A Dog Called Ducky

Book 2: Dog Agency Novels

by Ducky the Yorkie, Amanda K. Morgan

Genres: Media Tie-In

Synopsis

Ducky, the adorable Yorkie with 2.3M TikTok followers and legions more fans on Instagram and YouTube, makes the leap to fiction with this heartwarming and romantic novel—the second in The Dog Agency Novels—with strong messages of inclusion, anti-bullying, and self-love. For fans of Melinda Metz, Victoria Schade, and Annie England Noblin.

One hot fall day, schoolteacher Layla Sanford arrives at her cozy home to find she has two guests. One is a tiny, adorable Yorkie in a cable-knit sweater and a fuzzy yellow ducky hat. The other is Layla’s best friend Christine, Ducky’s beloved person and momager. Ducky, after all, is no regular dog. He’s a TikTok star with millions of followers, making up in personality and photogenic appeal what he lacks in size.
 
Layla agrees to watch Ducky while Christine is called away for work and is quickly charmed by the miniature mutt. Ducky instinctively seems to know how to cheer people up, whether it’s by picking out the perfect canine costume or gravitating to Lucas, a shy, lonely new student in Christine’s class.
 
Layla isn’t the only person concerned about Lucas. Garrett, Layla’s handsome colleague, is also worried about the little boy. But it’s Ducky who comes to the rescue, becoming Lucas’s unlikely protector and a class mascot, beloved by all the students—and the whole town. So when the school lunch program is cut and the community is threatened by rumors of a plant closure, Ducky might just be the hero the town never knew they needed. The Yorkie’s loving personality brings Layla and Garrett together—and inspires them to find ways to bring more joy to their small town, spreading Ducky’s message of self-love and acceptance as only a loyal, funny, feisty little dog can do . . .

Release date: January 21, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Layla Sandberg’s front door was open.

It wasn’t, like, wide open. But it stood slightly ajar, and Layla had very specifically remembered locking it that morning, because the door had swollen a bit in the summer heat, and even though it was September, it remained stubbornly difficult to close. She’d had to give it an extra shove with her shoulder to get the lock to line up. She’d pulled on the handle, twice, to make sure the lock had finally caught.

It had.

But now—now, the door was open a few inches. She adjusted the handles on her tote, overstuffed with books and digging into her shoulder, her keys hanging rather uselessly from her thumb. She arranged them between her fingers, just in case. She remembered some self-defense advice from college, where the woman had told her to use keys as claws in case of an attack, but now, Layla felt about as threatening as a tabby cat.

Layla took a couple of timid steps toward the door, her heart pounding in her ears. Should she call the police? Was Harold, the lone police officer in the tiny town, even working, or was he, more likely, taking an afternoon nap on one of the sofas in the town’s sole furniture store? This was, after all, Two Falls, Nebraska, where the most serious crime had been the previous year when Old Lady Wilkes had called the cops because she got paranoid that Marjorie Handler-Marks, from across the street, had poisoned her prize tomatoes. Never mind that Old Lady Wilkes’s “prize tomatoes” were consistently underripe and rather pitiful, but the fair judges gave her a blue ribbon every year because they didn’t have the heart to tell her her time was better spent . . . well, literally anywhere else.

Go inside, Layla told herself. There’s nothing there. Maybe the door just popped open from air pressure and you didn’t lock it as well as you thought you did.

She let out a steadying breath, trying to slow down her heart rate. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. Right?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement behind the curtains—just a shadow shifting inside her little house. The house she’d worked so hard to put a down payment on. It wasn’t easy buying a house anymore, especially as a teacher. And she wasn’t going to let just anyone walk around inside her home. Not without permission, at least.

Feeling a touch bolder, she stepped onto her front stoop, being as quiet as possible, as if whoever was inside wouldn’t have heard her noisy old Bronco pull into the driveway. And if whoever this was wasn’t scared of her . . . why should she be scared of them?

