Paw to paw, leg to leg; I stood facing my opponent. As the yellow mechanization that drops me at the destination honks away, I am left with a challenge. His stance is wide, sturdy, and ready for me. My sketchers shifted against the pavement, and the glares of heat from the sizzling evaporation stifled in the air. His collar swiveled against the short-haired furs beneath. His saliva and slobber drooled, dripping in the face of a jittery creature. As I gripped my Paw Patrol backpack, the sweat of anticipation moistened under my skin. The world was stopped, no cars, no animals, no people: just me and the beast. We start. Toe to toe, his bark against my word. He charges first. My heel extended then snapped lunging towards him as well. My sketchers light as I drifted about him in a swift motion. I’m behind him now, I have the upper hand. I made a run for it. Booking it down the street would seem like an easy task if a dog wasn’t chasing you, yet four legs scrambled after me. His tail wagged in amusement racing as he chased me. The rush felt like I was soaring through the hot Black Sea escaping the final boss. He calls in the distance, and I look back with a grin. I won today. Sliding into the garage and through the mud of misplaced shoes and toys, I kick off my sneakers with grace. I toss my backpack away to some other dimension and take the most sacred spot on the couch. The claws rack in shortly after, scratching the hardwood floors, and panting heavily. I turn to him and giggle, “You’re late.”