I can hear the crowd around me, talking amongst themselves, just waiting for the race to begin. I can hear people betting, “I’ll take ten on Lightning! Twenty on Bullet!” I’m what you can consider an underdog. Lightning and Bullet, they are the true racers. I don’t necessarily come in last, but I’ve never won. I love the feel of racing, watching the rabbit bounding about in front of me. We know it’s mechanical, but we run for the thrill of it. Suddenly, I get my confidence boost for the race. “I’ll take five on Cassie!” That’s me! I think happily I won’t let you down! It’s an honor enough to hear someone knowing my name. Usually, people refer to the lesser racers by their number. I’m number 2, I’ve actually grown rather fond of the number. I can sometimes pick out individual voices in the crowd, little children talking to their friends. “I like that one the best, number 2i!” “Well, I like the black one the best.” Suddenly a family sits down up front. Next to my pen. “Hi there,” a little girl whispers to me. “Daddy, what’s this doggie’s name?” she asks her father. He looks at the brochure. “Number 2… Cassie…” he mutters. “Hi Cassie,” she says. “I bet she’s the best one!” the girl squeals enthusiastically “Daddy, can we put money on her?” she asks. The man looks down at her, and stares into her eyes for a moment. Finally, he smiles. “All right,” he says softly The man stands up. “Fifty on Cassie!” he shouts. “Go Cassie! C’mon girl!” It’s the little girl from before Fifty! Not even Lightning and Bullet get that kind of money on them! “All right girl, give it your all,” he says to me with a smile. I prefer it on the track, I love having everyone watch me, well, watching us… It’s much better than the kennel that I get forced into when I’m not out. I can’t lose, if I do, then I’m gone. Someday I know I’ll win. I look at the racer next to me. It’s number 12, Manfred. Another underdog. Lightning holds his head up high and gives all of us a menacing glare. Bullet paws the ground and lets out a quiet bark. I think that Bullet will win this one. Lightning strained his paw a few weeks ago and hasn’t fully recovered. Just then, the gates open. I know exactly what to do, I’ve done it many times before. I take off sprinting, I can hear panting behind me, there are at least ten in front of me. Slowly I pass one, I try to pace myself for the rest of the race. Suddenly I hear a noise. Faint at first, then louder, and I tune myself into it. “Go Cassie! C’mon girl!” It’s the little girl from before. With a sudden surge of confidence, I pass another racer. “Atta girl! Keep it up!” This time it is the girl’s father. I pass another greyhound. Soon, their two voices mix together, into one constant cheer. I run faster, and faster. I begin to pass more and more dogs, but I don’t notice, I’m listening to the sound of cheering. Then, the noise grows, more people are standing. “Keep it up!” “Number 2 is number I!” “Cassie! Go Cassie!” Soon I realize that I am neck and neck with Lightning. Bullet is only a few feet ahead of me. I can see the finish in the distance. Now the entire crowd is cheering me. I push myself, using the last bit of power I can muster up, I speed ahead of Lightning. I run harder, trying hard, so hard, to reach Bullet. I can feel Lightning’s dark gaze boring into the back of my head, but I don’t care. Even those who didn’t bet on me begin to cheer. Everyone wants to see me win, everyone wants to see an underdog finally take charge. Bullet shoots a nervous gaze back at me. I move my legs, pumping them faster and harder than I ever have before. I am at a dead tie with Bullet. I can hear a startled whimper escape him. He tries to push forward, but it’s no use. He used all his energy with his grueling pace. I pass him, and soon I pass the finish line. The crowd erupts into one huge cheer. “Cassie! Cassie! Cassie!” they shout my name over and over again. I’ve never felt so tired in my life. I pace back and forth. I can hear the announcer, “Truly an amazing feat, number 2 has won it all!” That night I sleep comfortably in my kennel. I can still hear our trainer’s voice, “Don’t know how you did it, but you did!” I can still feel the sense of importance that rushed over me as I passed the finish line. I can still see the look in Lightning’s eyes. And I can still imagine the little girl, “Go Cassie! C’mon girl!” My dreams of winning come to an end the next morning. I yawn, stretching my legs out as far as the kennel will allow them to move. I can hear the dogs above me shifting restlessly I hear Lightning whimper, his paw must still hurt. Soon, our caretaker comes in. “Hey guys. Good race yesterday, especially you, Cassie,” she says and scratches me under my chin. “OK, everyone, give it your all today,” she says, then she lets us out of our kennels and serves us breakfast. News must spread pretty quickly, because today everyone is betting on me. I look around for the little girl from the other day, but I don’t see her. “Twenty on Cassie!” I hear from a few feet away I look up excitedly, but I don’t see the girl, or her father. Several more people put bets on me, then the gates open. I race off again, passing others, but with no motivation for me to
Animals
Whisper
