Racer

• Sabrina Lachman
• Short Story
• 2011

There are no born winners or losers, they say. Well, I knew differently.
There are those who are born with everything and those who are born with nothing. There is no point denying it.
Those who are close to me say I am fortunate, and, for a time I believed them. Poor fool that I was, I believed them blindly. Now, I see things more clearly. The younger the deluded, the more successful the illusion, and I was young. I had not yet raced.

How could I have never connected the years of solitude I’d endured with my omnipotent Master? What did it have to do with him that I lived in a cage? Perhaps my stupidity was due to my vicious schedule. I was worked around the clock, and left to sleep for only a few hours each night. I had no time to think, really, and when I did, my fantasies were all about running faster than any dog had run before; of crossing the finish line first and finally sinking my teeth into the lure.
They called me an ‘athlete’. My name is ‘Dark Silver’. ‘Tropical Punch from Paradise’ was my dam and my sire was ‘Midnight Sun’. My master said I was pedigree and that one day, I would be a champion. I hoped I would be. Don’t laugh, I was only a puppy. I knew no better.

I knew there can only be one winner in a race. The story humans tell their children about everyone being a winner is rubbish. Sure, everyone has a personal goal they’d like to reach, but the ultimate goal for all of us is becoming better than everyone else. Of seeing the track clear before you and knowing in your bones that in only a few more strides you will cross the finish line... before everyone else. I fancied myself as the ONE dog who would make it. I dreamed about my success at night, and my dreams gave me strength to go on during the day. I believed I was invincible, and my Master did, too. He worked me until my skin could hold no more muscle, and my paws were rough and thick. My legs stopped aching and I no longer gasped for air after a heavy training session. I avoided the other dogs, so focussed was I on being the ultimate champion, a star that never faded, a memory that never died.
Fool.

My Master had such faith in me that he signed me up for the biggest race of the year when I was only fifteen months old. Even if I had known, I doubt I would have minded, full of arrogance as I was. All I wanted to do was win.

As usual, I was penned in at the starting line with all the other dogs. A host of wonderful smells reached my nose like a tidal wave and, for a moment, my head swam. I could hear the ragged breathing of my rivals through the fences that separated us.
I breathed heavily through my muzzle and felt every muscle tingle with excitement. This was IT.
The sound of the gun exploded above me and I was off, a streak of dark silver among a sea of brown and white. My paws flew over the soft grass like seagulls over water, skimming the ground with barely the lightest touch. My muscles bunched and flexed, my legs stretching farther than they had ever before, until I thought they would break. I flew like an eagle above the track, my nose to the wind, my heart as light as a bird. No-one, I thought, could ever defeat me, no-one. I was invincible, untouchable. The lure was mine.
I shall never forget the moment the small white lure was gone from my field of vision, blocked out by something larger.
The dog snarled, baring his teeth at me. He was gray, too, but not silver; just gray. I snarled back at him.
Stormcloud raced ahead of me, faster than any dog should go.
I strained to catch up, pulling my legs so hard I whimpered in pain. He was fast; but I knew in my heart that I was faster.
Two more dogs passed me, snarling like wild wolves. Desperately, I tried to catch up. Their paws kicked dust into my eyes. I ran blindly now, and my legs began to ache.
Suddenly, a pain so excruciating it seemed hardly real sliced through my legs. I collapsed onto the ground, my paws buckling beneath me, my nose ramming into the soil. I tasted blood on my tongue. The thunder in my ears came from twelve sets of paws, racing across the finish line. I closed my eyes, and was lost in blackness.

I remember thinking that there was too much light. Hands were holding me gently, and the thunderous sound of my rivals’ feet had gone. My Master was talking to the man who held me in his arms.

‘...so there is absolutely no hope of recovery?’
‘None at all, I’m afraid’ my carer replied grimly. ‘This dog will never race again.’
There was a long silence. The longest of my life.








Finally, my Master said ‘Then he will have to be put down.’