried to remember what his family had taught him. Stay close. Look for the people you know. Come when called.

He listened.

“Buster!”

His ears sprang up.

The voice sounded like his family. Buster dashed toward it, past a blue bench and a tall lamp. But the voice came again, and this time it was clear. A man near the playground was calling a different dog.

Buster stopped.

The other dog ran to the man. The man knelt and rubbed its ears.

Buster watched for a moment. Then he looked down at his neck.

His collar was gone.

The bare fur around his neck felt strange. Without the collar, his family could not hear his little tags jingling. They might walk right past him without knowing he was their puppy.

Buster pressed his nose to the grass and searched again.

He found a faint line of scent leading away from the crowded path. It passed under a low fence and beside a row of old flower beds. Buster followed it carefully, placing each paw where the smell was strongest.

The park grew quieter.

The swings creaked behind him. The music faded. Tall buildings rose above the trees, their windows shining in the afternoon sun. Buster glanced back at the playground.

His family was not there.

He took three more steps, then turned around. Going farther felt wrong. He hurried back to the benches and sniffed beneath them again.

There was the red ball.

Buster nudged it with his nose. For a moment, he imagined his family laughing nearby. He picked up the ball and carried it along the path.

Perhaps they would see it. Perhaps they would know he was close.

He passed the fountain. He passed the music cart. He passed a tall sign painted with a green arrow. The arrow pointed toward a winding trail.

Buster stopped.

The scent near the sign was faint, but it was familiar. It smelled like his family’s shoes and the blanket they kept in the car. Buster sniffed again. Yes. They had walked this way before.

He wagged his tail.

“Home,” he said softly.

He followed the arrow.

The trail curved behind a hill and away from the busy park. The grass grew long along its edges. The benches disappeared. Here and there, old lamps stood with dark glass around their bulbs.

Buster slowed.

A cool wind slipped between the trees. Leaves rustled overhead. The city sounds became soft and far away.

He looked back.

The bright park was still visible, but it seemed smaller now. The path behind him held many turns. The path ahead led toward thick trees and a broken wooden gate.

A sign leaned beside it.

SHADOW WOODS, the faded letters read.

Buster did not know the name. He only knew that the trail ahead smelled of wet leaves, old wood, and many animals.

He lowered the ball to the ground.

His family’s scent came from that direction.

Buster took one step. Then another.

A crow called from a branch. Buster looked up, startled, and then saw only a black bird flapping toward the open sky. He let out a tiny breath.

“You are all right,” he told himself.

He picked up the ball again.

At the gate, he found a strip of blue cloth caught on a thorn. It smelled like the jacket one of his family members wore that morning. Buster tugged it free and held it gently in his mouth.

This was proof. He was on the right trail.

But the trail did not lead toward the sunny playground. It led into the trees.

Buster waited for someone to come after him. He listened for footsteps, voices, or the jingle of his collar.

Nothing came.

The sun slid lower behind the buildings. Orange light touched the tops of the trees, while the ground beneath them turned gray. A chill brushed Buster’s nose.

He set the blue cloth beside the gate and sniffed the path.

The family scent was there, thin as a thread.

Buster looked back one last time at the bright park. He wanted to stay where people laughed and fountains splashed. He wanted to curl up beneath the bench with his red ball.

But his family was not behind him.

They were somewhere ahead.

Buster lifted his chin, picked up the blue cloth, and stepped through the broken gate. The leaves whispered under his paws as he chose the dark shortcut into the Shadow Woods.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters in the full book.