"Where the heck is everybody going?" Mom flapped her paw to make a fan because the windows weren't doing their job.
"They're not going anywhere," I panted. "They're all just sitting here. Same as us. Can't you see them?" I thought humans had a keen sense of sight. Why couldn't Mom see that there were cars sitting still on the freeway for as far as there was freeway to see?
"We'll never get there in time tonight. And we have to be up early tomorrow," she melted dramatically back into the driving chair.
We were driving up to the mountains so I could defend my title as Second Dog in the Running with the Bears half marathong. If you don't know, a marathong is a race where you win by not thinking about how uncomfortable you are (that's the thong part). A half marathong is just a marathong that isn't quite as uncomfy. The "running" part was real enough, but sadly, there were no actual bears to chase. Only people and other dogs.
Mom liked this race because it went around a valley with almost no people in it, surrounded by beautiful mountains. I liked it because the valley was filled with cows, and the people were all screaming Oscar fans. We both liked it because they let dogs and their people run together.
Finally, we inched off of the freeway and broke free onto a little highway that hardly anyone knew about.
"Turn here," the Witch ordered as the last light was fading outside the mailman van.
"Is this right?" Mom asked her reflection in the front window. "I could have sworn it was a numbered highway. Not, like, Buck Crack Road."
"You will arrive in one hour and fifty-one minutes," the Witch promised.
The mailman van followed the Witch's instructions, but Mom sat a little further forward after that.
There had been nothing but black in the windows for a long time when a bright shape appeared floating in the darkness outside.
"Detour?!" Mom howled. "How? We haven't even seen another road in 15 miles."
The mailman van slowed to a crawl as dirt and gravel crackled under its paws.
"Yippee. A tour!" I yawned. "But how will we see anything in the dark?"
"Turn around!" the Witch ordered.
"I'm not kidding. You'd better turn around this time.
"If you don't turn around by the time I count down from one hundred feet... Ninety-nine...
"You asked for it. You will now arrive at 12:56am."
Mom made a sound deep in her throat. "No pavement for the next 15 miles? What is this?" she asked the Witch, the window, the sign outside, and any creatures in the night who might be listening. "That's it. Forget it. I'm sleeping here. If any cops come and tell me to move, they're going to have to explain this bullplop first."
The mailman van moved an eency bit over, as far as the bushes would allow. Mom climbed into the back with me to rest. Resting is what you call it when you lie down like you're sleeping but instead of counting sheep you count all the things you'll have to complain about the next morning. Mom can count very high when she's resting.
She tried out all the different resting positions to make sure she was using the one that was most uncomfortable. Each time I drifted awake to check on her, her thought bubble was full of rotten luck,
and all the people who had arranged the traffic just to mess with her,
and the detour,
and work.
Finally, she got up and tried resting in the driving chair.
I stayed in bed and let her do the driving without a copilot. I needed my beauty sleep to look my perkiest in the parade they would surely throw for me when I arrived. Plus, there were all those cows to bark at. It was going to be a long day.
I woke up as the sun found its way into my bed. Outside, the mountains were just beginning to move far enough apart that there was room for sky in the windows. Every other car we saw was headed to the same place. The mailman van got in line and joined the pre-parade parade. Finally, a crossing guard pointed us into a field, and ushered us straight to a spot reserved just for us.
"Hear ye, here ye! Oscar is here, look at me!" I announced as I stepped out of my elegant coach. "The dog you have been waiting for has arrived!"
The air crackled with distant music and anticipation. The buzz grew as runners gathered from all over the field to walk toward the starting line with me. "Oh! He's so cute!" my fans said.
And, "Are you gonna run, good boy?"
And, "Are you excited? Who's excited?"
"That's me! I'm cute!
"Me again! I'm not only gonna run, I'm gonna run so fast that I'm gonna win.
"And we're all excited, especially me!"
"Come on, Mr. Homecoming King." Mom pulled jealously on the leash.
Up ahead, a balloon arch and a growing crowd waited for their first glimpses of me. If they were excited now, just wait until later in the morning when I returned triumphantly to that arch after barking at every cow in the valley. The crowd was going to go wild.
Mom dragged me to a picnic table and greeted the lady on the other side. I stuck my nose over the table's edge, expecting to find a picnic. Instead of cold cuts, there was nothing but the smell of papers, clipboards, and the tang of safety pins.
"Oh!" The stranger lady jumped a little.
"Yes! It is I. Oscar the Pooch. Live and in person... erm... in canine," I wagged.
"He has to wear a muzzle in the starting area," the lady's mouth said, even though her eyes said what a cutie. "For insurance reasons. You can get one for $5 over there."
The people in the valley were wonderful and kind, but they had some strange customs.
"No worries." Mom pulled something from her pocket. "I brought one from last year."
"Mom! No! How could you?" I turned my head so she couldn't catch my snoot in its sock-like vice. "I'm a celebrity. It'll be all over TMZ! And my fans will never recognize me with that on."
"These people didn't come here to see you," Mom lied. She caught my snout and fastened the clip behind my ears "You just think they do because everyone loves a happy dog."
"What if someone had treats?" I tried to bark, but it came out as mutt mif mumommme mas meats?
