The California Hounds

The Road to California

Early, the next morning, the sun was just peeking up over the horizon. Most of the gang were still sleeping, but Tito had just woken up, ready for his trip to California. He pulled on Francis's jowls, and the bulldog was roused from sleep.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Francis groaned, stretching.

The two dogs headed out of the houseboat, trying to not to make a sound; however, they hadn't gotten as far as the dock when a familiar figure approached them. They turned around; it was Dodger.

"Where, pray tell, are you going?" Dodger asked.

Tito breathed in. 

"You caught us, amigo," Tito confessed. "Frankie and I...we're going on a vacation."

"A vacation?" Dodger was perplexed.

"Yes," Francis replied.

"Where, might I ask?" Dodger enquired.

"California," the Bulldog tersely answered.

"OK, well..." Dodger smiled. "You two deserve a vacation. Before ya go, ya might wanna get something to eat."

"We will, amigo," Tito replied. The Chihuahua and the bulldog took off into the city as Dodger smiled back.

The two made their way through the bustling streets of Manhattan. A concrete jungle with towering buildings and traffic and pedestrians as far as the eye could see. 

First on the agenda was food; after all, a road trip to California would take them at least two days and they needed something substantial to get them through the journey. Lucky for them, a nearby diner provided them with some ample opportunity to grab some breakfast; they managed to "liberate" themselves some sunny side up fried eggs, bacon and some pancakes slathered in syrup.

Next was to head to the bus station. The two dogs hid within a large crowd of passengers, ready to board a bus to the West Coast; lucky for them, the officer who was processing them was none the wiser.

"California, here we come!" Tito squealed.

"Yes, my friend," Francis smiled.

The bus pulled out of the station and slowly picked up speed, before driving through the heart of Manhattan, across the Brooklyn Bridge and far away, until New York was but a speck on the far horizon.

This was it. The start of the journey.