It all started with an article. Or was it an add? Whatever it was, Chelsey found it in the Thursday newspaper while we were at Jazz on the Green.
"This Saturday! Wiener Races in Syracuse, Nebraska in honor of GermanFest."
We jumped to attention. Wiener dogs? We have a wiener dog! We love wiener dogs. There was a phone number. Chelsey called it, hoping for a message that offered more details. She got more than she bargained for...
A very nice lady answered the phone at 8:30pm, and told Chelsey that we would have no problem entering our dog Deuce at this later juncture. She told us where to get the registration form. That was all we needed. We were going to Syracuse!
Chelsey called the vet and got any up-to-date list of Deuce's shots. I made some slight alterations to my previous Saturday plans - running in a 5k. We trimmed up Deuce's Saints jersey, making the necessary adjustments for him to run super fast. I brought up some wiener racing videos on youtube. They made Deuce bark.
The next day, Chelsey picked me up from a post 5k breakfast, and we were off. Chuck was there too. We made our way to Syracuse. The drive mostly consisted of two-lane highways. Chelsey was at the wheel and everything was looking good.
Until we hit the construction. We are already cutting it close. Would this push us over the ledge of lateness? We sat and waited to be escorted across the aforementioned construction, while the gentleman behind us got out of his car, lit up a cigarette and talked up the construction worker holding the stop sign.
We got moving again, and made it to town with plenty of time to spare. There were wiener dogs everywhere. Small ones. Big ones, white ones, black ones, skinny ones, fat ones. It was so great. All these little wieners, walking the street in peace and harmony. No barking. Just wieners.
We killed an hour, waiting for the race. As Deuce's heat grew near, we could feel the tension rising. Deuce started pysching out other dogs. He actually snapped at a dog that wasn't even in his weight group. (Deuce was a "Little Smokie." The dog in question was a "Brat.") Chelsey defused things by looking for another dog to adopt.
We handed the camera to Chuck, giving him all too brief instructions on how to shoot video. A decision that would cost us in the long run.
Finally our heat was called to the starting block. I took in Deuce, and put him in the first lane. We walked up to meet Chelsey, who would be standing at the end of the lane. We made the connection. It was all clear. Deuce knew Chelsey was at the end of the race. He would go meet her as quickly as possible. We would win the race. I would throw Deuce in the air. We would would drink beer out of a boot.
What happened instead shocked us all. The lady said "go!" All the dogs took off. Deuce just sat there. Then he milled around a little, sniffing along the way. Finally, he found a friendly lady next to the race cage, and started licking her hand. Race over. We were the losers.
We decided that since we didn't leave, we didn't need to drink beer out of a boot. We piled into the car. On the way out of town, we asked Chuck about the video. Turns out those filming instructions were a bit too brief. Nothing on the camera.
But we did get the chance to get some really cute pictures of Deuce on the way home. For most of the ride he had this huge smile on his face. A smile that said to us "I really did great on that race."
No you didn't Deuce. No you didn't.