Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

could see the Big Dipper.
    “I thought we should all get as close as possible so that Jeff can make the jump without landing on Boris.” He scrunched closer still.
    “Jeff not to land on Boris,” I heard from the other side of Chip. And then I heard Tracy, and Jeff was coming our way. I closed my eyes this time, waiting. It seemed to take longer this way, nearly forever. Perhaps Tracy had backed up to give the dog a better chance of making the jump. And then I felt him and heard him land, heard the others clapping for him and shouting his name. I sat up. Boris was already standing, taking a bow. Jeff was back with Tracy, ready to go again.
    “Let’s make it seven. I’ll take the end.” It was Beryl, coming to lie down next to Boris.
    “Let’s try something else, give another of the dogs a chance.” That was Cathy, the voice of reason. She had changed to one of the Huffy T-shirts, the one with Sky doing weave poles on it.
    “How about human weave poles, then?” Beryl asked. “I’ll send the doggies through, just tell me which ones know how to do it.”
    Some of the dogs were on down-stays, others were on their own in the meadow, chasing each other or sniffing all the wonderful new odors. I whistled for Dashiell, and Sky came too. Beryl called Cecilia. Betty came on her own, curious to see what all the fuss was about. Bucky had been sitting with Tamara, who he’d said would only work for him. Sam was next to him, with Angelo on her lap, and Martyn had Alexi at his side and was stroking the big dog’s neck. Far off at the edge of the meadow, Sasha was pacing. Boris said Sasha was American dog, keeping the world safe for democracy. But the truth was, he was keeping Sasha away from the other males. The Rottie people say Rotties will never start a fight, but they’ll never back down from one either. I say, show me a dog who’ll never back down, and I’ll show you a dog who will start a fight, any chance he gets. Looking around, I wondered which of us was like that In the middle of our work, who had taken things so irretrievably far? And why? Then Tracy grabbed my hand and pulled me into the line with the others.
    All the dogs except Sasha were lined up for Beryl to send. The rest of us held hands, standing as far apart as we could this time, leaving room for the dogs to weave in and out as they ran down the line as quickly as they could.
    Cecilia did the human weave poles like the puppy she was, jumping up for kisses on whichever people she fancied she could manipulate into responding to her cuteness, stopping to pull up some grass, barking when she got to the end, so pleased with her own performance she couldn’t keep quiet about it. Alexi and Tamara walked through, as if they were strolling down Fifth Avenue in the Easter parade. Bucky, who held my other hand, squeezed it as his dogs passed around us. Betty was precise, centering herself on each turn and not touching any of us. Dashiell was the opposite, smacking into as many legs as possible on his way. Sky streaked through the poles like a bolt of lightning, never touching any of us, and when he reached the end, turning and running back through, ending with a smart, neat sit in front of Beryl, as if to say, How was that for weave poles, amateurs?
    “That’s it,” Audrey called out, dropping the hands she was holding and breaking the line. “No one can compete with Sky. Time for something new.”
    “How about hide-and-seek?” Chip said.
    I thought he’d be shouted down, that Boris would suggest we find a wall for the dogs to scale or that we do a relay race, each of us running with our own dog. I saw that Cathy had a bag of Frisbees and that Woody had brought a couple of gloves for scent discrimination, even though we said we’d use what we found in the park. But suddenly they were all shouting like five-year-olds, hide-and-seek, hide-and-seek. And then before I knew what was happening, Chip had grabbed my hand and we were running toward the line of trees, Betty and Dashiell at our sides.
    “We’ll give you fifteen minutes,” Beryl shouted, “then we’re coming to get you.”
    All I could hear was my breathing as we ran in the dark, through the trees and to a narrow dirt path on the other side.
    “This way,” he said, pulling on my hand, holding it so tightly I couldn’t get it free. He was running in an arc, heading east first, then north, then west. At one point, he stopped so that we could leash the dogs, and I realized we were at