by Bobby D. Lux
Clay relaxed his face and resumed his post atop the stands as he intensely watched the setting like a general on the battlefield.
“That’s him,” I said.
“I know,” Nipper said. “Ernie’s in the race. He’s Saucy’s Hero. I came up with that. He didn’t like it, but we didn’t have time to argue.”
“No. That dog up there. The one you just saw. That’s him. That’s Clay.”
“Why didn’t you say he was part bulldozer?”
“Let’s not get melodramatic,” I said. “It’s the angle we’re at. You put anyone up there at the top and they’d look bigger.”
A Mastiff down on the inside of the track blew a trumpeter’s call and the cats made their way to the track. Willow was out front. She was followed by two other lean wirehairs, then Scamper, who lay low and ducked behind the others as much as possible. A couple more racers entered and then it was Ernie who brought up the caboose of this train. He was covered with dirty mop tops over his body and head. He walked slowly to keep them balanced. Broom thistles stuck into hastily chewed gum that was plastered onto either side of Ernie’s face gave the illusion of cat whiskers. While the cat next to Scamper engaged in a last-minute stretch, Ernie took its place in the starting gate.
“Hey,” the cat said. “You’re in my spot.”
“No,” Ernie said. “I’m in my spot. You see how that works. There’s one open at the end. Take that one.”
“That’s not how it works,” the cat said, as a track official blew his whistle and yelled at the cat to take his place in what would have been Ernie’s outside gate.
“Go up there,” I said, to Nipper.
“By that thing?” Nipper said.
“If I go and he sees me, our plan is up.”
“What exactly is our plan again? I thought you wanted to get him. Well, there he is. Who cares about the other one racing? You can go arrest him now. Aren’t you going to arrest him?”
“It’s not that easy,” I said.
“Hey Fritz, look I’d be afraid of him too. I am afraid of that dog.”
“Who says I’m afraid of him?” I said.
“You’re not even looking at him,” Nipper said. “I don’t blame you.”
“Go up there,” I said. “He doesn’t know you from anyone else here.”
“Me? Can’t you go undercover or something? Isn’t that how the cops do it?”
“I go up there and there will be a fight,” I said. “I’ll be at a disadvantage because he has the high ground. When that happens, and it will, because as you know, he and I have fought once already, so when that happens, can I count on you to jump in and to get my back at a split second’s notice? Can I do that, Nipper? Can I count on you in that moment?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you can count on me. Trust me; he’s not going to make a scene over someone he’s never seen before. And no, I’m not afraid.”
“Fine,” Nipper said, as he begrudgingly took baby steps up the bleachers towards Clay. I kept my back to them and watched Ernie while training my ears towards Nipper and Clay. All the cats were harnessed into the starting gate except one who was batting a mud ball around.
“You ever get nervous?” Ernie said, to Scamper.
“Shut up,” Scamper said. “I’m concentrating.”
“It’s my first race. Any tips for how to get started?”
“What did I just tell you? Oh my goodness, what kind of cat are you?”
“I don’t know. A fast one?”
“You’re the ugliest looking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe you should find yourself a mirror, pal,” Ernie said.
“Quiet down!” the Track Official said, to both of them. The official made a final walk of the starting gate, having flung the mud playing cat off into its gate with a crash.
Nipper stopped three rows short of Clay and sat less than five dog widths off to Clay’s left; much closer than I’d expected him to go.
“Hello,” Nipper said, looking over his shoulder to Clay. “Who’s your bones on?”
“Do I know you?” Clay said.
“Me? Who? No. And you? Let me think. Eh, I don’t know. I would think I’d remember if I met someone, you know, as uh, you know, with your presence and the voice, that voice, still echoing in my ears… So, no, I don’t think you know me. At least for sure I know for a fact that I do not know you, Mister… What’s your name?”
The starting bell rang. The gates sprung open with a metallic snap. The cats hurdled out and chased the giant ball of stringy yarn on a long pole racing in front of them.
“And they’re off,” the Public Address Announcer said, barking through the speakers.
“Come on, Ern– I mean, Saucy’s Hero,” Nipper said, shouting. Some of his excitement was that it gave him a reason to turn away from Clay. Out on the gate, Ernie kept up with the pack. Willow pulled out to an early lead. Above me, Nipper held his ground. And there I was in between them doing absolutely nothing.
Nipper was right. I was a coward.
Within the span of a few minutes, I had talked two dogs into risking their health and their home to fight my battle. They even trusted me that I was still looking out for them. I turned over my shoulder and made eye contact with Nipper. He winked and nodded at me because he was holding up his end of the plan. His confidence rose as each moment ticked away and he wasn’t getting mauled by a dog that I should’ve kept him as far away from as I could.
“As they begin the first turn, to no one’s surprise, Willow has taken the early lead,” the Public Address Announcer said, “while Clay’s Pigeon and Saucy’s Hero are threatening to break ahead of the pack of these wild racing cats.
“Wait for me,” Ernie said, yelling ahead to Scamper.
