We rarely talk about sports at our house. Althoough Momma tends to follow a certain player in the NFL and talk about him with some degree of giddiness. Daddy tends to believe that Momma is less interested in said player’s football playing abilities than in his dating life and apparent betrothal to a certain unnamed superstar singer/songwriter who is an avowed Artificial Intelligence opponent and is currently in the process of trademarking her voice and her image. I tend to not really care about any of that.
I care about speed.
Just yesterday, Daddy and I were playing chase in the backyard. Daddy was bragging how he had outlasted me and how fast he was.1 According to him, at some point during his monologue I made a noise that sounded like a scoff.2 And that’s when he began telling me how he used to be a long distance runner.3
Later, while Daddy was recovering from our game of chase, I did a little research on the interweb. Did you know that the world record for marathons was broken at the 2026 London Marathon? In fact, not only was the world record broken, but two runners ran the marathon in less than two hours for the first time in history! Sebastian Sawe of Kenya posted a time of 1:59:30. And just ten seconds later, Yomif Kejelchea of Ethiopia crossed the finish line.
That’s when I decided that I, too, could set new speed records. For several days, I have been training by increasing the pace of our morning walks. I made the change slowly so as not to put Daddy into shock. Last night, I checked the weather, learned that a cold front was coming and that the most perfect of all conditions would grace today’s walk. Cool and only slightly breezy.
When Daddy hit the button to lower the garage door, I bolted down the driveway in a flash, catching him by surprise and dragging him perilously. Normally, I stop to sniff at the end of our driveway — a popular pee-mail location. But not today!
The slight slope down toward the street worked to my advantage. With the momentum gained, I spirited Daddy toward the opposite curb and then banked smoothly as I headed north.
It was Thursday. Walking through the neighborhood presents certain challenges when you’re trying to set a speed record. Streets must be crossed safely. And then there are the 20+ sniffing and/or marking locations to be attended to. I knew that we could easily set a new personal best if I blazed by all of those. However, I also knew it would be a hollow victory if I didn’t hold to tradition. And, I didn’t want to lose my spot on the neighborhood doggy leaderboard.
So I pulled and pulled. Made quick stops. Sniffed. Left evidence of my presence. Moved on.
We weren’t quite halfway around when I noticed that Daddy was breathing pretty hard. So I stopped, looked him square in the eye, and gave him my best pep talk.
“You can do this. It’s your time to shine. You’re a champion!” I spouted.
I’m not sure my words connected with him in the moment, but the minute his smart watch quit beeping, I yanked him toward home. The last segment allows us to get ahead on the clock because it’s the sniff-only part of our route — I’m almost totally out of marking liquid by then. And it’s a straight shot to our front porch, Momma, and the treats she has for me.
There’s no tape to break like in those marathon races. Instead, our race ends when Daddy presses the doorbell. And a glance at his watch, tells the tale. A new personal best!
Just a reminder to pursue your dreams, even if you have to pull someone like Daddy huffing and puffing behind you.
In truth, Daddy wears one of those smart watches that lets you know when your heart is going too fast. I could hear it beeping, but Daddy didn’t have his hearing aids in. In my continuing duty to save Daddy from himself, I stopped the game.
According to Google’s AI creature, “A scoff is a short, sharp, and breathy exhalation used to express mockery, disbelief, or contempt. It is often a guttural or nasal sound, frequently described as a ‘huff,’ ‘tch,’ or a ‘derisive snort.’ It is an abrupt, non-verbal sound of disdain rather than the spoken word ‘scoff.’" I’m beginning to see why Taylor Swift the aforementioned unnamed superstar singer/songwriter doesn’t think much of AI. And, yes, I may have scoffed at Daddy a bit.
I checked with Momma. She said that there was about 6 months during the early ‘80s when Daddy would put on a sweatsuit, lace up running shoes, and then disappear in the early morning hours. He would come back an hour later, seemingly out of breath, and, oddly, covered in those little sprinkles that you see on donuts.
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