The young woman pumped her legs furiously. The chill wind was cool against her sweaty face. She brushed her arm across her forehead, a layer of sweat sticking to the back of her hand. She breathed in deeply, ducking lower over the handlebars and pedaling faster.
 
 
It was the first day of spring and Angela Ramirez was taking full advantage of the early morning warmth. She looked over her shoulder at the sun rising behind the Statue of Liberty and smiled. She looked back in front of her, narrowly missing a roller blader coming from the other direction. They nodded at each other almost imperceptibly. She continued on through Battery Park on Manhattan's far south end.
 
 
The special effects artist sat upright on the big green racing bike, letting go of the handlebars long enough to take a big swig of spring water. She breathed in deeply the fresh morning air, glancing at her watch as she gripped the handlebars again. But the watch was dark. The time was not displayed on its face. She frowned, wondering when the watch had died. She skidded to a stop on the hard cement, heaving her bike around for the trip back up to the brewery district.
 
 
She shook her head, remembering her promise of late the night before to be at the loft early enough to finish some effects for a morning delivery to the studio. She wondered how late she was. She wondered how angry her boss was going to be. Probably very. She always harassed him about punctuality. Now their roles had been reversed and she tried to steel herself for the teasing that was sure to come once the tall special affects artist got over being angry.
 
 
Angela navigated the streets of early morning Manhattan with the skill of an experienced bicycle messenger, zigzagging through the mess of taxi cabs and delivery trucks, taking curbs at a flying leap. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she kept her head down trying to race the clock.
 
 
She took the turn into the alley of Brewery Lane so fast she practically slammed into the wall of the building on the corner. But she regained her balance, pumping harder.
 
 
She was sailing through the air before she knew what happened. The heavy thud of the bike hitting something in the street spooked her. There was no time to react as she felt her body lift off the bike, flying past the handlebars. She slammed hard into the dumpster, falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.
 
 
 
Rollie Tyler was pacing around the loft, occasionally stopping to fiddle with his PDA. He looked at his watch for the millionth time that morning. The film had arrived from the lab over an hour ago. Angie had promised to be there when it arrived.
 
 
Rollie heard a crash from outside the carport and looked up. He stepped out of the loft, expecting the noise to be the neighborhood children playing stickball. The dumpster was third base for them. He saw the mangled bike and the stray dog that had been hit first. He was walking towards the bike when a low moan came from his right. He turned to see his best friend and partner trying to sit up against the dumpster. The anger at her tardiness was forgotten as he rushed to her side.
 
 
"Angie, you okay?" he asked, bending down in front of her.
 
 
She looked at him, her eyes foggy. "Rollie?"
 
 
"You okay? You hit a dog."
 
 
She looked past his shoulders towards the mangled bike. "A what?"
 
 
"A dog."
 
 
"Oh, no." She turned away from the site.
 
 
"Ange, did you break anything?" He grabbed her shoulders, trying to get her attention.
 
 
"Ange, look at me. Is anything broken?"
 
 
"Rol, is it dead?"
 
 
"Angie, forget the dog. Did you break anything?"
 
 
"No. Geez, Rollie. I hit a dog."
 
 
The petite blonde tried to get up.
 
 
"Wait. Angie, do you feel dizzy?"
 
 
She ignored him, trying to stand. "I'm okay... can I get up now?"
 

"Yeah, yeah . C'mon."
 
 
"The dog, Rol. We need to take ...oh..." She leaned heavily against him, her head in her hands.
 
 
"You are dizzy." He helped her into the loft, sitting her down at his workstation.
 
 
"I'm fine. The dog..."
 
 
"Ange, forget about the bloody dog. You need a doctor."
 
 
"If we leave him out there he's going to die. I'll call Chiops' vet."
 
 
He shook his head, watching her lay down on the black leather sofa, one arm over her head, the other dialing the number on the portable phone. He walked outside to retrieve the mangled bike and the still animal.
 
 
They dropped the dog at the vet on the way to the hospital. The small animal, a mixed breed stray, had come to and was whimpering slightly in Angie's arms in the truck. She cooed to him softly as she watched the early morning traffic.
 