“Doesn’t work that way, stupid,” Scamper said, firing back. Ernie pushed forward. His head was only inches behind Scamper’s tail. As the first turn straightened out, Scamper flicked his leg out in an attempt to wing a cheap shot across Ernie’s face.
“Do that again, and I’ll take it home for dinner,” Ernie said.
“You’ll try,” Scamper said.
“Heck of race so far, huh?” Nipper said, as he tried to engage a non-responsive Clay. “I said it’s a great race, isn’t it?” Stop it, Nipper. “Who’s your money on, pal? Me, I like that weird looking one. Almost doesn’t even look like a cat. That one right-” Clay’s head pivoted on its axis like a heat-seeking cruise missile aimed squarely at Nipper. Nipper stopped cold. Clay’s chest expanded out at least a full foot with an inhale of pure fury. “Like I was saying, good race. Never mind me. I’m going to stop talking. Probably forever actually.”
“On the straightaway,” the Public Address Announcer said, “it’s Willow pulling away with only two cats still hoping to make a go at the champ.”
“Hey Willow,” Scamper said, neck-and-neck with Ernie, both of them only a foot away from a focused Willow. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll start to slow down on the next turn.”
“Not a chance, loser,” Willow said, hissing back at them.
“You’ve got about a minute to change your mind, cat. And if you don’t and you win this thing, you’ll have a very angry Rottweiler waiting for you in the back when no one is around.”
“So that’s how you do it!” Ernie said.
“Do what?” Scamper said.
“Would you two shut up and lose with some dignity still intact,” Willow said, punctuating her missive with a kick of speed as they rounded the second turn.
“You’ll regret this,” Scamper said, pounding his paws into the dirt as he tried to keep up with the much faster Willow. Ernie stayed right there step-for-step with Scamper. A slight stumble caused Ernie’s makeshift mop top on his head to shift off to the side. It blocked his sight and caused him to bump Scamper on the outside. “Watch it, jerk. Do it again and that Rottweiler will be waiting for you too.”
“I got news for you,” Ernie said. “We know all about you and
that Rottweiler.”
“What? Who are you? And what is wrong with your head?”
“On the final turn,” the Public Address Announcer said, “it’s Willow with a growing lead on the inside of the track. Clay’s Pigeon and Saucy’s Hero, the late-minute scratch, are behind Willow and ahead of the rest of the pack. There looks to be some roughhousing going on as the cats make the turn. Keep it clean out there, you stinking cats.”
The crowd noise picked up as the cats approached the finish line. I focused my ears on Nipper, though I was positive his attempts at conversation were all but finished. Come on, Fritz. Do something. Nipper’s right. What are you waiting for? He’s right there. He’s distracted. You have one more charge in that body, don’t you?
But all I needed was for my leg to buckle as I hopped the bleachers. Then what? I get mauled, get tossed back into an ambulance, back to the hospital, back to backyard at Officer Hart’s house. Or worse.
The nubs and splinters from the bleachers stuck into my legs and tail. They pinched and stabbed me, like they were daring me to get up. What do you got, cop? You know this bench isn’t comfortable. It’s not designed to be. At least stand up and watch the race, the splinters teased, because you’re the only one here who is still sitting down. You’re afraid he’s going to see you, is that it?
You held your own the first time you fought him. Or was that how you chose to remember it? It was the other one who bit you from behind. Who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t done that, right? Oh, now wait a second my friend, why are you even asking that kind of question? A cop doesn’t say “who knows?” He knows. A cop knows that he’s taking the criminal down. There’s none of this maybe stuff going on.
Maybe you’d forgotten how surprisingly strong he felt as he pushed you and pinned you on the asphalt. You didn’t forget how tight his bite was and how you felt him trying to finish you with that bite. There was no playing and there was no holding back. You knew in that moment that he was squeezing until your lights went out.
Do you remember not being able to get up when you wanted to? Do you remember that feeling of complete powerlessness for the first time in your life? How about the realization that another dog had absolute control over the rest of your life? Does knowing in your gut that you were seconds away from your final breath and that you had no choice in the matter haunt you? It’s crippling isn’t it?
But hey, you know all about crippling. There’s no need to waste our time on that. You know crippled. You’ve known crippled since that night. You’ve acted like every step didn’t hurt. Most of them don’t, but that one, that one out of however many steps you take in a day; it could be the first one, the last, or somewhere in the middle. That one step is waiting to awaken; the one that reminded you that you’re weak.
Every time you stepped and the pain didn’t appear, there was no relief because you we’re still waiting for it. Waited on the pain. The pain that you knew was there. The pain that wouldn’t go away. You wanted to scream at it and beg to know what it was waiting for and to just show up for good already. Then again, it wouldn’t be pain if it wasn’t torturing you. Worst of all, you knew damn well that if you tempted it enough times, it might’ve taken you up and showed up and stayed for good.
But then you figured that it might as well have hurt with every pace, every breath, and every moment because it was there with every thought anyway. Whether the pain terrorized your leg or not, it had the entirety of you in its clutches. And if you couldn’t beat Clay when your body wasn’t letting you down, what was going to happen when it was? You knew what would happen.