With me silenced, Mom took over the spotlight. "Registered under Oscar the Pooch."
"And what's your name, dear?"
"Oh. I didn't register. I only registered the dog."
"I'll make sure she runs fast enough," I promised, but the lady didn't seem to understand through the mask.
"You can still register over there at that table." The lady looked at the next picnic table, which didn't smell like snacks either.
"Do dogs usually register separately?" Mom asked.
"Not usually."
"Okay, then we'll both run under his number then." Mom said it like a decision she was making for the first time after taking the lady's wise counsel into account, but it was really an order.
While the lady searched for my runner's badge, strange voice came from behind me. "Is that Oscar?"
A smile beamed from atop a lady I'd never smelled before. She admired my luscious booty. I wiggled it for her before giving her my head to pat. I tried not to be embarrassed about my headgear, but why did I have to get recognized by a real, live fan for the first time on the day that my face was taped shut? I pushed into her shins with a doggie hug instead.
"It's you! It's you!" I tried to sing her a hello song, but it came out like a whine instead. "Who are you?"
"I read your stories on Facebook." She leaned down to achieve what was probably a lifelong dream of scratching my butt.
I gave Mom a told you so look. She looked embarrassed. Good.
I turned back to my fan. "Yes! That's me: The handsomest dog on the internet. This is Mom. She's real, too, but not nearly as cool as I make her seem. Don't worry. You don't actually have to pay attention to her. Most people don't."
The lady introduced herself using a name that I will keep private, since mentioning her real name would probably make her too famous. Not everyone wants to have the pupparazzi following them around everywhere asking what it was like to pat me in person. Let's just call her Mlynn from M-Chico.
"Did you know that I won this race last year?" I told Mlynn. "They say that first is the worst, second is the best, third is the one with the hairy chest. Since I was second dog, that makes me the best winner. Here, wanna rub my hairy chest?" I rolled in the grass to give her a better angle.
I wanted to hear more about how handsome I was and all the things Mlynn loved about me, but people were walking toward the starting line in a very disorganized way. They obviously needed someone to herd them there.
"Come on, Mlynn. I'll show you how it's done. First of all, you've got to say hello to everyone so that they like you and don't try too hard to beat you. Don't worry, they won't feel like losers for long. Once they see your butt in front of them, they'll be inspired."
I trotted among the crowd with my ears flopping and my tail high. I worked my way toward the front and tried to make my eyes smile at each person I passed since my mouth couldn't. Mom says you have to respect people's traditions, but this special occasion headgear was really cramping my style. There were still a million people who hadn't seen me yet when Mom turned herself into an anchor.
"Stop that! You're being a bad role model for Mlynn," I thought at her. I turned to Mlynn. "Don't worry. We'll pass them later when we get to start running. It's more fun that way."
One thing I love about race starts is that there are so many bare legs within reach. Licking legs is one of my favorite things to do. It doesn't really matter whose; Mom-legs, Friend-legs, stranger-legs, lady-legs, man-legs... sometimes even legs in jeans. Mlynn was wearing pants and I could lick Mom's legs any time, so I looked at the menu and picked a pair right in front of me that were sticking out from a tutu.
"Oh!" the lady in the tutu squealed with delight, though the delight didn't come until she looked down at me.
"Hi, I'm Oscar and I'm the Second Dog in these here parts. Maybe you've heard of me?"
"Awwww, poor guy. You don't like that muzzle do you?"
"No. Not at all. You see that lady at the other end of my leash? The one in the shorts?"
Mom gave the lady a smile that was more bottom teeth than top ones. "Sorry. He does that sometimes."
"She's the one that did it," I said. "You're not going to let her get away with it, are you? Quick, sing Sarah McLachlan songs until she can't handle the shame anymore. I would do it myself, but my mouth is taped shut."
My Friend in the tutu was just about to report Mom for dog abuse when someone shouted something up ahead. The crowd shifted and started to leak over the starting line. The Black Eyed Peas started playing instead of Sarah McLachlan, but it worked anyway. Mom leaned over to unclip the face sock and we started running.
You may think that only humans can understand the rules of racing, but dogs are racers by instinct. Especially a natural leader like me. When I see a crowd all moving in the same direction, I don't need to know where we're going to be sure I want to be the first to get there.
"Comin' through! Move it or lose it. Why yes, I am adorable." I weaved through the crowd of adoring fans, threading through the tiniest gaps and pulling Mom like a wrecking ball behind me.
A few butts ahead, a golden retriever trotted along with scruffy tail held high. He looked at his lady instead of at the road in front of him like he didn't care who was behind him as long as she was next to him. I pulled the leash a little harder to catch up.
Just as I was about to pass him in a blur of glory, he stopped dead in his tracks. I dodged the runners that piled up behind him just in time.
He squatted. The shaggy fringe on the underside of his freakishly long tail fluttered with effort. What a rookie mistake! Every true runner knows that the number two rule of racing is to poop first. He didn't even know that he was supposed to step off the course to do it. Am-mutt-ture!
I dragged Mom past him and continued in search of a more worthy competitor. I stole one last glance over my shoulder to see the look on his face as he watched my aerodynamic tail wave goodby and my splendid butt disappear into the distance.
To be continued...