Without letting herself think too much, Layla took a deep breath and pushed the thick wooden door the rest of the way open. “Hello?” she called out, her voice quavering slightly in spite of herself. She took a tentative step inside, dropping her tote bag on the floor beside the doormat. “Is someone here?”

That was when a shadow jumped out at her.

It wasn’t human, that was for sure—it was small and furry and a bit round, and it came at her with its mouth wide open and its tongue lolling out.

Layla put her hands out, palms first, and screamed, shutting her eyes tight against the attack, her keys dangling uselessly.

But . . . nothing happened.

She opened one eye, then the other, and dropped her hands. Her would-be attacker sat in front of her, at her feet: a tiny, adorable Yorkie, staring up at her, completely puzzled. He tilted his head quizzically, and Layla pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her racing heart.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, little guy.”

The sound of laughter rang out from the kitchen, and a moment later, her best friend from high school, Christine Hsu, appeared in the doorway, a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream in her hand and a silver spoon sticking out of the top. “Did Ducky really scare you that much?”

Layla blinked at her. “In my defense, I don’t normally come home to a strange dog jumping out at me.”

Christine rolled her eyes. “First of all, strange dog? You’ve known Ducky his whole life. Secondly, you didn’t expect me? Not when you sent me a picture of the exact location of your hide-a-key?”

Layla stared at her for a moment, the pieces of her mistake clicking into place in her brain. “Oh, crap.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Christine licked ice cream off the spoon. “You totally forgot we were visiting. That’s why you have mint chocolate chip instead of salted caramel, which you know is my favorite.”

“I didn’t forget,” Layla protested. “I just had you marked on my calendar for next week.”

“So you thought Ducky was trying to murder you?”

“Exactly.” Layla dropped to the ground, closer to the dog’s level, and held out her hand apologetically. “Sorry for screaming at you, Ducky. But in my defense, you did jump-scare me.”

“Which would mark the first time he almost hurt anyone,” Christine said.

“What about that time he tripped your husband?”

“Accident,” Christine said. “Besides, Jason deserved it. He was like twenty minutes late with Ducky’s supper.”

Layla gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Poor Ducky. Thank God he survived the ordeal.”

Ducky sniffed Layla, and licked her hand tentatively, and then rubbed his head against her fingers, asking for pets. She swept him up in her arms and cradled him, and he nestled in, tucking his little head under her chin. Layla was clearly forgiven.

“Good thing he doesn’t hold grudges,” Christine said. “He almost peed his pants when you screamed.”

“He’s not wearing pants.”

“Not today. Luckily.”

Layla laughed. Ducky did, actually, wear pants pretty often, as well as a variety of other outfits. “Well, I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but it’s clear you already have.”

Christine nodded. “Absolutely. I can’t wait for you to show me around all of Two Falls.” She sat back onto Layla’s couch, tucking a leg underneath her. “I mean, if there’s any part I didn’t see when I drove in.”

Layla sucked her teeth, pretending to think. “Mrs. Carter got a new fountain in her front lawn.”

Christine nodded. “Sounds riveting.”

“Biggest news of the year.”

“Not even close. Didn’t you hear that Ogallala got a Walmart?”

Christine put a hand over her chest, shocked. “No.”

They collapsed into laughter. Riffing on Nebraska was something that only Nebraska people were allowed to do—and since Christine and Layla had been best friends throughout middle and high school, they were well-versed in Nebraska jokes.

“How’s the tour going?” Layla asked, changing the subject. She set Ducky down, and he started exploring the living room, becoming very interested in a potted plant sitting in the corner. He pawed at it and then sprang back when the leaf bounced. Layla grinned, watching him. Ducky wasn’t just any Yorkie—he was famous. He had millions of followers across social media, and Christine wasn’t exactly lacking in followers either, as a bona fide travel and fashion influencer. The two were making a trek across the country to meet fans, and, of course, no cross-country trip would be complete without a stop to see her best friend—even if it was a little out of the way.

“Amazing,” Christine said. “I pretty much love everyone I’ve met. Except for one guy who I thought was going to steal Ducky. He literally grabbed my little guy and almost crushed him with his love.”

