The Fast and the Furriest (12 page)

“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 feet.

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.”

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

They did not go second, either—that was Tinkles.

Or ninth—that was Vladimir.

Or twelfth—that was a Newfoundland named Constantine Tazmanius III. (And yes, there had been a Tazmanius I and II.)

Kevin and Cromwell waited … and waited … and waited. They watched each dog-and-handler combination go before them—everyone in the class. Friends and family clapped in approval. Kevin was fairly sure that Elka eyed Cromwell after each of the runs, and that they shared a look of some sort. He wondered if he should feel jealous, having another person connect with his dog in some psychic, wordless way. But that
seemed selfish. Cromwell should be allowed other friends, Kevin concluded.

The dog rubbed against the AstroTurf, then woofed. Then he jumped.

“Stay loose, boy,” said Zach.

Hard to say if he’s loose or tight
, thought Kevin.
But he’s definitely something
.

Jody and Shasta and their goon hadn’t left. They stood patiently along a far wall, signing autographs, posing for photos, glancing toward the course every so often.

Kevin’s classmates all put up similar times, regardless of the age and shape of the handler or the age, shape, and breed of the dog. The leader was a golden retriever named Melvin, with a time of 55.9 seconds. Trailing him were a shepherd-chow mix named Bodie at 56.2 and, to Kevin’s surprise, the resilient shih-poo, Tinkles, at 56.7.

Scoring and timing were handled by Elka, and she betrayed no emotion while monitoring the course. It was the usual series of obstacles: running up ramps, down ramps, over hurdles, and through three different tubes; weaving through a series of poles; coming to a full stop on a small table; leaping the little windmill; scrambling over the seesaw; and jumping through a hoop. It was a route that Cromwell had run (improperly, though not slowly) dozens of times. The
hoop in particular gave Cromwell fits. It was slightly higher than the tire swing in the Pughs’ backyard—the one Cromwell had never quite mastered. Often he just bashed his head into the bottom of the hoop and streaked on. Kevin wasn’t particularly good at convincing Cromwell to repeat the obstacles he missed, and this led to enormous, unconquerable time penalties.

The dog continued his jumping.

“Chill, Crom,” said Kevin. “At this point, there’s really no need to hurry up and lose.”

All the other dogs and handlers were either mingling with each other or fawning over Jody and Shasta. Many were already congratulating Melvin and his owner, a stout woman named Mandy.

Kevin and Cromwell simply waited. They had not yet been called.

“Check this out, dude,” said Zach. He motioned toward the goon, who was clearing a path for Jody and Shasta to leave.

“Please, everyone, please,” said Elka, just loud enough to hush most of the conversations. “Let’s give our final competitors your attention. Allow me to introduce Cromwell, a precocious beagle mix, and his owner, Mr. Kevin Pugh.”

Zach clapped energetically. He was leaning against the wall, wearing sunglasses and the Team Cromwell
jersey. Some others clapped politely. Then Zach whistled, alarming a few dogs. And then he woofed, which brought responses from
many
dogs.

“Thank you, Zachary,” said Elka, flashing him a stern look. “Your contributions have not gone unnoticed today.”

Cromwell made a low
rrrrrroooo-
ing sort of sound.

Kevin felt a surge of nervous energy as he walked his dog to the starting line. He caught a glimpse of Jody and Shasta from the corner of his eye. They were exiting slowly, moving toward the door from which they’d made their triumphant entrance.

Maybe I should stall until they’re gone
, thought Kevin.

“Whenever you’re ready …,” said Elka.

Kevin contemplated his readiness. Cromwell shook off a bit of slobber.

Elka took a step toward them and spoke softly.

“Remember, we compete only against the course, Mr. Pugh. Nothing else.”

Kevin nodded, but he was still looking at the crowd.

“Nothing else,”
repeated Elka.

Kevin glanced at the course, then toward his dog. His eyes began to trace the path between obstacles. The crowd noise faded and the world seemed to slow. Kevin looked back at Elka. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t quite hear her. He assumed she was telling him to start whenever he and the dog were ready.

When he saw Cromwell staring up at him, Kevin knew it was time.

“Go,” he said firmly.

Cromwell did.

He flew off the starting line, a blur of spinning paws and flopping ears. Kevin kept Cromwell’s pace—barely—darting ahead of him through the course, spitting out directions and encouragement.

Cromwell raced up the A-frame ramp, then down the other side …

He leapt three hurdles, each with room to spare …

He scurried through the fabric cylinder that Elka called a “collapsed tunnel” …

He jumped more hurdles, his tail just nicking one …

He clambered up an incline, across a plank, then back down …

He looped through a U-shaped vinyl tunnel …

He hopped onto the table, where he was supposed to pause—and to Kevin’s amazement, he actually froze for an instant, like a statue …

And then he was off again, streaking through the weave poles easily …

Then onto the edge of the seesaw, climbing cautiously … up … and up … pausing … and then racing down the seesaw, from which he always,
always, ALWAYS
had seemed to jump too early—but not
this time! All four paws crossed over to the contact point, and Cromwell leapt off, totally in control …

He eyed the hoop—the final obstacle—and ran for it, paws churning. Kevin raced with him, hoping he could get his dog to wait for
just
the proper instant to jump, as there was no margin for error with Cromwell and hoops …

“Wait,” said Kevin. “Wait … Wait …”

Cromwell neared the mark, perhaps three feet from the hoop …

“Now!”
shouted Kevin.

Cromwell leapt, poking his face through, stretching …

… and his front paws made it, followed narrowly by his belly!

He scraped the hoop with his fur, his tail, and his rear paws. The hoop wobbled, but Cromwell hit the ground only slightly askew and raced to the finish.

“Yeah!”
exclaimed Kevin, skidding to a stop near Elka’s platform.

Suddenly he noticed the crowd again.