 
The vet  looked him over carefully as Rollie stood holding the frightened animal and Angie sat in the corner. She was still a little woozy. The dog had some bad cuts and a couple of broken ribs, but was more scared than anything else. A lab technician took the dog away to the back to stay until his ribs healed. Then he would be sent to the pound. Angie asked the older woman in the white lab coat how likely it would be that he would get adopted.
 
 
"Not very likely, Angie. I'm sorry. He's no longer a puppy. Most people wanting to adopt are looking for young puppies."
 
 
The young blonde woman looked down and said "oh" softly.
 
 
As Rollie helped Angie into the truck he said simply, "Don't get any ideas. You're not even supposed to have a cat in your building and I'm not taking in some stupid mutt."
 
 
"Rollie!"
 
 
"Sorry, Ange. But neither one of us has time for a dog. And I can see you're already trying to think of something."
 
 
She looked at him and made a face. "Maybe Francis. His girls..."
 
 
"Don't even go there. Sarah says no way, you know that."
 
 
"Fine. Whatever." The truck grew uncomfortably silent. Angie folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the tall Australian.
 
 
At the hospital, she was x-rayed. Slight concussion, but not enough to keep her, and the cuts on the side of her arms and legs were treated. A large purple bruise had formed on her shoulder where she had hit the dumpster, but would heal in time. Her arm was wrapped in an ace bandage and placed in a sling because of the minor sprain, but it was not broken.
 
 
As soon as they returned to the loft he handed her the film to finish the job that had not been completed the night before. She went upstairs wordlessly. She was done a short time later, and Rollie left to deliver the late project to the studio in person. As soon as she heard the truck leave, Angie called the vet to check on the dog.
 
 
When Rollie returned to the loft from the studio, the bike was in the middle of the floor in pieces. The young woman had tried to take it apart to fix it, but the frame was bent and looked worthless to Rollie. He turned around thinking she must be in the carport looking for tools, but he found her asleep on the black leather couch, the sling that was supposed to be around her neck in a pile on the floor by her feet.
 
 

He smiled as he placed a blanket gently over her, lifting her arm from the floor and placing it against her hip. When she woke, he offered to drive her home. It was still early, but their work was done for the day.
 
 
She looked longingly out the truck window towards the building the animal clinic was in as they drove past. Rollie shook his head as he looked over at her but he pulled into an empty spot down the block and got out. She looked at him as she slid from the cab of the big red pickup truck, but before she could say anything he closed the door and began to walk down the block.
 
 
"Let's just make this quick." he said. She jogged after him.
 
 
The technician escorted them to a small back room and disappeared to retrieve the dog. He was young, blonde and shy but obviously infatuated with the young special effects artist. He kept looking back at her as he led them down the hall. He brought the stray in moments later. The small animal had been cleaned up but there was still a thick bandage around his abdomen.
 
 
"I'm sorry miss, but we can't let him get too excited."
 
 
The dog began struggling in his arms when he saw Angie. The tech bent down, letting the dog go and he scurried over to Angie. She bent down to pet him as he jumped up to lick her face.
 
 
"He seems to have taken a real liking to you, Miss Ramirez.. We, uh... we named him after you. Angel. I hope you don't mind."
 
 
Angie looked up from the excited dog in her arms and smiled warmly at the young man. He broke out in a huge grin. She looked towards Rollie but he had turned and left the room. The dog tired quickly, curling up in her arms, and the young tech took him gently from her to return Angel to his cage. Angie walked to the waiting room where Rollie was reading a magazine.
 

"Ready?" he asked as soon as she walked in.
 
 
"Yeah."
 
 
When they got back in the truck he looked at her without starting the engine. She turned towards him, preparing herself for the lecture that was about to come about her attachment to the dog. "I know what you're going to say."
 
 
"Then I won't say it."
 
 
The man started the engine and pulled out onto Eighth Avenue heading for her block.
 
 
"It's not fair, Rollie. They're going to put him to sleep. Maybe one of the uniforms  at the precinct would like him. I can take a photo with the digital camera and make up a ..."
 
 
"No."
 
 
"Why not!?"
 
 
"You're already too attached."
 
 
"You're being a jerk."
 
 
The angry young woman got out of the truck, slamming the door in her wake.
 

"Angie!"
 