“Well,” Layla said. “Ducky is very squooshable. Look at him. You just want to squeeze him. It’s called cuteness aggression. It’s why people grit their teeth when they see adorable animals.”

“Ducky is a delicate angel from heaven.”

Ducky looked over at them, his pink tongue hanging out, like he knew they were talking about him.

“He’s a picture of elegance and grace,” Layla countered.

“I know, right?”

Layla watched as Ducky lost interest in the plant and went to sniff at her bag of books lying by the door. She settled onto the other end of the couch, kicking off her shoes.

“Do you think you can hang for a few days?” Layla asked hopefully. She’d missed her friend, and Two Falls, although a wonderful little town, didn’t exactly have a thriving social scene, unless she counted bingo nights at the local senior center. She knew that Nettie Rhodes always bought cheap whiskey and drank it in the parking lot with her friend, Elaina. And, well, anyone else who wanted to have a little extra fun shouting out numbers.

Christine pretended to consider. “It depends. Will you forget I’m here?”

Layla threw a couch pillow at her friend. “I’m sorry, okay? School just started. I’m stressed. I had you down on the calendar for next week. I swear. Honest mistake.”

“First of all, school started a good month ago. Second, and most important, you know I can never forgive you.”

The pair dissolved into laughter again. “Will food help?” Layla offered. “I do actually have frozen pizza in the freezer, if you want.”

“Frozen pizza sounds amazing. Do you have Cheetos?”

Layla nodded. In college, they had spent many late-night study sessions splitting bags of Cheetos, smearing their textbooks and homework with orange fingerprints while they worked through their schoolwork.

So Layla tossed a fresh bag of Cheetos at her friend, and set about preheating the oven and putting paper plates on the table. It wasn’t long before the two were sharing a completely unhealthy and ridiculous meal, with Ducky at their feet. It almost felt like old times.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Layla said finally, between bites of pizza. “How long can you stay with me?”

Christine steepled her fingers. “Actually, I have a proposal.”

“I’m listening.”

Christine leaned forward. “So. As it turns out, I have a skating competition. I have to be in Omaha for all things ice Monday through Thursday.”

Layla nodded. It was yet another Christine Thing, as she liked it call it. If she hadn’t known Christine forever, she would have thought her friend’s life was a tad bit unbelievable. A famous influencer? Who was also a professional figure skater? With a famous dog? Sometimes, Layla felt a little ordinary next to her fabulous friend. But that was also the reason she liked Christine so much—Layla never, not once, felt treated as less than by her friend. Other people in Christine’s place probably wouldn’t have stayed in touch with their small-town schoolteacher friend—but not Christine. When Christine called, it was like they were still in college going for midnight chicken nuggets and no time had passed at all.

“Apparently, they’re asking me to judge, and they’re not exactly dog-friendly. Would you mind taking care of Ducky next week? I could take him with me, but I’m afraid he’d spend the whole week alone in the hotel room. Is there a chance you could keep an eye on him?”

Layla took a sip of her Diet Coke. “Are you sure? I’ve never handled a celebrity.”

“Well, it’s very complicated. He needs weekly manicures, eats chef-prepared human-grade food, and only poops in a temperature-controlled room with Ed Sheeran playing quietly in the background.”

“Wait, really?” Layla eyed Ducky, who was running in circles, chasing his tail.

Christine snorted. “You can’t forget his daily baths in FIJI Water. Evian in a pinch.”

Layla wrinkled her nose. “Are there people who don’t take baths in FIJI Water? Gross.” She paused, pretending to consider. “What’s the thread count on his sheets?”

“One-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton, but you could get away with silk, I suppose.”

“Same, Ducky.” Layla reached down and petted the little guy, who had abandoned his excited circles and was sniffing around the floor hopefully for table scraps. She looked back up at her friend, suddenly serious. “Are you sure you’d trust me to take care of him?”

Layla knew what the little dog meant to her friend. Ducky was basically Christine’s child. He was her heart dog—her canine soul mate. Layla didn’t take the ask to care for Ducky lightly.

