Skidboot 'The Smartest Dog In The World' by Cathy Luchetti

Skidboot tapped him on the thigh, once. Reese stared down, looked surprised, and stuck out his hand. Again, they shook.
    David felt a flash of something. Not exactly anger, but a feeling of being secondary to a Blue Heeler dog that seemed capable of making his own arrangements.
    "And the money?" Now he could get tough.
    "Well, when I see that crowd, son, then you get your $500. You know this is pro-ba-tionary to start with."
    David nodded. Wasn't everything? He understood that a small venue like the Cornbread Festival had low expectations, and the crowds would be mesmerized by anything different, even if a dog just barked out "hello" or rolled on command. Lucky for him, their booth was at the perimeter, which meant that maybe, just maybe, Randy and company might stay toward the center and not stroll out to the edge.
    Still, as he watched the cocky cowboy strutting closer, David felt a surge of anger.
    "We're going," he urged Russell. "This is not going to happen. Russell sized the situation up immediately and instinctively threw a stick into Coyle's path. The stick sailed in the air and landed with a plop. David swiveled around, Skidboot quivered. They both looked at Russell, who looked impassively back. Like magic, the dog flashed through the air and landed in front of Coyle, in front of the stick.
    "Stop right there." David's voice was low, authoritative as he purred through the rest of the commands, "ease up on it," " a little more," " raise your left hand," "raise your right hand," "turn this way," "turn that way." Skidboot slid through the commands, ignoring the crowds that gathered around, ignoring the red-faced Coyle.
    Skidboot delicately touched the stick, a touch as light as a moth. Coyle spat on the ground, jostled his friends, complained loudly that any dog can play fetch .
    "Can any dog do this?"
    David instructed Skidboot to pick up the trash. Why, he said, there was so much trash around, ice cream cone remains, hot dog wrappers, newspapers and such that Skidboot should do his civic duty and help out. "Go ahead," he urged the dog, "go and pick up all the trash and put it in the trash bin."
    David shook inside. He'd given Skidboot a fresh new order, one never voiced before, and even though they had played versions of it, he had no idea if Skidboot would understand or not. David sweated as Skidboot stared at him, so intently he thought they'd both fall over from staring. Then Skidboot calmly trotted over to a dented coke can crushed beneath a wire fence, picked it up by its tab, lifted himself up to the trash bin and dropped it in.
    The crowd gasped.
    Skidboot found a corn cob, a mangle of deflated balloons and a candy wrapper squeezed flat with chocolate. Solemn as a surgeon, he daintily nipped the trash items, transported them and disposed of them. People clapped, Coyle frowned, and David marveled at how this dog managed to pick up cues, or recognize words, or read his expression, or even understand his words. How? He didn't know. But dawning on him every day was the knowledge that God, in His heaven, had sent David something very, very special to liven things up.
    But every blessing has its drawbacks, which David discovered when someone asked the unfortunate question. One that children have always asked of dogs, one that called for the most obvious dog-trick scenario which, for some reason, they'd never rehearsed. "Mama, can the dog play dead?"
    "Play dead!" Voices chimed, people catching the notion. Of all the tricks, this one was so obvious!
    Dead? David thought.
    Skidboot hitched up one ear and gazed up under his brows. Dead?
    The moment dragged on, voices clamoring. David repeated the command, an unfamiliar one, one that he wished he could interpret in some kind of dog shorthand, something that Skidboot would pick up. After all, he'd learned the trash trick...David thought he might throw himself down on the ground and show him how, but that wasn't part of the plan. Skidboot looked genuinely confused. David