Motivation
Fiction
Synopsis
Hurley is a beagle. In previous episodes, he ran away from a duo of Rottweilers who were out to get him. His owner, Natalie, reached the mistaken conclusion that he was an excellent runner and sent him to a race. But before the race, he needs to go through training camp.
Hmm, who is stupid enough to run after a fake rabbit? I asked myself. All the other dogs were running as fast as they could. Apparently, I was the only one who thought there was no point. I am way too evolved to run after a piece of plastic.
Then the instructor, Jay, replaced the plastic rabbit with a steak.
“When are they serving dinner around here? Do you think they can cook Asian? I am partial to kung pao chicken. Of course, I will take a steak any day.”
Bolt, a lean german shepherd, replied: “As long as they don’t put any bread crumbs on it, I need to watch my weight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you are as lean as can be. Jay wants me to lose five pounds, which is a ton for a dog of my size. Do you know how long it will take me to put that back on?”
“The trouble is that you can’t cheat, they weigh you every morning,” Bolt added helpfully.
I went back to thinking about the best way to cook a chicken. If you are into spices, then Indian is your best bet, there’s coriander, cumin, and turmeric, and they also know how to add mustard, sage, and ginger. The worst is chicken cooked in a soup, it takes all the oomph out of it. You are left with some tired pieces of thread that have been pulled too hard. I recalled a story about a dog trained as a truffle finder that got a crispy bacon treat for every mushroom he found. He lived to be fat and happy. I drifted off to sleep imagining crispy bacon.
“Alright, chubby, get on the weight,” Jay said.
“Don’t stand on three legs, it won’t change the result.”
“Crouching isn’t going to change it either.”
“Twenty five pounds, that’s exactly the weight you were when you got here. I don’t understand how that’s possible with the diet you are on. You still need to lose five pounds.”
Of course, Jay didn’t know about my secret stash of kibble. A grown dog can’t survive on what they call food here.
“Next!”
We ran intervals hitched to heavy carts, then unencumbered, then a long slow run on a country road. At the end of the day, totally exhausted, we went back to our communal kennel. That’s when I discovered that my kibble stash was gone.
“Which one of your dogs took it?” I asked menacingly.
Everyone steered clear, they knew better than to touch my stuff. How was I supposed to stay overweight? No one admitted to getting close to my stash. Finally, Snoozy, who stayed in during that day due to an injury, told me that the instructor came in, dug around, and found it. Snoozy got her nickname from her uncanny ability to sleep on a run.
We played some “fetch the tennis ball.” One dog threw the ball, and everyone ran around trying to catch it. Bolt caught it but it slipped under a low bed, and I crawled underneath and got it. I was the only one small; there are advantages to being small. Exhausted, we fell asleep.
In the morning, I stuck my nose up, enough was enough, I was going on a hunger strike. The food was just not up to par. This was supposed to be a high class camp for star athletes, not a sweatshop.
“Finally, you are 23 pounds, the training is starting to show,” Jay said.
“Twenty one pounds, you are almost there. Finally, we can see your ribs.”
It was race day. They split us by size, I was running with the other small dogs. It was a 400 meter dash, the track record was 29 seconds. The greyhounds could stop the clock at 20 seconds, but they were built for it. They couldn’t eat with a fork and knife, but they were as fast as the wind.
The start shot rang out and we were off. I was in the lead group and gave it my all in the last 100 meters. I was first by a yard close to the finish line, and then it hit me. If I win, Natalie will send me to the national race. I can’t go through this again! I pretended to slip, the pack behind me didn’t have time to react, and ran into me. We tumbled past the finish line in a big fur ball.
There was controversy. The officials convened in a closed tent. Arguments rang out. I was praying they wouldn’t give me a medal.
Finally, they gave me third place. Natalie took me home, and we stopped for a big double burger on the way. It was like reaching the pearly gates, what more could a dog ask for in this life?
“That was a bad slip in the end, Hurley. Too bad, you could have won first place. Clearly, you need more practice, I think you have a talent that needs development,” Natalie said.
I nearly choked on my hamburger.