“I’d much rather leave him with you than anywhere else. I know you’ll take care of him better than anyone else. Besides, don’t you deal with little kids all day? Ducky’s easy to take care of in comparison.”

Layla snorted. “I’ve never heard of a celebrity being easy to take care of.”

Christine reached down and swept Ducky into her lap. “Are you kidding? Ducky’s, like, the nicest celebrity ever.” She paused. “Seriously, he’s a breeze.” She stood up, passing Ducky to Layla. “You’ll be best friends in no time. You guys bond. I gotta pee.”

Layla watched Ducky while Christine was in the bathroom. He looked innocently at her at first, and then squirmed to get out of her hands. She let him down on the floor, watching him carefully. Maybe she could take care of him. Maybe . . . it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she could tell Christine she’d think about it.

“You’re not going to give me any trouble, right, Ducky?”

Ducky looked at her mischievously. And then he stole a Cheeto from Christine’s plate, gulping it down before Layla could snatch it away.

She sighed. “I have a feeling you’re not going to make this easy.”

But of course it wasn’t. Because, despite being a second-grade teacher, Layla hadn’t really had to care for something in a long time. And she wasn’t sure if she was quite ready to do that.

She had to tell Christine no. There was no way she could take care of a dog. She could barely take care of herself.

After only a day of eating at Runza—a Nebraska restaurant that specialized in delicious bread pockets filled with cabbage and beef—a short jaunt in the park, and a dinner where the pair split almost an entire rhubarb pie at Evelyn’s Roadside Diner, Christine had gotten a call: one of her fellow judges for her skating competition was in the hospital with a ruptured appendix, and they needed Christine stat—which effectively cut their plans for a girls’ weekend short.

Which, conveniently, cut Layla’s plans for talking her way out of keeping Ducky short. She’d felt uncomfortable about it since Christine had asked. What if she was a bad dog parent? What if Ducky decided he didn’t like her? What if he got out and ran into the road and it was all her fault?

Or . . . what if Layla got attached to the little pup? That would almost be worse.

She’d thought up a complicated plan to hire a full-time dog sitter who could bring Ducky to Christine’s hotel at night, and had even downloaded a dog sitting app, stopping to screenshot the five-star dog sitters who lived near Christine’s hotel.

But, before Layla got the courage to show Christine the new plan, her friend had gotten the call and now Christine was in even more of a bind with Ducky. Her parents had moved to LA, and she didn’t have any close relatives left in Nebraska. There was just Layla.

Suddenly, Layla’s plan felt selfish. Christine really needed Layla’s help—her friend couldn’t exactly tote the pup along in her cute little Louis Vuitton doggy carry bag. Besides, Ducky hated being in the cold of the rink. He shivered miserably until Christine put a sweater on him, and even then he just cuddled into her arms, his head tucked between his paws.

“Are you sure he can’t just . . . hang out with you? Isn’t he used to large crowds of people?” Layla said, a halfhearted protest,

“Ducky won’t be the center of attention,” Christine explained. “He can’t handle that. It might shatter his worldview.”

“But I have to work!” Layla had protested. “He won’t be the center of attention when I’m not here.”

“He’ll be fine alone for a little while,” Christine assured her. “Just check in on him during the day with your cameras. I’ll be back next weekend. I promise.”

“Cameras? This is Nebraska, Christine. Our security systems are nonexistent.” She shook her head. “Wow, LA has changed you.” She grinned at her friend.

Christine sighed. “If you have to hire a dog sitter, I’ll pay you back.”

“Dog sitters? Here? I mean, if you’re okay with Mr. Rogers doing it, I’m sure we can figure it out. But I’m sure there are a lot more dog sitters in Lincoln and Omaha.” She lifted her phone, ready to show Christine her screenshots.

“Wait. Mr. Who?” Christine had wrinkled her brow. “We can’t let just anyone take care of my handsome boy. It has to be someone you know. Not some random person we find on an app.”

