The Fast and the Furriest

by Andy Behrens

  “For football, yeah?” asked Howie.

  Not in a thousand lifetimes, no, thought Kevin.

  “Well, sure,” he said. He stared at his father, unblinking.

  “He is eating all weird,” said Izzy, removing her gum. “That’s for sure.”

  “The boy was born eatin’ weird,” said Howie. “Had his first McRib before he even had baby teeth.”

  “No,” said Izzy, “I mean, like, he’s been eating good stuff—non–fast food stuff. And fewer snack cakes, too.”

  “Is that right, Kev?” asked Howie. “Really?” It was almost as if his son were being accused of witchcraft.

  “Yes, Dad.” Kevin shook his head and groaned. “Come on, Cromwell.”

  Kevin tugged at the dog’s leash, and the pair took a few quick steps.

  Howie lurched the SUV forward and leaned his head out the window.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “We’re tryin’ to talk to you, Kev. Come on … you say we don’t ask things, so here we are, asking.”

  Kevin stopped.

  “Yes, Dad, I have been eating a little differently.”

  “For football?” asked Howie.

  Heck no, thought Kevin.

  “Right,” he said. Kevin then looked at Maggie. “You actually buy the food, Mom. You haven’t noticed that I’m not eating just chips and cream-filled snack cakes? At all? You really haven’t noticed?”

  She opened her mouth, but said nothing.

  “I eat bananas and apples and stuff lately—right in front of you! Like at the table, in full view of everyone. Izzy can confirm it.”

  “I think your, um … your weight loss initiative is lovely, Kevin,” said Maggie tentatively.

  “It’s not a weight loss initiative!” Kevin said.

  “It’s a football initiative,” said Howie, evidently satisfied. He honked the horn, which, of course, played the chorus of “The Super Bowl Shuffle.”

  “Ohmygawd, ohmygawd!” said an excited passerby. He wore a backwards Bears cap and his mouth was hanging open. “You’re Howie Pugh! Oh … my … God …”

  “Hey, how ya doin’, kid,” said Howie with a practiced grin.

  He wasn’t actually speaking to a kid, of course, but to a large grown adult male. But to Kevin, the dude looked a bit childish, fawning in front of his dad like that.

  The man looked back and forth between Kevin and Howie.

  “I … I’m totally sorry,” he stammered. “I’m interrupting. Very sorry.” Flustered, he dug into a pocket, withdrew a pen, and removed his cap. “If I could just maybe get you to sign the cap, Mr. Pugh, that’d be so awesome … I’m a huge fan….”

  “Sure thing, kid.” Howie took the pen and the cap.

  “Saw you play, back in the day,” continued the fan. “You were awesome….”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  Kevin turned on his iPod, clicked the timer, and tugged at Cromwell’s leash. He caught Izzy’s eye, then quickly spun on his heels and ran. Kevin furrowed his brow and dropped his head. The dog bounced happily beside him.

  “You could sign hats someday,” he grumbled to Cromwell. The dog woofed. “Or dog sweaters, or something.”

  Kevin arrived at Zach’s house drained from the jog, demanding virtual competition. Zach, of course, obliged.

  Down arrow … left arrow … “A” button …

  “You’re getting better in coverage,” Kevin said.

  “Hmpf,” said Zach. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “No, you tackled me almost right after the catch there—that 37-yard catch.”

  “A” button … left arrow … right arrow …

  “So are you sure that was the best move, not just telling your mom and dad about the agility stuff?” said Zach.

  “No,” answered Kevin. “I don’t know the best move, exactly. I don’t wanna talk about it. I’d rather talk about how you can’t stop the Waggle.”

  Up arrow … up arrow … left arrow … “A” button …

  “You’ll eventually need to have the dog-versus-football talk.”

  “But not now. With you.”

  “Well, no, but …”

  “… but you want to make sure your investment is secure.”

  Zach was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe.”

  “Well, it’s secure. I’m just putting off the talk. Maybe until after the thing this week.”

