Clem pressed his nose against the fence post at the edge of Gremlin's Gorge. The scent of pine and old memories filled his nostrils. Somewhere beyond the ridge, buried in the yard where his first friend once lived, lay the brass collar he'd lost years ago. He turned and started down the dusty trail. His paws kicked up small clouds with each step. The sun beat down on his red bandana as he walked. After an hour, the path opened into a clearing. There it stood—the old adobe house with peeling paint. The walls were cracked and faded. A doghouse sagged in the yard, its roof-collapsed. Clem's tail wagged once. This was the place. The brass collar waited somewhere beneath that packed dirt, holding memories of when everything was different. He padded across the yard toward the doghouse. The wood smelled of rot and dust. Clem circled the structure twice, sniffing for the right spot. His nose caught something—a faint metallic scent mixed with earth. He stopped near the back corner where the ground looked softer. His claws scraped against the packed dirt. This was it. This was where he'd buried the collar all those years ago, the last piece of his first friend. Clem sat down and stared at the spot. Tomorrow he would dig. Tomorrow he would hold that brass again. But waiting felt wrong. Clem stood and scratched at the dirt with his front paws. The ground was hard, baked by too many summers. His claws barely made a dent. A young beagle pup bounded around the corner of the house, tail wagging. The pup sniffed Clem once, then started digging beside him. His small paws worked fast, loosening the packed earth. Clem joined in, and together they dug deeper. The dirt grew softer now. Clem's heart beat faster as the hole widened. Soon the brass collar would be in his teeth again, proof that his first friend had been real.

The beagle pup stopped digging and barked once. Clem paused, his paws covered in loose dirt. The young dog had already taught him something important—packed earth needed help to break through. Clem sniffed the hole they'd made together. It wasn't deep enough yet. Clem trotted to the side of the house where a metal dish sat filled with water. He dragged it carefully across the yard to their digging spot. The water sloshed over the edges and soaked into the hard-packed dirt. The ground turned dark and soft. The beagle pup sniffed the wet earth, then started digging again. His small paws moved faster now, pulling up clumps of mud. Clem joined in, and the hole grew deeper with each scrape. The sun dropped behind the ridge. Shadows stretched across the yard. Clem could barely see the bottom of their hole anymore. He stopped digging and looked around. Near the collapsed doghouse, patches of sand glowed with a soft blue light. Clem had never seen sand do that before. He pushed some of the glowing grains toward their hole with his nose. The strange light showed him where to dig next. But the collar wasn't there. Clem sat back and stared at the empty hole. Maybe he'd remembered the wrong spot. Maybe the yard had changed too much. He needed to know for sure where his first friend's family had lived all those years ago. Tomorrow he would find the old museum in town. Someone there might have answers about this place and where the collar really waited.

The morning sun warmed Clem's back as he left the adobe house behind. His paws carried him down a winding path toward the center of Gremlin's Gorge. The town sat quiet in the early light. He passed wooden buildings with faded signs and empty porches. His nose led him forward, searching for the place that held old records and memories. At the end of the main road, a stone building stood taller than the rest. Clem pushed through the unlocked door. Inside, shelves lined the walls, filled with papers and photographs. This museum held the history of Gremlin's Gorge. Somewhere in these records was proof of where his first friend had really lived. Clem's tail wagged once. The brass collar was closer now. Clem walked past the shelves to a desk covered with old maps. He sniffed each one, searching for street names he remembered. Outside the window, something caught his eye. A dusty fire hydrant stood near the museum steps. The metal looked old, from a time when his first friend was still alive. Rust covered its surface, and faded paint peeled away in strips. A small sign next to it read "Donated by the Harmon Family - 1952." Clem's ears perked up. That was the name. The Harmons had lived in the adobe house. This hydrant had stood on their street corner all those years ago. The records inside would show him exactly where to dig. Clem turned back toward the museum door, his heart beating faster. The brass collar waited in the right place after all. He trotted down the wooden steps and followed his nose through the empty streets. The scent of breakfast drifted from a building with dark wood and carved letters. A sign hung above the door that read "Gremlin Tavern." Clem pushed through and found himself in a dim room with long tables. Three old men sat near the back, drinking coffee. Their voices carried across the empty space, talking about families who used to live here. Clem sat near their table and listened. One man mentioned the Harmons and their sheep. Another pointed out the window and described where the old pens used to be. Clem's ears turned toward every word. Outside the tavern, Clem found what the men had described. A wooden display showed a painted scene of a man with sheep and a dog by his side. The dog wore a brass collar. Below the painting, metal letters spelled out names of shepherds from long ago. Clem read each one until he found "Thomas Harmon - 1950." His tail started wagging. The brass collar he'd buried was just like the one in the painting. His first friend had been part of something real here. The adobe house was the right place. Clem turned and headed back up the path. Tonight he would dig in the spot where the doghouse used to stand. The brass collar was waiting for him there.

