The Hundred-Mile-an-Hour Dog Goes for Gold!

by Jeremy Strong

  But Kriss wasn’t listening. Streaker was snapping at his lucky shorts and Kriss was running faster and faster. The finishing line was coming up and Azi Numa was still in front, but Kriss was catching him and – a huge roar went up from the crowd. The race was over.

  But who had won? The finishing line was on the far side of the track and Tina and I couldn’t see. We turned to look at the big screen for the announcements. Seconds went by and then the board flickered into life and the result was shown. First place –

  KRISS OKONJO!

  He’d won! In fact he was still running, with Streaker bouncing along behind him having a great time. I think they were both doing a victory lap.

  Mum and Dad seemed very puzzled.

  ‘Where did that dog come from? What’s it doing on the track? It shouldn’t be on the track. It looks a bit like Streaker. Good heavens – it IS Streaker! How did Streaker get here? Trevor? Tina? Where are you? Do you know anything about this? TREVOR?!’

  The Last Bit

  Tina and I were in deep doo-doo, but only for a short while. We hadn’t even got home when the news came over the car radio.

  ‘Tamsin Plank reporting. There was quite a scene at the International Games today during the 3,000-metre contest between Kriss Okonjo and Azi Numa. Numa was in first place during the closing stages when a dog got on to the track and chased Kriss Okonjo. Okonjo speeded up considerably and overtook Numa with the last strides of the race, also breaking the world record. The dog was caught and returned to its embarrassed owners. The race was also disturbed by Azi Numa’s mother, who had apparently hypnotized Kriss Okonjo to run a slow race. Mrs Numa was detained by the police and is now being questioned.’

  Tina and I sat in the rear of the car with Streaker between us. (No longer in the bag!) We sat and kept absolutely quiet while my parents listened to the report. Dad switched it off when it was finished, and we drove for the next five minutes in silence. Eventually Dad gave a little cough.

  ‘Um, I think we owe you two an apology. That is what you were trying to tell us, isn’t it, and we didn’t believe you? I’m sorry about that.’

  I tapped Dad on the shoulder. ‘That’s OK,’ I told him. ‘You can’t be right all the time, can you?’

  Dad’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, Trevor, I can’t. But please don’t get too carried away by that thought.’

  Tina and I started giggling.

  So that was that problem solved. All we had to do now was get through the Animal Games, and that meant facing Charlie Smugg, not to mention his three Alsatians, and Chips the Wonder Collie.

  The very next day I washed Streaker and combed her until she looked as smart as a new kettle – smooth and shiny and ready to boil. The races were being held at the football ground and it was crowded with people and their pets.

  The running race came up first. Charlie and Sharon were showing off Lamborghini and a small crowd had gathered round. Sharon’s dog was not only powerful but looked every inch a winner. He was a pure pedigree with lovely long legs and graceful lines. I was annoyingly surprised. All along I had wanted to hate the dog because it was Charlie and Sharon’s, but I had to admit he was in fact rather splendid and beautiful. In comparison Streaker was smaller and shorter and most definitely a mongrel. If Streaker was going to lose, at least she would lose to a worthy opponent.

  ‘Fat chance you’ve got,’ chortled Charlie when he saw us. ‘You’re going to be left dead in the water.’

  There were twelve dogs up for the speed race. We had to stand with our dogs on the starting line and wait for the signal. A fat man with a bald head acted as starter.

  ‘I haven’t got a starting pistol,’ he apologized. ‘So I shall call out – ready, steady, bang! Understood? Right then, READY – STEADY – BANG!!’

  And they were off – well, most of them at any rate. Three dogs were far more interested in sniffing each other, the way dogs do. The other nine were belting along, with Lamborghini cruising in front with long, graceful bounds. Behind him Streaker looked a bit like a frantic spider, trying desperately to keep up. A wave of pity came over me. Poor Streaker. Why had I taken up that wretched challenge? She was busting a gut out there for me and she was going to lose.

  They reached the first bend and I noticed a curious thing: all the dogs began to slow down as they rounded the bend, which was pretty tight – all the dogs except Streaker, who just carried on at full speed. That’s what she has always done. She has very powerful legs, but they are not all that long and she has always been brilliant at cornering.

  Along the straight bits of track Streaker was losing ground to Lamborghini, but on the bends she was making it up again. All in all they were keeping pace with each other.

  ‘Come on, Lambo!’ bellowed Charlie.

  It was the last corner, and the greyhound felt Streaker on his tail. He went into the corner fast. His paws lost grip, he scrabbled madly, then fell, tumbling over, while Streaker shot past and into the home straight. Lamborghini was back on his feet and loping after her, catching her with his whopping great strides, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t believe it. Streaker had won.

  MY DOG, STREAKER, HAD WON!

  MY DOG! MY WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL STREAKER!

  Charlie fixed me with the most nasty stare.

  ‘You wait,’ he hissed. ‘There’s still the frisbee competition, and I’m going to murder you. I’m going to murder you AND your stupid dog!’

  If you hadn’t noticed yet, Charlie’s not very nice.

  Tina was wearing the biggest smile ever. She flung her arms round Streaker and smothered her. ‘You are the best!’ she cried. Then she jumped up and flung her arms round me! Aaaargh! ‘And you are the best too!’ she squeaked, and kissed me! On my cheek! IN FRONT OF EVERYONE! Double aaaargh!

  ‘Come on,’ I said quickly. ‘The frisbee competition is about to start.’

