Jesus Christ for dachshunds. Big ones, little ones, long ones, short ones, thin ones, fat ones, minis, standards, mixes, dapples, piebalds, chocolates, burgundies, reds. Some wore dresses, others hand knitted jackets. A few sported around with a hotdog bun on each side and mustard and ketchup on their back. It was like a damn Shriners convention. I wore my sleeveless black racing tank with the skull and crossbones embroidered on the back. We had to cut a hole in it to clip my leash onton my harness underneath the shirt, but this actually made it look like the skull had its nose pierced.
And of course many of the dogs from the parade meandered over to give us grief and watch us race. I accidently got swatted in the face by a Mastiff's tail and it knocked me over. Those things are huge. I surprised the folks by being more than agreeable to every dog I met. I actually made two friends, Lucy and ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Boston, who were also racing. And I didn't freak out once, but did get into two minor scrapes. One was with a Pekinese. I went up to say hello and stuck my nose up her ass and she turned around and bit me, the bitch. And then there was this Siberian Husky who didn't want to share a hotdog that had fallen on the ground. He didn't have to tell me twice. But I did get a nip of a Bloody Mary that someone left sitting around.
There were 10000 dogs at the dog parade and about 300 dachshunds at the derby. I would also estimate that at the beginning of the derby there were 5000 people lined up in the bleachers and generally milling around. Before mom and my entourage came I decided to do a practice race. This didn't do well. Dad forced me into this wooden box and I ran out immediately; he pushed me back in and pushed this door down. It was dark and I had to pee. When the doors opened these other dogs took off down the track but I didn't see dad anywhere so I lingered about, smelling the astroturf and jumping up on one of the haybale barricades. After all the other dogs had crossed the finish line dad had to walk down the track and pick me up. It was embarassing.
Despite the last place finish in the practice race, dad stayed positive. He told me that it was his fault I finished last. All the owners were already in position at the finish line, he explained, and by the time he got there there was no room for him. He knelt behind everyone and yelled for me, but I couldn't see him; therefore, I dawdled. He said he would fix this for the real race and I felt better. Then we went to get a drink.
As we stood in line my entourage showed up. How cool is it to have be a 2-year-old dachshund who, only six months ago, was sitting in a pound, to have a cheering section come watch him race? Not to mention all the well-wishes over email and MySpace. Thank you to Sarah, Molly, Mariel, Jacqueline, Jenna, Doug, Josh, Jay, Jackie, Amber, Shari, and Heidi for the e-wishes. And to Sarah, Tracy, Heather, John, Stacy, and mom for showing up to cheer me one. Sarah asked me after the race, "Marshall, did you hear me out there? I was screaming like an asshole." Yes, Sarah, I heard you loud and clear and it inspired me to run my little ass off.
The organizers had the old dogs (Hot Dogs) run first; then it was time for the middle-aged dogs (Ballpark Franks) to go second, and they finished with the largest category, the dachshunds under the age of three (Cocktail Wienies). There were more than 150 of us divided into nearly 30 heats of six dogs apiece. I waited for nearly two hours before my race (enough time for dad to have a Bloody Mary, a Hurricane, and a Jack and Coke...he was more nervous than I was). But then it was our turn. They called our heat number and dad crowded to the front, yelled, "Here's Marshall in number one." He jammed me in the box and I saw him sprint to the finish line. He was the first one there and I could see him from my crate. He knelt down and yelled my name over and over. I wanted to yell, "Yeah, I see you. You can stop yelling already." But of course, I'm a dog and can't talk so I had to endured his incessant bellowing. They lined up the rest of the pooches and then opened the gate. Really, it wasn't much of a contest. Dad had said the other dogs were slow and he was right. I led from start to finish leaping into Dad's arms at the end. He picked me up like a three year old and held me to the sun yelling, "You did it! You did it!" But they mistakenly announced that Roscoe was the winner, and Dad quickly put me down and barked, "Marshall! It was Marshall!" They soon changed it.
After the race he lifted me up and I waved to mom and everyone in the crowded. They took pictures and waved at us, until the organized finally asked us to leave the race area. We mingled around the holding area while waiting for the semifinal heat. I visited with Lily some more and waved at mom. It was tough sitting there watching the other dogs. I felt good, though, my legs were loose and dad had taken off my harness, which I was wearing during the win in the first heat. We decided to keep my racing jacket on so people would recognize me and I could intimidate the other dogs. And then they called us to the gate.
I was in gate two and dad cut in front of the people in gate one in order to load me up and get situated on the finish line. I knew the drill this time and ran right in and sat down. I saw dad waiting for me at the finish line and I was going through my visualization exercises. The trouble with this race, for dogs, is that they don't give you a countdown. Dad knew when they were opening the gates, but I didn't. Still, when the doors opened I got a good jump. There was a minidachshund in lane three, to my left, and she started slow, but her shortened torso didn't need as much horsepower to get her going. Soon she overtook my lead and because it was such a short course, maybe 10-15 yards, she hit full speed and crossed the finish line ahead of me. I came in second, which is respectable, but am convinced if the race had been twice as long I would have won it and the whole damn championship.
Dad looked a little bit in shock at my loss. I heard him saying before the races began that these dogs were slow, but I guess he underestimated the advantage that the minis have on a short track. What really burns me about the loss, however, is that the dog that beat me looks just like Maggie, who I courted over Christmastime, only to get repeatedly spurned. And know it felt like she beat me in the race, too. Nonetheless, dad picked me up and gave me a kiss and held me out for mom to take a picture. Sarah and Tracy clapped and we all met up out in the bleachers. They told me what a good job I did and how impressed they were that I won the first race, which really made me feel good. I wanted to win the whole thing, but it was a good, learning experience and I'm confident I'll come back next year (even if I'm not living in St. Louis) and do even better.
After the race mom and dad took me home and gave me a big bone, which has been just terrific. I got one of those things for Christmas, too, and it took me four weeks to finish. This one's a little smaller, but just as tasty. I've decided to ease up on the training a bit. Had a cigarette out on the balcony today, and drank a big can of beer while the folks were grocery shopping tonight. I won't totally let myself go, but I was on a pretty strict regimen while I prepared for the race. But it was worth it. The running was fun, but so was sniffing hundreds of dogs and seeing and hearing from so many people that wished me well. I turn two-years-old on March 1, but yesterday really felt like my birthday. Thanks everyone.
Love,
Marshall
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