Buddy's Big Race

The morning of the city marathon was crisp and bright, and Tom had positioned himself on the pavement near the four-kilometre marker with a coffee in one hand and Buddy's lead in the other. Buddy was a four-year-old beagle with a nose that never rested and a disposition that could generously be described as 'enthusiastic.' Tom had brought him along for the atmosphere, not anticipating what was about to happen.

A group of runners swept past in a colourful wave, and Buddy's whole body went rigid with excitement. He strained forward, sniffed the air, and before Tom could tighten his grip, the clip on the lead gave way. Buddy didn't hesitate for a single second. He bolted straight into the pack of runners at full speed, ears flapping like tiny wings.

Tom shouted. He jogged after him. Then he stopped, because Buddy was already twenty metres ahead and showing absolutely no signs of slowing down. The beagle had adopted the pace of the runners around him as if he had been training for months. His stubby legs moved in a perfectly happy blur.

The runners nearest to Buddy noticed him first. A woman in a yellow vest laughed and pointed. A man in a club T-shirt reached down briefly and patted him without breaking stride. The spectators on the pavement began to cheer. Somewhere, someone had already started filming.

By the time Buddy passed the halfway marker, a ripple of noise had spread along the course. Signs appeared from nowhere. One read 'GO BUDDY GO' in large letters. Another simply showed a drawing of a beagle with a medal. A child threw a handful of confetti as Buddy trotted past, utterly delighted with all of it.

Buddy crossed the five-kilometre finish line twelve minutes after he had escaped. He sat down in front of the timing arch and looked back along the course with the satisfied expression of a dog who had done exactly what he intended to do all along. The crowd around the finish area applauded. Several runners who finished just after him gave him an approving nod.

Tom arrived at the finish line considerably later, red-faced and out of breath. Race officials had already corralled Buddy with a bowl of water and several biscuits contributed by spectators. An official had written 'Buddy — honorary finisher' in biro on the back of a programme.

The race organisers, rather than being annoyed, were thoroughly charmed. They presented Buddy with a small finisher's medal at the post-race ceremony. Tom accepted it on his behalf, somewhat sheepishly, and the photograph made the local newspaper the following Thursday.

The medal hangs above Buddy's bed on a hook that Tom installed the same evening. Every morning, Buddy glances at it in the particular way that dogs have of looking at things they are quietly proud of, and then goes back to smelling the garden fence. He has not, to date, shown any interest in formal training.