“Yeah, it is a race of sorts. The first one to figure out what the hell Jerry is doing with the bull fiddle wins.”
“I know this is Friday, but we’re going to pretend that it isn’t.”
“Don’t ask me why Jerry is holding the fiddle upright. You know damn well why he’s holding the fiddle upright.”
“OK, Eddie. You’ve been saying that a turtle can do everything a dog can do. Here’s your chance to prove it.”
The dog seemed pleased, and the cat and turtle, amused. But Brad knew—how well he knew—how quickly they could turn.
Jerry grit his teeth and held onto the string for dear life. Adding a human to the mix had been a disaster. Why had he imagined that Brad would take his side? They were herd animals, all of them, and they were just pulling him down to their level.
“Well, it’s a biathlon, of sorts. You swim 500 meters and then play Bottesini’s “Capriccio di Bravura” on the bass. To make things a little more interesting, Jerry will be working the pulley. Good luck, and may the better quadruped win.”
“Stupid pet tricks? I prefer the term ‘brilliant owner tricks.’”
“Okay, kids, let’s get it right this time. Or Daddy is going to be very, very angry.”
