The Chariot Pup

When I was a very young boy I lived on a grape and chicken farm. Across the county road there was another farm. They had tractors and cows. A girl lived there of the same age. Her name was Veda and she had a puppy in a cage. A cute little guy, can’t remember what kind he was or his name. After a few months the dog got bigger. He had a lot of spunk and vigor. We spent a lot of time with that pup, then one day he got hit by a pick up. Severing his spine he could no longer walk. But drag himself around he fashioned his own sort of waddle walk. His front legs and shoulders grew strong. His testimate and fortitude were long. Eventually a pet doctor placed rear wheels on his back end. Now the little dog could drive, pain he could no longer feel. So the little guy went from a dragster, to his own little box like racer. After a while I saw that little guy again. On top of a hill with a pack of other dogs. There he sat with his wheels like a chariot. What transpired next was a sight to behold, as a race was about to begin. They would race down the hill and around the bend to reach the finish line at the end. About ten there were of all different types, colors and size. And there he was at the start line, with his wheels like a chariot. As the race began the sprinters bolted and the pacers lagged behind. The little pup chariot was in the middle, but not for long. As the bend was reached he was clearly ahead. With only a long flat stretch that lay ahead. About fifty yards to go the sprinters had faded but the pacers were surging. He had to muster up all his strength. His front legs and shoulders like fire were burning. His heart and lungs were stretched and heaving. Now with twenty yards to go one pacer was close. The little pup chariot could feel him coming. So he dug deep down and with all his spirit in a fury, he crossed the finish line ahead by a wheel. Then his little heart failed and no glory did he feel. © Bryan A. Stross BAS …;}… September 4th, 2008 7:30 AM EST