Cura Smith, a gangly girl of twelve, was exploring the desert landscape of Arizona when she heard the sound that would alter her life forever. It was the soft, normally musical mew of a cat. However, that wasn’t what made Cura turn in anxiety. It was that the sound had an almost undetectable cry for help. It was in trouble. Cura spun on her heel and ran towards the mew, kicking up dirt as she did so. Gulping, her sweaty fingers pushed back an escaped strand of ebony hair. She could feel that she was getting closer—it mewed again. Cura skidded to a stop and stepped from behind a flimsy palo verde tree. A sight met her eyes that made Cura’s hair stand up on the back of her neck. A rattlesnake lay coiled up, ready to strike. A small, cream-colored kitten was shaking with fear, his back arched. He cried once more helplessly, and the snake jolted forward warningly, then shrinking back into its coiled form almost immediately. Cura picked up a large rock and held it thoughtfully at her side. If she hit it just right, the snake would die. But Cura wasn’t stupid. She let the rock hit the ground and ran towards her house as fast as she could. The house was large, and hard to find somebody in. Surprisingly, however, her father was pacing the backyard, a tape measure outstretched. Normally he was never home, always at work at his construction business. A shovel rested in the unfinished pool against a dirt wall. Cura sprinted outside instinctively. “Dad!” She waved her arms and ran towards him, breathless. “Dad!” Cura stopped and took a deep breath. “Rattlesnake… kitten…” she gasped. “Shovel…” A sight met her eyes that made Cura’s hair stand up on the back of her neck “What?” His eyes were full of concern and annoyance. “The shovel, Dad, grab the shovel!” Cura spoke with such urgency that he grabbed the instructed object and followed her where she ran. When they got to the kitten, he furrowed his brow and turned to his daughter. The kitten had taken it upon himself to climb the palo verde tree, and the snake was gone. “Why did you call me over here for no reason, Cura?” he demanded, eyes fiery Cura gulped. “I…” “He probably belongs to somebody, anyway!” “But…” Cura processed his statement and let confusion cross her face. “What?” Her father shook his head and looked at her. “Did you just call me over here to ask if you could have this kitten?” Cura’s eyes grew wide, and a tear rolled down her cheek, making her freckles shiny. “Would I do that?” she pleaded. “Dad, I’m telling you, there was this rattlesnake, and he was going to bite the kitten!” “Don’t you call me over here needlessly again, do you understand me?” “B- But…” “Do you understand me?” Cura hung her head. “Yes, Daddy.” He walked away, muttering under his breath. When he had completely disappeared, she gently plucked the kitten off the top of the tree and held him at arm’s length from her. She looked sadly into his blue eyes and questioned him. “I don’t even like cats,” she said softly. “Why do I feel inclined to help you?” The more Cura thought about putting the kitten down, however, the more her heart ached. She looked at the kitten’s neck, and found it collarless. It seemed as though there was nobody to care for him. Cura cradled the kitten in her arms and tickled his chin. He purred. “There’s no reason why I can’t take you home,” she said thoughtfully. He wriggled, as though understanding her words. “How did you get that snake to leave, anyway? You’re like the snake whisperer.” Cura gasped suddenly, as a new idea occurred to her. “That could be your name—Whisper!” Whisper meowed happily. She giggled. “OK, then Whisper it is.” They trotted off for home, and Cura veered sharply to the right, ducking underneath a window. Silently she opened the window to the laundry room and jumped inside clumsily, stumbling when she landed, though managing not to make much noise. She then snuck to the stairs, tiptoeing faster than most people could run. She wasn’t used to entering this way, because her parents were usually at work and there would be nobody in the house except for a fluttering note on the counter. But today was Sunday, and she had to be as inconspicuous as possible. Where should I put Whisper? she thought. Cura hugged Whisper closer to her body and sighed in frustration. I could put him underneath my bed—no, no… I could put him in the attic—that’s no good… The door opened. Cura’s mother walked inside, putting away fresh towels, and stopped curiously at the sight of Cura, wide-eyed and frightened. Her gaze traveled to Cura’s arm, which was cradling a cream-colored tiny thing… which meowed. She sighed indignantly. “Cura Harmony Smith, what do you think you’re doing, bringing that cat into the house? It probably has an owner or a disease or something…” “We could take him to the vet,” Cura suggested hopefully. “He’s not clean enough to have an owner, and he has no collar.” She paused and held Whisper to face her mother. He meowed again and her mother was bewitched by his big, blue eyes. “Please? Whisper was being cornered by a rattlesnake…” “Whisper, you say?” Her mother leaned over and placed the towels on Cura’s bed. “Please, Mom. We need to help him.” “Well, maybe you do, but I’m very busy…” “But I’ll buy the food and everything…” “Cura, I can’t. I have work tomorrow…” “Please?” Cura choked. “There’s nobody to take care of him! If we don’t help him, he’ll die. He was given a second chance at life, and I would feel awful if we forced him to throw it away.” She wiped away a tear. “Wouldn’t you?” Cura’s mother bit her lip, closing her eyes as if
A Day at the Ranch