  There were only five dogs in this. Streaker, all three of Charlie’s Alsatians and Chips, Tim’s wonder collie. Chips was bouncing about, waving his very fluffy tail as if to say: ‘Ha ha, aren’t I the most wonderful creature on this earth! Just look at my lovely fur all washed and brushed. Aren’t I the handsome one! Aren’t I the most lovely! Oh do look at me!’

  And if Charlie’s Alsatians could speak, they were saying: ‘Gonna bite your heads off, all of you! So watch out!’

  And if Streaker could speak, she would have been saying: ‘Any pizza anywhere? Please say yes!’

  The frisbee competition was a real challenge. There were going to be six throws altogether, and whichever dog got the frisbee most often would be the overall winner.

  The fat, bald-headed starter came over with a large, yellow frisbee and explained all this. He asked us to line up our dogs. ‘As soon as the frisbee leaves my hand, you can let your dog go,’ he told us. ‘Ready, steady –’

  ‘Are you going to say “bang” again?’ interrupted Tim.

  ‘No, son. This time I shall say “woosh”, which I think is more suitable for a frisbee. Here we go. READY, STEADY, WOOOSH!’

  The frisbee went sailing off with five dogs after it. To my astonishment Streaker was out in front. She leaped up, seized the frisbee and came trotting back. Unbelievable!

  ‘One to Streaker,’ announced the starter. ‘Here we go again. Ready, steady, woosh!’

  Off went the frisbee, and this time Chips strutted his stuff and got it, while Streaker went off to examine the starter’s left shoe for some strange reason.

  The frisbee was thrown for the third time and this time I saw out of the corner of my eye something drop from Charlie’s hand. Off went four of the dogs while Streaker sniffed at a large piece of chocolate lying near Charlie’s feet. The cheat! He’d deliberately thrown food down to distract Streaker! Streaker snaffled it quickly and sat back, looking very pleased. Meantime, one of Charlie’s Alsatians had seized Chips by the tail while the other two got the frisbee between them and brought it back.

  ‘So we have one fetch for each contestant,’ said the starter. �
�Here we go for the fourth launch. Ready, steady, woosh!’

  The frisbee sailed out. Streaker went charging ahead but this time she had seen a butterfly and off she went, jumping and barking while one of Charlie’s Alsatians collected the frisbee. Chips had run a bit and then given up. I don’t think he could bear to sustain any more damage to his splendid tail. After all, it would ruin his looks if it got bent or something even worse. Tim patted his dog sadly.

  ‘I’m not taking part any longer in the competition,’ he announced. ‘I don’t wish my dog to be hurt.’

  I went across and told Tim I was sorry he was withdrawing. He glanced at Charlie’s Alsatians. ‘It’s not your fault, Trevor. You know how it is with some people. Good luck!’

  On the fifth launch Streaker suddenly seemed to get herself back into gear. She streaked ahead of Charlie’s dogs, grabbed the frisbee and brought it back, despite an attack launched on her by two of the Alsatians. There was an awful lot of barking and the fight had to be broken up.

  ‘You’d better keep your dog under control,’ seethed Charlie.

  The starter looked at Charlie sternly. ‘Young man, that attack was clearly provoked by two of your dogs. Be careful you are not disqualified. This will be the last throw. Two dogs are tied on two fetches each. May the best dog win. Ready, steady, wooosh!’

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Charlie did it again! A lump of chocolate fell to the ground, right in front of Streaker. She bent down and sniffed it while Charlie’s dogs were off after the frisbee.

  ‘Go, Streaker, go!’ I yelled. She looked up at me, glanced after the disappearing Alsatians, eyed the chocolate one more time then shot off after the frisbee.

  ‘GO!’ I screamed after her, while Charlie just stood there going, ‘Hurr hurr hurr!’

  The Alsatians were well ahead and the frisbee was still high in the air, but slowly beginning to sink. Charlie’s dogs galloped after it, and after them came Streaker. I knew she couldn’t leap as high as the Alsatians, but she could outrun them and she was catching them fast – but the frisbee was now descending fast too.

  Down it came, and the leading Alsatian leaped into the air, rising, rising, jaws ready for the frisbee. Streaker could never jump that high, but now she was leaping too. Oh my goodness! I had to hold my breath. Streaker leaped into the air, and then leaped again OFF THE LEADING ALSATIAN’S BACK! She used Charlie’s Alsatian like a stepladder to the frisbee, grabbed it and came hurtling back, to enormous cheers!

  ‘That’s cheating!’ fumed Charlie. ‘That’s not allowed. That dog’s disqualified! Call the police! I want that dog arrested for cheating!’

  The crowd began laughing and a very stern starter strode across to Charlie. ‘Young man, I am the judge here, not you, and Streaker has won the competition fair and square. Now then, shake hands, and be done with it!’

  Charlie had to shake hands with me! Hurr hurr hurr!

  He went home absolutely seething with rage. He wouldn’t even speak to Sharon, who tottered after him, calling, ‘Charlie, talk to me, Charlie!’

  Meanwhile Tina hugged me for the second time that day. She even tried to kiss me again but I managed to duck and she only got the top of my ear.

  So it was all over. Kriss Okonjo had a gold medal, a world record and some pizza stuck on his lucky running shorts. Streaker had two gold medals and some chocolate she hadn’t expected.

  And what did I have? The best dog in the whole world, that’s what. And the best friend too. (Friend, not GIRLfriend.)

  It all started with a Scarecrow

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  First published 2012

  Text copyright © Jeremy Strong, 2012

  Illustrations copyright © Rowan Clifford, 2012

  Cover illustration by NICK SHARRATT

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  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

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  ISBN: 978-0-14-197144-5