The Fast and the Furriest (13 page)

Zach was hooting, and Elka evidently wasn’t stopping him. The audience applauded—and not tepidly, as before, but with real enthusiasm. A low murmur rolled through the room like a wave.

Cromwell panted and ran in a tight circle. Kevin crouched down to pet him, but Cromwell leapt into
his arms, scampered atop his shoulders, and then hopped off—almost gracefully.

Kevin’s eyes sought out the official clock. It was blinking near the starting line: 0:00:49.600.

“No … way …,” he said quietly.

It had been, by at least fifteen seconds, the fastest run of Cromwell’s life. Kevin also felt quite sure that it was the least flawed run of Cromwell’s life. He stared at the clock for a few seconds in disbelief.

Then Zach leapt onto Kevin’s back, still hooting, and two-thirds of Team Cromwell tumbled to the ground. There they encountered the other third of Team Cromwell, who started licking them.

Elka made notes on a scorecard, then smiled at Cromwell.

“Not bad, Mr. Pugh,” she said. “A fine effort. A bit rough on the hoop, but not so bad at all.”

Kevin stood there, grinning.

“That was our best run ever!” he declared. “By a mile!”

“There is no doubting that,” said Elka. “But the hoop was a bit rough.”

“No,” laughed Kevin. “What just happened out there was a miracle! ‘A bit rough’ is when you have to remove your fat dog from his backyard swing twenty times a night because he can’t jump through it and won’t stop trying.”

“Mr. Pugh,” said Elka firmly, “you are no longer in your backyard. We have not yet seen the best of this beautiful dog—and it’s your job to find it.”

“Uhhh … okay, yeah,” Kevin said.

Can’t see how the beautiful dog is going to top this
, he thought.
But okay
.

Kevin smiled and stared at the clock as it blinked his time.

“You will need to find Cromwell’s very best for the North American Dog Agility Council Championship, that much is certain.”

Zach shoved Kevin gleefully. Being somewhat larger than Zach, Kevin didn’t actually move when Zach shoved him. Instead, Zach tipped back and landed with a thud on the AstroTurf.

Elka grinned. Classmates swirled around, offering congratulations.

“S-so … I’m going to the United Center?” stammered Kevin. “But weren’t there penal—?”

“Mr. Pugh!” said Elka. “Cromwell was six seconds faster than every other dog in the room!”

“Well,” said a nasal voice, “not faster than
every
dog.”

Kevin turned slowly. Directly in front of him stood the security goon. And directly behind the goon, peeking around his bulk, were Jody and Shasta.

“Hey, whassup?” said Zach, not coolly.

The girl ignored him. Instead, she smirked at Cromwell and Kevin.

“She seems a little angry, dude,” whispered Zach.

The terrier seemed content enough. It sniffed at Cromwell and he sniffed back.

But the girl sneered. She eyed Kevin the way policemen eye suspects in TV crime dramas. She was at least a full head shorter than him, he noticed. She was also somewhat older, and rail-thin. She said nothing. Just kept sneering.

“Uh … hello,” Kevin finally said. “I’m, uh …”

“Kevin Poo,” she said. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

The terrier sat panting, along with Cromwell.

“It’s um … well, no,” said Kevin. “It’s Pugh. It’s pronounced Pee
-yoo
.”

She simply stared.

“You guys were amazing,” Kevin offered. “Truly amazing. I’ve never seen anything quite li—”

“I know,” snapped the girl.

“Yeah, absolutely. I saw you guys win the, um … well, I don’t know what the competition was called, but it was on televi—”

“The Purina Incredible Dog Challenge,” she said. “It’s just the single most important event on the agility calendar, that’s all.” She paused. “And we won it. But that’s okay if you can’t think of the name.”

“No, well, I don’t mean to disrespect anyone,” said
Kevin. “Or anything. Certainly not a delicious dog food. Not that I know
personally
that it’s delicious, but Cromwell used to …”

“Whatever, Poo,” said the girl. She tapped the goon on the back. “C’mon, Dad, we’ve gotta roll.”

“Oh, that’s your
dad
,” said Kevin. “Because we were thinking he was some sort of bodyguard or enforce—”

The Bluetooth goon stared at Kevin angrily.

“Um … yeah,” said Kevin. “Well, it was very nice to meet your lovely family.”

“I’m sure it was, Poo,” said the girl. She spun around and marched toward the exit, the terrier at her side in perfect sync. “See you in two weeks,” she called.

Kevin looked at Elka.

“Two weeks?” he asked.