Layla lifted a shoulder. Mr. Rogers was legendary. It felt strange, in a way, to explain him to someone who didn’t live in the town. He was theirs. But . . . maybe he could help, so Layla wouldn’t worry about Ducky all day. Maybe she could actually handle this. If Mr. Rogers agreed to watch Ducky, it was important that Christine was okay with it too.

“No one knows his real name for sure. I think it’s Harold or something, but everyone calls him Mr. Rogers because he’s basically the most wholesome guy ever. He wears cardigans unironi-cally, and he volunteers at the school to read to the first graders. All the kids go to his house to fundraise, because he can’t say no to a good cause, so he has a house full of candy bars and cookie dough that he gives away to all the neighbors. Oh, and he volunteers at the shelter. He can’t walk very far, so he just sits with the dogs, and sometimes they nap on him.”

Christine nodded. “Solid, I guess.” She still looked skeptical though, her brows knitted slightly closer together than normal. “I mean, are you sure about him? How well do you really know him?”

“He had a dog—Lady Ruffles—until last year. Even though, Mr. Rogers is, like, a million years old, he, like, blew up an old air mattress and slept on the floor next to Lady Ruffles the whole last year of her life, when her joints hurt too much to climb up on the bed with him. I heard that even after his dog passed away, Mr. Rogers slept on the floor for an entire month just because he missed her.”

“That’s super sweet.” Christine hesitated, her brow furrowed. “If you trust him, I do too.”

“I mean, I’ll ask him. I’d feel better about leaving Ducky with Mr. Rogers than leaving him at home alone. Besides, what if Ducky decides to wreck the place?”

Christine sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “He does that a lot. Last week, he threw a rager in my place. I still can’t get the beer smell out of my couch. His friends came over and chewed all my sneaker collections. His brother, Katsu, got picked up by the cops for public urination.”

“See?” Layla said. “Out of control.” She paused. “Wait—what about Jason? Wouldn’t Ducky be happier with his dad?”

“I promised my husband I’d never leave him alone with more than two dogs. It was in our marriage vows,” Christine said. Aside from Ducky, Christine and Jason also raised Katsu, an elderly Yorkie, and Barb, a sweet little snow-white Maltipoo. “Besides, Ducky loves to travel; he gets antsy if he’s home for too long. Also he hates sports, which is all Jason, Katsu, and Barb will watch while I’m gone.”

“I mean . . . I guess,” Layla said.

“Please?” Christine begged. “I really prefer to leave Ducky with someone I trust. And you’ll hardly even notice he’s there. It would really, really help me out. Plus I’ll be back in a week, and we can hang out just like we planned. I swear.”

Which was how Layla ended up spending her Sunday—not with her best friend, Christine, but instead at home with a tiny dog, who was looking at up her, his eyes wide and hopeful. She had to admit—she enjoyed his company. The moment she had stretched out on the couch and pulled a blanket over her legs, he’d cuddled next to her, stretching out with a cute, contented little groan. Now that she had hauled herself off the couch to head to the kitchen, he’d shown her his tummy, as if he wasn’t ready for her to leave him just yet.

“Belly rubs?” she asked him. “Is that what you want, little guy?”

She could swear he smiled, his happy little doggy mouth curving upward. It was contagious, and Layla dropped to the floor, sitting closer to Ducky, and began scratching his tummy. He grunted happily, stretching his back and his little legs out as far they would go. He really was adorable. She wondered, for a moment, when Christine came back to pick up Ducky, if she should get a dog too. Or maybe a cat. Cats were more independent and could deal with her being gone during the day. But, Layla reasoned, they probably weren’t as snuggly as Ducky. They probably didn’t have such sweet little eyes.