Clem padded back through the empty streets as the sun climbed higher. The painted shepherd and his dog stayed in his mind. Tonight he would return to the adobe house and dig where the doghouse had collapsed. The brass collar waited there, buried in the same earth where his first friend once stood. The wooden watchtower rose ahead, its bronze bell catching the morning light. Clem had passed it on his way into town yesterday. The tall structure stood at the edge of Gremlin's Gorge, visible from every street. Metal railings ran around the flat roof where someone could look out across the desert. Travelers had used it to find this town for a long time. Clem sat in its shadow and looked back at the path he'd walked. Everything here felt old and steady, like the memories he carried. He started walking again and found a yellow palo verde tree spreading its branches over a dusty clearing. The small leaves and green bark made it different from other desert plants. Clem stretched out in the shade beneath it. The cool ground felt good against his paws. Two lizards darted past, chasing each other around the trunk. This was the kind of place where neighbors might stop to rest and talk. Clem could picture his first friend's family pausing here on hot days, maybe with their sheep dog trotting beside them. Past the tree, something tall caught his eye. A thick stalk rose from an agave plant, covered in dried blooms. Carvings marked its base—dates from the 1880s scratched into the hard surface. This plant only flowered once after many years of growing. Clem sniffed the old markings and thought about all the time that had passed since the 1950s. The brass collar had been buried for decades, waiting through seasons and years. But tonight, when darkness came, Clem would dig it up and carry it again. He turned toward the path leading back to the adobe house. The sun would set soon enough.

Clem reached the adobe house as afternoon shadows stretched across the yard. He circled the collapsed doghouse three times, sniffing the dry wood and cracked earth. His paws scraped at the ground where the corner post had fallen. Dirt came away easily. He dug deeper, his claws pulling up stones and roots. Then something hard clinked against his paw. Clem stopped and pushed his nose into the hole. The edge of metal gleamed in the sunlight. He dug around it carefully until the brass collar lay free in his paws. Dust covered its surface, but the metal still caught the light. Clem picked it up in his mouth and sat back. The weight felt right. His tail wagged. Tonight he would clean it and wear it again, just like his first friend had worn it all those years ago. The next morning, Clem trotted back toward town with the brass collar hanging from his mouth. He stopped at the town hall where a man in suspenders and a pressed shirt walked up the stone steps. Clem followed close behind, his claws clicking on the smooth surface. Inside, the man spread papers across a desk and pointed at property lines on an old map. Clem set the collar down and watched. The map showed the adobe house exactly where he'd dug. The man nodded and stamped a document. Clem picked up the collar again. He'd found it in the right place after all. Outside the museum, Clem found a length of rope lying in the dust. Someone had tied knots along it at regular spaces. Each knot marked how deep the hole had been at different times. Clem sniffed the rope and recognized the scent of the yard where he'd dug. He'd measured his progress without knowing it, going deeper until the brass collar finally appeared. The rope showed how far he'd come. His tail wagged as he thought about wearing the collar every day from now on. On the museum's outer wall, fresh paint caught his eye. A mural stretched across the weathered rock, showing a beagle surrounded by desert flowers in full bloom. The dog in the painting wore a red bandana just like his. Clem sat and stared at it. Someone had painted this to mark what he'd done—the long search, the digging, the brass collar finally found. The flowers made the wall bright against the dusty town. Clem's ears lifted. His first friend would have liked this. He picked up the brass collar and started walking home, ready to wear it every morning when the sun came up.