 
"Forget it!" She stalked into her apartment without looking back.
 
 
 
The following day at the loft was quiet for the special effects team. Angie spent the day sulking in her clean room, archiving and backing up computer files. Rollie was downstairs paying bills for equipment he had ordered the week before. He looked up towards Angie's room occasionally but she was ignoring him. He felt really bad about what he had said, but there was no room in their hectic lives for a dog. Besides, you never knew what might set off a stray animal to attack. He knew that all too well from his childhood, having been attacked by a half wild dingo mix when he was a toddler.
 
 
Late in the afternoon, she finally emerged from her glass encased computer room. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at him angrily.
 
 
"If there's nothing else..." The phone rang, interrupting her. Rollie picked it up.
 
 
"Tyler Effects."
 
 
"Oh, hi. Yeah, she's right here."
 
 
He handed her the phone.
 
 
She turned away from him as she listened. "Oh, I see. Thank you for calling."
 
 
She handed the phone back to him, her eyes distant.
 
 
"Ange?"
 
 
"Angel had an infection from the broken ribs. He had a fever all day. He's dead, Rollie." She closed her eyes for a moment trying not to get upset. When she opened them, she was trying to hold back the tears. Rollie placed his arm around her shoulder.
 
 
She looked up at him, then stepped from his embrace. "You don't care."
 
 
"Yes, I do."
 
 
She made a face.
 
 
"Look, Ange. I was worried something like this might happen. I didn't want you to get hurt. Besides, when I was a kid I was attacked by a dog that had been a stray. Scared the daylights out of me. The scar on the inside of my elbow is from that attack."
 
 
"You told me when we met it was from a knife fight."
 
 
Rollie shrugged sheepishly. "Trying to impress the boss's daughter?"
 
 
"Jerk."
 
 
"Look, I really am sorry about the dog not making it. It's not that I don't want you to have a dog, sweetie. I don't trust strays. And you know we travel too much. At least Chiops can fend for himself while we're away. Friends?"
 
 
"Yeah, I guess," the young woman said reluctantly.
 
 
The next morning, Angie entered the loft wearily. The death of the stray dog named after her had hit her harder than she thought it would, and she had difficulty sleeping. So it was a complete shock to her when a tiny black and white puppy barely two months old with a big pink nose and big black paws came bounding towards her from the lounge. She tried to stop but slid into Angie's leg rear first on the smooth floor.
 
 
The woman picked her up, smiling as the puppy tried to lick her face. She looked questioningly up at Rollie who was standing a few feet away.
 
 
He shrugged. "I saw her on the six o'clock news last night after you left. You seemed so unhappy about the other one, I thought she might cheer you up."
 
 
"You know I can't have a dog, Rol. And what about all that stuff about being too busy?"
 
 
The lanky effects artist shrugged again. "We've got three weeks to train her before we go on location again. She won't get as big as the other one. Just keep her in the van while we're shooting. Okay?"
 
 
"Deal."
 
 
Angie got on the floor with her new puppy. The small animal grabbed her sleeve, shaking it with her head, her black ears flapping against her nose. Angie laughed as they played, not noticing Rollie moving to the corner of his workstation. He picked up a camera and took some photographs of them, trying to capture the joy and love in his friend's eyes.
 
 
He lowered the camera from his eyes, smiling. He knew she would ask him many times why he had suddenly changed his mind and gone out and gotten her a puppy. He also knew he would never be able to explain in a way that she would understand that seeing her in the animal clinic with the stray had brought up memories of his childhood in Australia and a dog that had once been his. Seeing her light up when the stray came running to her made him acutely aware of the things she never had during her childhood. He had realized that he didn't want to deny her those things now.
 
 
He put the camera away and sat down across from her.
 
 
"Now we just need a name for our new friend."
 
 
Angela smiled at her boss coyly. "I kinda liked Angel."
 
 
The small puppy began to squirm in Angie's arms. Angie reluctantly let her go. She made a beeline for Rollie, trying to jump into his lap but falling short and sliding down his leg. The two artists laughed. As Rollie lifted the puppy to his lap, he said, "Angel it is." The puppy was trying to lick Rollie's face but it was too high and she was barely reaching his chin with her pink tongue.
 
 
"I think she likes it, Rol."