Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Cage Next Door

I wasn’t ready to accept my fate.

Not when my paws were twitching involuntarily.

Not when I drooled by accident.

Not when I sneezed so hard I headbutted the bars in front of me.

But fate didn’t wait for my approval.

Because just as I was trying to process the fact that I had died and become a dog, the pug in the next cage gave a throaty, dramatic sigh.

“Well,” he said, “looks like reincarnation still has a wicked sense of humor. You’re a mutt.”

I blinked. “Bark?”

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, waving his paw in a vaguely dismissive way. “I’ve seen the look before. Confused. Angry. Unshowered. You died recently, didn’t you?”

I stared.

He stared back.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “Another fallen soul.”

The pug leaned closer to the bars separating us. His fur was a patchy mosaic of beige and gray, his eyes slightly mismatched, one wandering, the other locked firmly on mine.

“Name’s Barkus,” he said, puffing up his chest like he’d just revealed royalty. “Though in my previous life, I was probably Cleopatra.”

I blinked again.

“Bark?”

“Right, right,” he said with a lazy roll of his paw. “You haven’t found your voice yet. That happens. First few days are rough. You’ll sound like a chew toy, you’ll think fleas are assassins, and you'll question everything.”

He scratched behind his ear dramatically. “Ah, to be freshly reincarnated again.”

Freshly reincarnated. Like bread. Or regret.

I sat there, stunned, as Barkus launched into a monologue.

“I’ve been here a while. Watching. Waiting. Occasionally faking a limp to avoid baths. They don’t suspect a thing.” He sniffed. “I used to be important, you know. I had wealth. Fame. Possibly ruled an empire. The details are hazy, but the aura? Unmistakable.”

I tilted my head.

He nodded, clearly proud.

“You’ll get your memories back,” he continued. “Or maybe you won’t. Some of us are here because we messed up. Others... well, maybe we’re here to finish something. I haven’t quite figured mine out yet. But you...” He squinted at me. “You’ve got the look of a man who avoided emotional growth like fleas.”

I barked in protest. Sort of. It came out like a squeaky door hinge.

Barkus chuckled.

“Denial. Classic Stage One.”

Just then, a human came down the row—volunteer, probably. She was humming a soft tune, holding a clipboard and a bag of treats. Her footsteps made the dogs go wild.

Including Barkus.

He immediately began limping and whimpering like a Shakespearean ghost.

“Ack! My hip! My delicate aristocratic hip!” he groaned, falling against the bars.

The volunteer paused, looked at him blankly, and moved on.

Barkus popped back up, unbothered.

“Doesn’t always work,” he whispered, as if letting me in on a great secret.

I lay there, defeated, watching as the woman clipped a note to my cage door.

New Intake – No Name. Approx 2 yrs. Good teeth. Skittish. Mutt mix.

No name.

No identity.

No clue what the hell I was doing here.

And yet, somehow, Barkus was already chewing on his fifth imaginary legacy.