It had been a long time since Layla had a dog. She’d grown up with dogs; her parents were animal lovers and had always had golden retrievers roaming around the house. She’d loved them, but after she’d left the house, her last dog, Frito, had been hit by a car. He’d always dug holes, and this time, he dug out of the backyard and ran onto the street. Her parents had tried to save him, but Frito’s injuries were too much, and he had to be put down. Her parents had meant to get another one; they’d even put a deposit on a puppy before . . . everything happened. And then, there were no more dogs. The breeder had asked Layla if she wanted the little golden puppy, and she’d almost said yes, but then she just . . . couldn’t. Ducky was the first dog she’d spent time with since, and it made her heart twist a little bit. He wasn’t anywhere close to a golden retriever, but his pure, unadulterated sweetness brought her back. She was determined to be the best dog sitter ever.

Which was how Layla found herself standing on her neighbor’s front stoop, Ducky sitting happily in her arms, his pink tongue sticking out his mouth. He was light, like she was holding a doll. He didn’t squirm but sat patiently, as if he were used to being carried, and settled in comfortably. It made sense—Christine took Ducky pretty much everywhere. He was a world traveler. He’d definitely been way, way more places than Layla ever had.

She pressed the doorbell and waited. It took Mr. Rogers a while to get to the door, so she stroked Ducky’s head lightly, shifting from foot to foot, until finally the door opened up and an old man with two tufts of white hair sticking out from either side of his head stood in the entryway, smiling widely. He wore his trademark navy suspenders, and in traditional elderly man fashion, his pants were pulled up high enough she could see the yellow polka dots on his navy-blue socks.

“Why, Layla!” he exclaimed. “Who is this handsome fella?”

“Hi, Mr. Rogers,” she said. She held up the dog, her hands under his front legs, like he was Simba in The Lion King, being presented to the pride. “I’d like you to meet my friend Ducky.”

Mr. Rogers’s face transformed just looking at the dog, his smile widening further with joy. “Well, nice to meet you, young man!” He motioned toward Layla. “Come on in, then, and we can all get properly acquainted.” He lifted his finger in the air. “And you can tell me about the kids you have this school year. I need to hear all about those Drubbins kids. People say they’re nothing but trouble, but they helped me water my wife’s begonias when I twisted my ankle last summer.”

Layla had the Drubbins twins in her class this year. They were a little mischievous, but nice enough kids, even if she happened to know that Avery had tried to eat chalk three different times in first grade and stuck rocks in his nose that later had to be removed in the ER two towns over. (Sandberg, the closest town to Two Falls, didn’t have a hospital.) She was hoping she wouldn’t have to deal with that this year. Mr. Ehlemeier, his teacher the previous year, had to keep all the chalk on a shelf too high for Avery to reach after the third attempt. Apparently, cleaning weird, chalky vomit off the floor wasn’t as fun as it sounded. And it didn’t sound remotely fun.

Layla followed Mr. Rogers into his living room, which was a cheerful little room, to say the least. His late wife had been a fan of florals and had outfitted the room with them in excess—the couch sported a bright floral pattern; the chair had purple flowers stitched into the upholstery; photos of bright yellow daisies were hung on the walls; and big clay pots of green plants were strewn about the room. She had been a colorful person, and after her passing, Mr. Rogers had refused to change anything about the space his wife had taken such joy in putting together. He continued to tend to the giant garden out back no matter what, and it had continued to flourish.

Layla heard the faint sound of a radio playing from the kitchen; it was, predictably, tuned to the oldies station, the sad song’s low, languid tones a strange juxtaposition to the cheery living room. She’d asked him, once, when she first moved in next door, why his radio was always playing. He’d told her it made his house feel a little less empty. Now that Lady Ruffles was gone, the radio was turned up a bit louder—an attempt at filling all the emptiness around him, she was sure.

She let Ducky down on the ground, and he began to sniff around the floor. He eventually settled at Mr. Rogers’s feet and peered up at him, his ears perked forward curiously. Mr. Rogers leaned down, his wrinkled fingers outstretched.

Ducky sniffed him tentatively, and having decided Mr. Rogers passed the test, he hopped up on his hind legs, front legs outstretched, like he was asking for a hug. Layla could almost see Mr. Rogers melt. Ducky had charmed him completely. It made sense how he had so many social media follower. . .