And here they were.
Granted, Cerberus competed with their K9s in tactical events all over the world. It was how they built their international reputation for excellence. And that was why, after Tank proved he was qualified for a training position and his name was put on the wait list, Dakota had had to save for a year in order to afford Tank’s training in their Cerberus certification program.
Worth every penny as far as Dakota was concerned. In a pinch, this training could save both their lives while working in the field.
And as for today, Dakota could see how the inclusion of the Cerberus teams could push the charitable algorithm into green.
Dakota reasoned it through this way: Who gave the most money to charities? Women.
And what do women want?
Given his track record of late, Dakota was the wrong person to ask. But he’d assume ex-special forces operators in wet T-shirts with their war dogs, fighting to be the first over the finish line, might be something that would catch the female eye.
“Oy there, mate, you ready?” Halo, one of two Aussies on Cerberus, stopped beside Dakota and reached out to re-adjust Dakota’s lines. “First time, hey?” He clipped the bungee lead between Tank’s harness and Dakota’s belt.
“I’ve done mud runs before, and I was in the military. But strapped to a fur missile this way? Yeah, this is a first. Any advice?”
“Well, mate,” Halo’s accent had a friendly ease, “I’d make sure you tell Tank to stop before he pulls you out of your runners.”
“Please don’t do that,” Dakota told Tank. “We’re here for the kiddos and to have some fun.”
“Just a warning, then,” Halo said, “We’ve been working with Tank on his water skills. When cold water touches his belly, he freaks out a bit.” Holding the length of his long lead neatly coiled around his fingers, Halo used a hand signal to move his Malinois, Max, between his legs. “You didn’t swim him when he was a pup?”
“I’m a triathlete. My swims are too long. So, no. I guess I messed up on that one.” Dakota put his hand on Tank’s head, “Sorry about that, buddy.”
“No worries,” Halo said. “Sure, he has a moment of freak-out when his chest gets wet. Just spin him around in the right direction and start swimming. He’ll switch gears, and he’s good to go.”
“Thanks.” Dakota lifted his hand as Halo and Max jogged toward the group of Cerberus Malinois. The Malinois were going to be the first to take off at the starting line. Mainly because Malinois could eat dog food and, by alchemy, transmute it into rocket fuel.
The German shepherds turned it into jet fuel.
Rockets launched first.
Though, to Dakota’s way of thinking, it shouldn’t really matter what kind of fuel they were burning. The dogs would be held back by their person's speed.
Hopefully.
If not, then they’d crash and burn.
“Fun times!” Reaper called out as he approached, hand extended. “Glad you could make it.” They clasped in a welcoming shake. “Today, you can see for yourself what Tank’s been up to lately as he gets ready for his final tests.” He bent to scritch behind Tank’s ears. “Word of warning, Tank knows what he’s doing here. When he takes off running, he’s going to pull you along—a blessing and a curse, right? You’re going to be racing faster than you ever have over an uneven surface. It’s going to feel disorganized in your brain. It’s not unusual to feel out of control, even to panic a bit as your speed increases significantly. Breathe into the sensation. But you also need to communicate with Tank, so he doesn’t pull you off your feet and drag you face-first. The road rash would be epic.”
If Tank was setting the pace, Dakota was more concerned about having enough lung capacity than the road rash. “You’ve been through this course?”
“We ran it yesterday to test everything out for the organizers. We found a couple of places that seemed too dangerous for the weekend warrior types. So they had to re-engineer a couple of spots. All in all, it was a great time.” Reaper leaned down to scratch Tank’s neck. “Word of warning, in pastevolutions, the shepherds don’t like that the Malinois are out front, so they try to prove they’re in the same running league. They’re not. Fact of life. But you may want to lean back pretty hard until the Malinois turn out of sight.”
“Got it.”
“You’ve carried him on your shoulders?” Reaper asked.
“I have, but he was a lot smaller.”
“When you get to the obstacles that require a carry, and it’s not working out, you can always hug him to your chest like he’s a baby, front paws over your shoulder.” Reaper pointed at Tank. “Just watch because he likes to keep running those back legs of his, and you’re in shorts.”
“Copy.”
Tank weighed a good ninety pounds now. The last time Dakota had slung Tank over his shoulders, Tank was a worn-out pup. Now, Tank was a whole lot of dog to drape across Dakota’s shoulders.
“Also, when you get to the wall, the sign says to leave the dog clipped to the side and go over by yourself. We’re all carrying the dogs on our shoulders over the wall. There’s an event photographer stationed there, and we’re doing our best to get those viral shots online to bring in the money. At Cerberus, climbing walls with our dogs on our shoulders is part of our protocol. Tank knows the deal. But if you’re at all worried, I’d follow the sign.”