“Yes, well, the MKCC is rather soon,” Elka said. “I had not imagined that Cromwell could be ready for an event of this magnitude until perhaps next summer. Maybe March or April at the earliest.” She shook her head in apparent disbelief. “And actually, Mr. Pugh, I was not sure you’d commit to your training for so long. Not through the school year.”

Kevin didn’t immediately dispute this, though Zach did.

“Team Cromwell is the future of dog agility! Yeah, baby!”

“Zachary, I can only assume that you were not referring to me as ‘baby’ just then.”

“No!” he said. “I meant the collective ‘baby.’ Not one ‘baby’ in particular.”

“Well,” said Elka, “if you feel that you are indeed the future of agility championships—and I assure you, there are many possible futures—then you should know that the future arrives in thirteen days.”

T
hat afternoon, the Pughs’ front door swung open with a loud crack and Cromwell burst inside, barking. Howie rolled off the living room sofa.

“Yeesh!” he said, clearly startled.

Howie was crouching defensively—a pose not unlike the one on his 1981 football card.

“What the … Cromwell? Whatcha …”

The dog charged, launching both paws into Howie’s chest and toppling him over. Then Cromwell stood on Howie’s rounded midsection, licked his face several times, and hopped off, racing down a hallway.

Kevin and Zach stood in the entryway, laughing.

“I’m glad you’re amused by the fact that I’ve just been assaulted by the family dog,” said Kevin’s dad.

“He’s not a dog,” said Zach. “He’s a high-performance machine.”

Kevin gave his friend a playful shove. This was followed by more laughter.

Somewhere in the distance there was a faint shriek from Maggie, followed by more barking from Cromwell.

“What the heck did you do to the dog, Kev?” asked Howie. “He’s a little wound up today. I kinda miss the old Cromwell, with the sleeping and the eating … and none of this jumpy stuff. Not sure I can get used to this dog.”

“I’m serious, Mr. Pugh!” yelped Zach. “He’s not a dog, he’s a machi—!”

“A machine,” said Howie. “Right. Got it.” He settled himself back on the couch, tossing his
Sun-Times
onto the coffee table. Howie stared at Kevin, though not with disapproval.

“He’s just in a good mood,” said Kevin, smiling. “He’s an active dog.”

Cromwell thundered back down the stairs, zoomed past the couch again, and then rolled to a stop at Kevin’s feet.

Zach hooted loudly.

“Please don’t
whoo
in my house,” said Howie.

“Sorry, sir,” said Zach, as calmly as he could.

Kevin grabbed his friend by the arm and motioned to the basement.

“You’ll be in your office, Kev?” asked Howie smugly. He readjusted himself on the sofa.

“Sure will, Dad.”

As soon as Kevin, Zach, and Cromwell reached the bottom of the stairs, Zach removed the Team Cromwell jersey from his backpack and pulled it over his head.

“I can’t believe you made me take this off, dude!”

“Might’ve been tough to explain it to my parents. You know, if they happened to ask what ‘Team Cromwell’ was, and why you were on it.”

Zach dug a little deeper in the backpack and extracted a bone-shaped trophy. Engraved on the bottom were these words: “CHAMPION—PAW PATCH INV’L.”

Zach tapped the lettering with his index finger.

“You see that? It says ‘Champion.’ That’s us. And we’re not finished … oh, no. This was merely our first—and certainly not our last—piece of hardware. I really couldn’t have done it without you, Kevin, because …”

“Because I own the dog. And I do all the running.”

“Right,” said Zach. “Anyway, you should take this trophy, put on your jersey—which you
still
haven’t worn—and march back upstairs. Slam this little beauty down on the coffee table and tell your dad that not only are you and Cromwell enrolled in agility classes, but you’re
dominating
!”

Cromwell pounced on the basement couch, sniffed the pillows, and then licked himself.

“Zach,” said Kevin, “we’ve never dominated.”

“Until today.”

“Right,” said Kevin, walking over to his dog. “And it was great. But it was also kind of a fluke. Cromwell has only made it through that stinkin’ hoop
once …
”

“And that one time was
today
, with the pressure on. When it mattered most.” Zach joined the rest of Team Cromwell on the couch. “Your dog is clutch, dude. You can’t deny it.”

“No,” Kevin said, looking down at Cromwell. “I can’t deny it. He does seem to be clutchy. You sure were today, boy.” Kevin scratched Cromwell behind his ears. The dog craned his neck, then licked Kevin’s chin.