  “The Paw Patch Invitational?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “A” button … “A” button … “B” button …

  “Elka says that the top finisher moves on to some Midwest Kennel something-something championships. This is apparently a big deal—it’s at the United Center.” Kevin’s thumb pounded the controller. “This is what she says.”

  “Dude! Team Cromwell will dominate. Your dog is a bolt of furry lightning! He’s a, a, a … well, he’s going to dominate!”

  “Two things wrong with that,” said Kevin. “One, I am not a bolt of lightning. And two, Cromwell is not at all times what you would call disciplined. He moves fast—weirdly fast. But the deductions add up. That’s what kills us. We always have, like, two minutes of penalties.”

  “As the manager of Team Cromwell, these are shortcomings that I expect you—my employee—to address.”

  “Workin’ on it, boss,” said Kevin.

  Up arrow … left arrow … up arrow …

  Kevin intercepted Zach’s quarterback’s pass.

  “Sweet!” said Kevin.

  “Gaaaaaarrgh,” said Zach.

  “Touchdown!” said Kevin.

  “We need to make T-shirts.”

  “Dude, I beat you at Madden all the time. It’s not really a shirt-worthy achievement.”

  “No, fool. For Team Cromwell—we need T-shirts. For the Paw Patch thing. And then we’ll need ’em for the Midwest Kennel blah-bitty-blah championships.”

  “Which, just to be clear, we won’t qualify for.”

  “Whatever, Kevin. We need uniforms.”

  Kevin snickered.

  “We’ll get jerseys. Howie Pugh respects sports with jerseys, right?” asked Zach.

  “I can’t imagine Howie appreciating anything about his son and dog jumping over little plastic obstacles, actually.”

  “Who’s the best dog at Paw Patch?” asked Zach.

  “Why, are you gonna do something to them? Like send threats, written in dog language? Or poison their kibble?”

  “I like your cutthroat attitude, Kevin. But no. Just scouting the competition. If you’re going to be the best, you have to beat the best. That’s what they say in sports. At least that’s what they say on Sports Center.”

  “There’s no best dog, really,” said Kevin. “Elka has trained an army of drones. You’ve seen ’em. They’re like machines, little dog-bots.” A virtual broadcaster was excitedly discussing the details of an on-screen injury. “I think most of the reason Elka likes Cromwell is that she hasn’t exactly made him a dogbot quite yet.”

  “He’s like a dog stallion,” said Zach. “Can’t break him. Run free, li’l furry stallion.”

  “You’re odd,” said Kevin.

  “B” button … up arrow … left arrow …

  “And you need to choose your receivers a little quicker.”

  Up arrow … left arrow … up arrow …

  “Another touchdown,” Kevin said flatly.

  “Try to keep some of this dominance in reserve for the invitational, dude.”

  Kevin smiled. “Sorry, buddy. It’s hard to control. You just never know when the awesomeness will burst forth.”

  16

  Kevin and Cromwell continued their daily training runs up to that Friday, the day of the Invitational, and their times continued to improve, if only slightly. Izzy ran with them once and—to Kevin’s total astonishment—she actually seemed tired when it was over. The Monday and Wednesday sessions with Elka went reasonably well, too, but Cromwell remained a deduction machine. He collided with too many things to ever post a seriously
competitive time. Cromwell didn’t actually break any obstacles or dogs, though, and that seemed like a promising development.

  Despite the fact that they’d jogged together, Kevin had still said nothing to his sister about dog agility—or to anyone else. It had become a weight he carried with him. Would his parents actually mind? Probably. His dad certainly would. These were the classes that he refused to pay for, after all. Would this raise more questions about Kevin’s future commitment to football? Or worse, about his departure from camp at Scherzer? Possibly. The risks of discussing dog agility were too many, Kevin decided, and the benefits were too few.

  He might have been nervous on Friday morning, were it not for his certainty about the results—they were going to finish near the bottom of the field, no question. Expectations were low all around. So no need to worry.

  Zach, however, seemed unusually edgy.

  “Big day for us,” he whispered to Kevin as the friends and family of Paw Patch clients filtered into the training area. “Huge day.” Zach cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit. “Just huge.”

  “Sweet shirt,” said Kevin, mockingly.