I remained seated and invisible. In a moment of total relief, I felt nothing.
Out on the track, Ernie was as alive as he’d ever been. He was running for his life out there under some misguided obligation to me, a dog he barely knew. Nipper was alive too. He was up there, in way over his head, but he was alive. He was excited. He was scared. His senses fired on all synapses. His heart pounded and he was as ready as he could be, regardless of the outcome. To a blind eye, I was doing the exact same thing as Nipper was. We both sat on a bleacher and watched a cat race, but we might as well have been on opposite sides of the planet.
“Last warning, Willow,” Scamper said, hollering out down on the track.
“Now’s as good of a time as any,” Ernie said, and with a whip of his neck, Ernie flung the mop top into the Scamper’s face. Scamper stumbled and nearly lost his footing. The mop head hung over his nose like a long mustache. “I’ve never liked bullies!”
“You’re not a cat,” Scamper said, ramming into Ernie as they came out of the final turn, biting at Ernie’s face. “Let me see those whiskers.”
“And here they come into the homestretch,” the Public Address Announcer yelled. “Leading the way is Willow with Clay’s Pigeon and Saucy’s Hero engaged in a bitter war of attrition. From my vantage point, it looks like they’re trying to bite at one another. Something looks wrong on Saucy’s Hero, like part of his head is missing and is hanging off of the nose of Clay’s Pigeon. This has to be one of the craziest races and finishes we’ve ever seen at the track. These two cats surely have some bad blood between the two of them. Look at them battle each other like a pair of gladiators. And you know what we dogs say about a good cat fight: if there’s no winner left standing… We all win!”
The crowd roared as Ernie leaned down and got a glancing bite on Scamper’s arm, tripping him up. As Scamper went down in the mud, he sunk his teeth into Ernie’s tail, and sent them both crashing into the guard railing. The dirt flew into the air around them like a tornado. By the time it became clear enough to make anything out, Ernie had Scamper mounted. As Ernie went in for the bite, he looked down the track at the approaching tsunami.
Ka-Boom!
“Oh my, there’s a ten-cat pile up on the track. The rest of the pack just slammed into Pigeon and Hero. What a terrible sound. Listen to those cats screech and hiss. It’s an explosion of fur, but look, there’s Willow crossing the finish line, the only cat not caught up in the fray.”
The pandemonium spread to the stands. Dogs howled and barked at the track as the officials and security guards restrained the patrons from charging over the fence onto the field. Dogs bit and pawed at anything they could: the bench, the fence, a random dog next to them. Clay stood and paced back-and-forth on the top of the bleachers, knowing that he was the target of this melee, but not sure why or who was coming for him. The only thing he could pinpoint was the strange dog sitting too close to him.
“Who are you?” Clay demanded.
“I’m not a cop, that’s for sure,” Nipper said.
Then our eyes locked. Clay looked down on me while my back was to him and I sheepishly peeked over my shoulder. I saw the contempt and pity he had for me.
“Well, well, well,” he said, snickering at me. “Look who it is.”
The cats on the track shook off the dirt and collectively got back to their feet. Scamper was gone, having taken the opportunity to vanish into the melee. Ernie’s shoddy, makeshift costume was also a casualty of the crash. He went around in circles looking for Scamper, unaware that the cats had surrounded him.
“He’s a dog!” one of them said. “Cheater!”
“He could’ve have gotten us killed.”
“Wait a second,” Ernie said, as he realized he was outnumbered nine-to-one. “I was trying to help. The other dog was cheating. I’m one of the good guys. I was stopping him until you all crashed into us.”
“There’s no such thing as a good dog,” one cat said.
“You didn’t stop him,” another cat said. “You stopped all of us.”
They unsheathed their claws and pounced on Ernie. They swiped at any part of him they could like a swarm of piranhas incited by a drop of blood.
“This must be your puppy,” Clay said, referring to Nipper. Neither of us said anything back. “Awww, how cute, Fritz. You have a little lackey to do your dirty work. And let me guess, that dog out there
on the track that has his paws full with those cats at the moment is yours too? Ooh, that one’s gonna sting. They’re really tearing him apart.”
“Ernie!” Nipper said, as he sprung to his feet and pushed his way through the rioting dogs to the fence then jumping over it to help Ernie on the field.
“Fritz,” Clay said, coming down the steps towards me at a deliberate pace, “I was looking forward to the day when I’d see you again, but now you just had to go and ruin it by being all pathetic and, dare I say, a sorry sack of what used to be a dog. Is this how you envisioned it playing out? Now see, I was hoping to finish what I started, but it looks like I don’t have to. Maybe I gave you too much credit. I could tell you were old, but I didn’t think you were this old. By the looks of you, it’d be like mauling a mouse at this point. Where’s the fun in that? See you around, Fritz.”
Clay strutted right past me and waded into the riot. He disappeared into the chaos. The track officials used laser light pointers to distract the attacking cats and successfully wrangled them up into pens. They ignored Ernie and Nipper, who remained in the center of the track.
And I sat still on that rotten bench not doing a damn thing.
CHAPTER 21 - The Post Race Wrap Up
