Free Einstein Dog by Craig Spence Page A

just eight weeks old, child’s play bored Einstein. What fascinated him was the bigger picture: the gathering awareness that there were tens of thousands of words he didn’t understand, and a rich tapestry of meaning that would emerge once you added all those significant sounds together.
    â€œI think we’re ready now,” Professor Smith announced, walking up the lane to their end and taking his seat. He balanced a clip board on his lap. In one hand he clutched a pen, in the other a stopwatch.
    Einstein and Genie crouched at their start lines. They were used to drills, even a bit tired of them, but they still couldn’t help trying to win. Mazes, obstacle courses, quizzes . . . they’d been put through any number of trials. At first the entire litter had taken part, but when it became obvious Einstein and Genie won every round, the others were eliminated. Einstein had no idea why Professor Smith wanted to test them. All he knew was the professor whooped with glee when they performed well, and rewarded them with praise and affection.
    â€œOn your marks! Get set! Monkey!” he shouted.
    They charged down their lanes, Genie one step in the lead. Einstein cursed his short puppy legs. He wished he could run like his mother. By comparison he and Genie flapped and flopped like rag dolls. Grabbing his stuffed monkey by the neck and resisting the urge to shake it savagely, Einstein wheeled and began his dash back to the start line.
    Genie gripped her monkey by the midriff, a much better hold because it kept the dangling arms and legs from trailing under her paws. She had widened her lead considerably by the time they arrived back at the start line.
    â€œBall!” Professor Smith shouted.
    Genie had turned and bolted by the time Einstein reached his base. He dropped his monkey and lit out after her, pushing hard and gaining a few steps as they raced for the rubber balls. Go, go, go, he urged his pudgy legs, snatching the ball up, twisting and galloping back toward his start line.
    â€œDuck!”
    Einstein panted, blowing out the used up air and sucking in fresh.
    â€œStick!”
    Genie spurred herself on, yapping as she galumphed down her lane. She skidded to a stop in front of the stick, and to Einstein’s delight missed her first attempt at fetching it. He’d regained most of the lost ground by the time she clamped it between her teeth for her return leg.
    â€œBone!”
    Up and down the course they galloped, silently now, to conserve energy. By the time they dropped their bones, she clung to her lead by a nose, but the momentum had shifted. Einstein would catch her; would pass her; would beat her!
    â€œSlipper!” Professor Smith shouted.
    Every ounce of will counted now. Einstein sensed Genie’s panic. Victory was slipping away from her. They grabbed their slippers at the same instant, then whirled, scrabbling for the finish line neck and neck. “Come on!” Einstein urged his legs and lungs. He surged forward, inching ahead of Genie. The race was his!
    A sudden jolt sent him stumbling off course. Genie had checked him! Furious, he snapped at her, then howled in outrage, realizing two things simultaneously: one, he’d dropped his slipper, and two, Genie had sprinted past him and across the finish line.
    Einstein barked and whined in protest, but Professor Smith paid no heed. “Well done!” he chortled, patting Genie, who obliged him by wagging her whole body. “That’s the best time yet.”
    Genie smirked, accepting her reward of strokes and praise.
    â€œCome now, Einstein,” the professor scolded. “You can’t win every race.”
    Not when your sister is a big cheater, the disconsolate pup grumped.
    Five minutes later the two of them were back in the kennel with Libra and the others. Einstein had forgotten about the indignity of losing. They played for a while, then nestled together against the warmth of Libra’s belly.