  Zach tugged at the bottom of his mesh jersey, then admired the green lettering:

  Below the name was a very large number 1.

  “I think it’s sweet,” said Zach, still whispering. “You should wear yours, dude. In fact, you should do whatever I ask. Let’s try to remember who’s funding this operation.”

  “Even if you gave me every cent of your three-thousand-and-whatever dollars you’ve got left, I still wouldn’t wear that jersey,” said Kevin. “No way, no chance. It’s teal. Not a good color for me.”

  Cromwell began bouncing excitedly as dogs and their handlers lined up along the sidelines of the course.

  Elka had arranged a refreshments table with an awful-looking reddish-brown punch, onion crackers, unpleasant-looking cheese, and some sort of unidentifiable fruit that wasn’t quite orange but not exactly pink. There were also dog treats and rawhides.

  Cromwell continued to bounce, and soon began to whine.

  “Shhh,” said Kevin. “It’s okay, boy.” He stroked the dog’s head.

  “Maybe he wants his jersey,” said Zach. “It might calm him down.” He produced a smaller teal shirt from his backpack.

  “No, um … I think the jersey would freak him out more. He’s not a clothes-wearing kind of dog.”

  “But it’s chilly in here,” said Zach. “He might …”

  Elka interrupted the conversation, sweeping in front of Zach to greet Kevin with unusual warmth. She put an arm across his shoulder and grinned wide.

  “So nice to see you, Mr. Pugh.”

  “Um, I’m here, you know … pretty much three days a week.”

  “Ah, but this is a special day, I think. Are your parents here?”

  “They, um … no, they have, um …”

  “Very sorry,” said Elka. “I should like to meet the parents of such a marvelous dog, and his occasionally determined handler.” She winked, which she’d never done before, at least in Kevin’s presence. “The manager is here, I see,” she said, smirking at Zach. “Have you boys tried the fruit? The cheese? So delicious. They are my favorites.”

  Cromwell whined again, this time in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but anxiousness. Elka dropped to the ground, held his face in her hands for a moment, and then lifted his ear and whispered something. Cromwell made the half-laughing noise that only Elka could induce. He then ceased whining. He didn’t quite stop bouncing, though.

  Elka stood up quickly and examined Zach’s jersey.

  “We are not some silly sport, Zachary,” she said, as if a sport was the lowest thing anything could be.

  “Hey.” Zach grinned. “That’s what Kevin’s dad says, too!”

  “Well, he is a very shrewd man,” said Elka, marching off to her platform. Cromwell grew quiet and attentive.

  “Not especially,” muttered Kevin.

  Elka stepped onto her perch.

  “Welcome, students of Paw Patch!” she announced over the buzzing. At the sound of her voice, the room grew quiet. “Today is a very special day for me!”

  “You know it’s special,” Zach whispered in a voice that was barely audible, “because she wore a paisley headscarf.”

  Elka gave him a suspicious stare as she continued.

  “We have assembled this morning for the twentieth annual Paw Patch Invitational! I must say, I’m so pleased to see the faces of so many alums here today.” She gave a small wave toward a group of visitors that Kevin didn’t recognize.

  “Dude, I’m not coming back for the fortieth,” whispered Zach. “Just so you know.”

  Elka shot a wicked glare in his direction. Zach gulped.

  “Paw Patch is a labor of love for me,” said Elka to the group. “It is my great pleasure to have worked with all of you—and with your lovely dogs.”

  Applause filled the room. Zach clapped enthusiastically, as if to make up for his earlier transgressions. Kevin tried to estimate the number of attendees at the invitational, but there were too many for him to count. He’d never seen the training area packed so tightly. He felt the first flutter of worry.

  “Before we begin today’s exhibition, I would like to introduce two extraordinary guests who have been kind enough to join us.” Elka beamed, which was rare for her. “They are well-known in the agility community, and I’m so excited to have them here all the way from Schaumburg …” Elka twirled around, facing a door at the rear of the room. “Please extend a glorious welcome to Jody and Shasta Gatkowski!”

