After the kids were in bed, Kenny and I stood in the living room deciding what we wanted to do. The dogs circled our feet, anxious for attention. Macy, our oldest boxer, nipped my hand enticing me to play with her. Normally, I would shove her around and let her growl at me some. But for some reason, I jumped on her. Like a horse.
"Race you!" I yelled. I took off down the hall, dragging a half galloping Macy underneath me.
"CHEATER!" Kenny screamed as he jumped on Sadie, trying to catch up. Sadie didn't budge. She cowered under him, whining.
"You horse sucks, LOSER!" I triumphtly punched the air. I patted my horse, I mean, dog. She licked my hand happily, not at all understanding the game.
"That's not fair. I had a gimp horse. I want to trade." Loser. Blaming his horse.
We lined the dogs up at the end of the hall. This time I stood over Sadie. Kenny took Macy.
"Ready, set, GO!"
Sadie and I were off, leaving Kenny and Macy in a cloud of dust. Somewhere midway down the hall, I fell off of Sadie. Laughing hysterically, I rolled over to see Kenny and Macy still sitting at the starting line.
Dude. He is the worst dog jockey I have ever met.
On the left, Macy, one time champ in the Saturday Night Dog Races.
On the right, Sadie, winner by default after Macy refused to leave the starting line.