The Fast and the Furriest by Andy Behrens Page B

of “The Super Bowl Shuffle.”
    “Ohmy
gawd
, ohmygawd!” said an excited passerby. He wore a backwards Bears cap and his mouth was hanging open. “You’re Howie Pugh! Oh … my
… God …
”
    “Hey, how ya doin’, kid,” said Howie with a practiced grin.
    He wasn’t actually speaking to a kid, of course, but to a large grown adult male. But to Kevin, the dude looked a bit childish, fawning in front of his dad like that.
    The man looked back and forth between Kevin and Howie.
    “I … I’m totally sorry,” he stammered. “I’m interrupting. Very sorry.” Flustered, he dug into a pocket, withdrew a pen, and removed his cap. “If I could just maybe get you to sign the cap, Mr. Pugh, that’d be
so
awesome … I’m a
huge
fan….”
    “Sure thing, kid.” Howie took the pen and the cap.
    “Saw you play, back in the day,” continued the fan. “You were awesome….”
    “Thanks, kid.”
    Kevin turned on his iPod, clicked the timer, and tugged at Cromwell’s leash. He caught Izzy’s eye, then quickly spun on his heels and ran. Kevin furrowed his brow and dropped his head. The dog bounced happily beside him.
    “You could sign hats someday,” he grumbled to Cromwell. The dog woofed. “Or dog sweaters, or something.”
    Kevin arrived at Zach’s house drained from the jog, demanding virtual competition. Zach, of course, obliged.
    Down arrow … left arrow … “A” button …
    “You’re getting better in coverage,” Kevin said.
    “Hmpf,” said Zach. “I don’t need your pity.”
    “No, you tackled me almost right after the catch there—that 37-yard catch.”
    “A” button … left arrow … right arrow …
    “So are you sure that was the best move, not just telling your mom and dad about the agility stuff?” said Zach.
    “No,” answered Kevin. “I don’t know the best move, exactly. I don’t wanna talk about it. I’d rather talk about how you can’t stop the Waggle.”
    Up arrow … up arrow … left arrow … “A” button …
    “You’ll eventually need to have the dog-versus-football talk.”
    “But not
now
. With
you
.”
    “Well, no, but …”
    “… but you want to make sure your investment is secure.”
    Zach was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe.”
    “Well, it’s secure. I’m just putting off the talk. Maybe until after the thing this week.”
    “The Paw Patch Invitational?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “A” button … “A” button … “B” button …
    “Elka says that the top finisher moves on to some Midwest Kennel something-something championships. This is apparently a big deal—it’s at the United Center.” Kevin’s thumb pounded the controller. “This is what she says.”
    “Dude! Team Cromwell will
dominate
. Your dog is abolt of furry lightning! He’s a, a, a … well, he’s going to dominate!”
    “Two things wrong with that,” said Kevin. “One,
I
am not a bolt of lightning. And two, Cromwell is not at all times what you would call disciplined. He moves fast—weirdly fast. But the deductions add up. That’s what kills us. We always have, like, two minutes of penalties.”
    “As the manager of Team Cromwell, these are shortcomings that I expect you—my employee—to address.”
    “Workin’ on it, boss,” said Kevin.
    Up arrow … left arrow … up arrow …
    Kevin intercepted Zach’s quarterback’s pass.
    “Sweet!” said Kevin.
    “Gaaaaaarrgh,” said Zach.
    “Touchdown!” said Kevin.
    “We need to make T-shirts.”
    “Dude, I beat you at Madden all the time. It’s not really a shirt-worthy achievement.”
    “No, fool. For Team Cromwell—we need T-shirts. For the Paw Patch thing. And then we’ll need ’em for the Midwest Kennel blah-bitty-blah championships.”
    “Which, just to be clear, we won’t qualify for.”
    “Whatever, Kevin. We need uniforms.”
    Kevin snickered.
    “We’ll get jerseys. Howie Pugh respects sports with jerseys, right?” asked Zach.
    “I can’t imagine Howie appreciating anything