It was a bright and clear Monday morning on the Flying T ranch in Texas. Almost everyone at the ranch was still asleep, except a little Blue Heeler named Patches. She was a small dog with short brown legs and a stumpy tail. Her ears were black and she had a black patch on one eye. The rest of her strong little body was a silver-gray. She was an intelligent and spunky dog who loved to run and play. It was best to stay clear of her if you got on her bad side. Oh, and her specialty was herding the horses or anything else she thought needed herding. * * * She sat very patiently by the door of her pen. Ears pointed and alert, listening for any sound that might signal the people in the house were up. Not very long afterward she heard the rewarding sound of footsteps. Up came the rancher; he was a tall handsome man with gray hair in his early sixties. He opened up the door to have Patches, tail wagging profusely, jump up on him as a good-morning greeting. But enough of that, thought Patches to herself, there are bigger fish to fry this morning! And away she ran on her brown little legs. First she stopped by the barbed-wire fence and barked a friendly and cheery good morning to the neighbor’s dogs. When she got a mind-your-own-business bark in response, Patches trotted away. See if she ever told them hello again. Now to the horse pastures! Patches had taken it upon herself to make sure that the horses would mind every morning. She would stealthily slip under the rust-covered iron gate and nip at all of their heels a bit before Major Ed, the rancher, opened the big gate so he could take care of them. Patches had taken it upon herself to make sure that the horses would mind every morning That always takes all the fight out of them, Patches thought happily as she finished her daily routine. It saves the people a lot of trouble too, she commended herself warmly. Just as she was squeezing under the gate, Joan, the rancher’s pretty wife that would cook tempting tantalizing things for you until the cows came home, said, “She’s going to get the snot kicked out of her some day!” Patches puffed herself up with pride. What a compliment! She didn’t know what it meant, but it must be something good. What a compliment! She was so proud and pleased with herself that she didn’t look where she was going as she made her rounds around the ranch to make sure everything was safe and normal and SPLASH!!!! Water went everywhere as Patches ran at a rather fast pace, into the cold pool. If there was one thing she didn’t like it was being immersed in bitterly cold water. She paddled to the steps panting, thoroughly disgusted with herself and also at the cold, wet water. Well, Patches thought sadly to herself as she drooped her head, I guess pride really does go before the fall, or the jump in my case… She stopped short though because she heard a car coming down the quarter-mile downward-sloping driveway. She ran around to the other side of the house to investigate, coat dripping wet and gleaming in the warm September sunshine. It was an unknown car! How dare it enter her premises! It could be a threat to her people that she had worked so hard to keep safe and happy all these years! Anger burned within her as she shook with fury and rage. She would take care of that car once and for all. Patches leaped into action as the unidentified car progressed slowly down her driveway. She ran at it with an aggressive speed, biting at the large steel-belted tires. The car slowed down almost to a stop. She was winning! Just as she thought this battle was won Major Ed came around and stared darkly at Patches, making her whimper. “Patches! Patches, get over here! What are you doing?” he hollered. “I’m protecting my property and you! What else would I be doing?” she barked in reply. Before she knew what was happening she was dragged, claws dragging in the dirt, toward her pen. “Oh, no! Not that!” she begged. “I’ll do anything, please don’t put me in there!” Despite her pitiful cries of distress she was locked up, as the intruder stepped triumphantly out of his car and strode toward the barn. Patches lay down her short-haired head, sighing a huge dog sigh. She had had quite a day. Why not rest for a bit? She stretched out, soaking in the golden rays that fell across her. Her eyelids drooped, almost closing, covering her brown eyes so that they could barely be seen. The next thing anyone knew the Blue Heeler was fast asleep, but not for long. As soon as Patches woke up, she stretched her legs and neck and started barking. She must get out of that pen which restrained her! She needed desperately to make sure everyone was in tiptop condition. If anything had hurt them, they would have her to deal with! That is if she could escape her pen. Her owner Brad, the rancher’s grownup son, heard her cries of desperation and frustration and came to her rescue. As soon as he had lifted the latch Patches took off running at lightning speed without even stopping to say hello or thank you. First, she ran around the main part of the yard twice to make sure everything was normal. Then, she searched the barn. There was Major Ed and he looked just fine shoveling out the horses’ stalls. Next, she sprinted over and peeked through the short wooden fence posts that surrounded the backyard. The posts were not to keep Patches out, but the housedogs in. They were worthless. All they did was bark when they felt like it and