“So what you’ve gotta do,” said Zach, “is take the trophy, put on the jersey, and march back up—”

Kevin heard the creak of his father’s feet on the basement steps. He snatched the trophy, tossed it to Zach, and then smothered the hardware and the Team Cromwell jersey with a large animal-print pillow.

“Not a word!” he commanded in a whisper. “And don’t move the pillow!”

“Hey!” said Zach. “You can’t boss me around! I’m the mana—”

“Boys,” began Howie, now standing at the bottom
of the stairs. “I’ve gotta go. There’s a collectibles show out in Rosemont. I’m autographing this afternoon.”

“Signing little helmets for little men,” said Kevin.

“That’s what your mother calls it,” said Howie. “Good money in those li’l men.”

“I’m sure there is,” said Kevin.

“Good money in little dogs, too,” said Zach, grinning.

Howie looked at him quizzically. Kevin looked at him angrily.

“O
-kaaaay
,” said Howie. “But to the best of my knowledge, no dog has ever spent thirty-five bucks to wait in my autograph line.”

Kevin elbowed the pillow that covered the evidence of Cromwell’s agility triumph. The dog himself had fallen asleep.

“So we’ll see you later, Dad,” said Kevin. “Buh-bye.”

“Kev,” said Howie, “I was thinking that maybe when I get back tonight we could throw the ball around.”

“Um … sure,” said Kevin. “Which ball?”

“The
football
, kid!” Howie smiled, then placed a foot on the stairs and jingled his car keys. “Your mom and I were … well, we’re impressed by the training, Kev. The jogging and whatnot. I don’t think we made that clear the other day.”

Not perfectly
, thought Kevin.

The father stared at his son. The son fidgeted.

“Yeah, um … thanks, Dad. Cool.” He paused. “Bye.”

“Okay,” said Howie. “Later, boys.” He clomped back up the steps.

Kevin waited patiently for the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, then ripped the pillow away from Zach and began pummeling him.

THWAP!

“Oooof!”
shouted his friend, laughing.

Cromwell stirred. Kevin delivered a series of pillow shots to Zach’s gut.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!

Cromwell woke up, slid off the couch, and curled into a ball on the floor.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!

“Hey!” exclaimed Zach. “Stop! No more!”

Kevin paused, lowering the pillow, breathing hard. Zach was shielding his face with his forearms, but still giggling.

“It’s not funny!” said Kevin. “You are
not
authorized to speak to my parents unless spoken to!”

“Okay, okay …,” said Zach. “But we can’t keep Team Cromwell a secret for long.” Zach lowered his arms. “We’re gonna be huge, Kev.
Huge
, I tell you—”

THWAP!

Zach took a pillow to the face and fell from the couch.

“Okay,” he muttered. “That was a cheap shot.” He sat on the floor with his back against the couch.

Both Zach and Kevin stared down at the dog, who was napping again. Cromwell had managed to find the one sliver of sunlight that cut across an otherwise dark basement. Kevin held the trophy aloft, examining it as if it were an ancient artifact.

“You could get used to winning those, right?” asked Zach.

Kevin was quiet for a moment.

“Sure,” he finally said. “I guess so.”

Zach pressed on.

“We need to discuss what the business world calls ‘next steps,’ Kevin.”

“We need to
what
?”

“I’m just saying that we need to evaluate ways to take advantage of the major step—and I mean
major
step—that Team Cromwell took today.”

“What are you talking about, dude?” asked Kevin.

“I’m talking about merchandising,” said Zach. “I’m talking about marketing. I’m talking about a dog with charisma that never quits.”

Cromwell made a loud snuffling sound in his sleep.

“See,” said Zach. “Even when he sleeps, he’s got presence. He has a certain air.”

“He farts in his sleep. Always has.”

“We’ll hide that fact from the press.” Zach snorted. Then he stood up. “Cromwell is going to revolutionize the sport of dog agility, dude.”

“It’s not a sport,” said Kevin wryly. “My dad said so, remember? And he’s a sports professional. An insider. He knows these things.”

“Well, whatever it is, Cromwell is taking it over.”

“Dude,” said Kevin, rolling his eyes. “We beat sixteen dogs today. That’s it. And it took the best run of Cromwell’s life.”

“But those were sixteen of the …”

“Of the
what
?” asked Kevin. “Of the most agile dogs on the North Side of Chicago?” Kevin stretched himself out on the sofa. “Maybe Cromwell and I should retire now, covered in glory. We’re winners—maybe not at the highest level, but at least at some level. Why keep going? Are we supposed to just keep doing this until we qualify for an event where we can finish last? Just keep going till you lose—is that the point?”