  The room was soon filled with oohs and shrieks and other exclamations of delight. Applause built as the small black-haired girl and her small black-haired dog entered the training room. The girl’s hair was pulled back tight. She wore a red polo with various pet industry logos; black shorts; and red athletic shoes. They were followed by a very large man—apparently a bodyguard—wearing a Bluetooth earpiece. He scanned the room with cold eyes. The girl gave a practiced wave and a bright (yet clearly fake) smile.

  “Who is she?” asked Zach. He was no longer whispering, since the training room was as noisy as it had ever been.

  “She’s kinda famous, at least in the dog world,” said Kevin. “She wins things. In fact, she might win everything.” Cameras flashed. Kevin nudged Zach and pointed to the terrier. “That is the dog that made Cromwell go crazy for this stuff in the first place—that’s the TV dog, the Animal Planet dog.”

  “Then that,” said Zach, “is our competition.”

  “Right,” said Kevin. “In the same way that Orlando Bloom is my dating competition.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, dude,” said Zach.

  “Those two are maybe a little out of our league,” Kevin said quietly.

  Jody, Shasta, and the towering Bluetooth goon approached Elka. The girl grinned, the dog wagged, and the goon looked angry.

  “They bring their own security?” asked Zach.

  “I told you,” said Kevin. “They’re a big deal.”

  The applause had not subsided. Elka clasped her hands and smiled as if she’d never been more pleased. She embraced the girl, although Kevin thought it was an insincere, minimal-contact sort of hug.

  “Students!” called Elka, quieting the crowd. “Whoever among you qualifies for the Midwest Kennel Club Championship will have the privilege of competing alongside Jody and Shasta.”

  “Won’t be us,” whispered Kevin.

  “Might be,” answered Zach, not in a whisper.

  This drew another quick look from Elka. She cleared her throat, then spoke again.

  “Of course these two great champions do not need to qualify, because … well, how many MKCC titles have you won, dear?”

  “Four straight!” answered the girl, grinning.

  “They are quite accomplished,” said Elka. “We’re fortunate they’ve agreed to share some time with us today.”

  Cromwell fidgeted at Kevin’s fee
t.

  Elka clapped her hands and said, “Perhaps Jody and Shasta would be willing to give us a small demonstration?”

  This elicited more cheering from the audience—excluding Zach—and howling from a few of the dogs.

  “Of course, Ms. Brandt,” said the girl in a nasal voice. She had an impossibly broad smile, like an excited pageant contestant. “I’d love to help your students!”

  The girl turned, snapped a finger, and pointed. The terrier moved to the starting line of the agility course with unthinkable speed—almost as if by teleportation. The girl then rushed to the dog’s side. She whistled, then made eye contact with her terrier, then said, “Go, girl!”

  And the girls went.

  Kevin had never seen creatures move quite like them. They were a blur of limbs, never slowing, cutting precisely—it was an amazing performance, really. They made almost no sound at all, not even when the dog fired herself through the hoop at the course’s end.

  “Whoa,” said Zach.

  “Yeah,” said Kevin. “If anybody here should have jerseys and sponsors …”

  “Okay, it’s probably them. But you’re a close second, Kev.”

  “Actually, I think I’m a distant seventeenth.” He looked down at his dog. “But who’s counting?”

  Cromwell woofed.

  Jody and Shasta eased to a stop beside Elka, and the audience roared in approval—including Zach. The girl took several exaggerated bows. Her terrier sat perfectly still, as if she were experiencing total adulation for the millionth time. Which, Kevin thought, she probably was.

  The security goon folded his arms. Elka clapped. The girl blew kisses.

  “My friends,” said Elka, “that is what you’re working toward. Brilliant!”

  More bowing, more air-smooching, more applauding.

  Cromwell fussed a little more, lifting his head toward Kevin, then pawing the AstroTurf.

  “Looks like our boy is fired up!” said Zach.

  Cromwell pawed Kevin’s leg, then barked.

  “Or he’s freaked,” said Kevin. “Either way, we really need to get this thing over with.”

  17

  Much to Kevin’s disappointment, he and Cromwell did not go first—that honor was for Willamina.