The Fast and the Furriest Read Online Free PDF Page B

Zach’s amusementwas more obvious. He was laughing so hard, he wasn’t making any real sounds.
    Kevin turned to Elka and, not quite looking at her, said, “Um … very sorry.” Every inch of him was producing cold, nervous sweat. The windmill lay on its back, its arms still slowly churning. “Totally, completely sorry. This is clearly not for us.”
    “Well, it’s definitely for Cromwell,” said Elka. “He was brilliant.” She smiled and nodded at the dog. “You, Mr. Pugh, are a different story.” Elka gave him a firm, disapproving glance and adjusted her babushka.
    Kevin looked toward his dog—his energetic, ambitious dog—and realized that getting thwacked in the face by a kickball in front of his dad’s coworkers wasn’t actually his lowest moment. Being shown up by his blob of a dog was much, much worse.
    “I could … um …” Kevin cleared his throat and rubbed his ankle. “I could clean up the mess over there.”
    “No, no,” said Elka. “Mr. Brockman will restore the course.” She shot a severe look at the curly-haired guy, who recoiled, then hurried onto the green turf to rearrange the obstacles.
    “Are you injured?” Elka asked Kevin.
    “No,” Kevin said softly. “I don’t think so.” He placed Cromwell on the ground, then sheepishlystood up. He felt an urge to flee. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we just, um …”
    “If you stayed?” said Elka, locking eyes with him. “Please, gentlemen. I
insist
upon it.” She clapped her hands once and smiled warmly at Cromwell.
    “But do try not to hurt yourself, Mr. Pugh.”

7
    F or the remainder of the class, Kevin maintained a tight, unrelenting death grip on his dog’s leash. He was like a mountain climber holding a rope. Cromwell seemed spellbound by the parade of leaping dogs. Kevin was no less impressed, but he also felt anxious and humiliated. When the class ended—despite his amazement at the talents of the various humans and canines—Kevin and Zach bolted. He later e-mailed Elka, both to thank her and to repeat his apology. Elka replied (again to the dog) and complimented Cromwell on his effort.
    In the days that followed, it became perfectly clear that Cromwell was obsessed with agility. It was not merely a phase, but an addiction. He dropped his leash at Kevin’s feet constantly. He ran phantomcourses in the backyard. He lodged himself in the tire swing daily. It was mid-June and oppressively hot, but not even a series of 100-degree days could stop the dog. At times, Kevin would simply sit in a lawn chair, spraying himself with the hose, while Cromwell made run after failed run at the tire swing. Zach accompanied them on what Kevin felt were murderously long walks. At Montrose Beach, Crom well ran through obstacle courses that Kevin constructed from abandoned tin pails and shovels; in Horner Park, the dog routinely broke free of his leash and tore through picnics and volleyball games; on the lakefront path, he chased bikes and terrorized pigeons. (Or maybe he just amused them. Tough to tell with pigeons.) He was an entirely new—and an unrelentingly active—Cromwell Pugh.
    Kevin knew that they should really commit to Paw Patch. If they were going to keep up the dog agility nonsense, Cromwell needed more direction than Kevin alone could provide. All that remained was to convince his parents, who, Kevin figured, had always wanted him to be sportier anyway.
    But Howie was a skeptic.
    “Okay, just so I’m clear,” he said over breakfast on Sunday morning, “you want me and your mother to pay for a class for Cromwell …”
    “And me,” said Kevin. “I’m in the class, too.”
    “Sorry. And you,” acknowledged his dad. “We pay for a class where Cromwell
and you
get trained. But it’s not sit–stay–fetch–roll over training? Or clean-your-room training? It’s jump-through-a-hoop-and-leap-over-tiny-fences training?”
    Howie, chewing, stared at his son across a plate of waffles. Each square on each waffle was