Paco and the Third Annual Chihuahua Races

I was searching online for a leather collar for Stanley when I saw it: an ad for the Petco Unleashed 3rd Annual National Chihuahua Races. The winners of 15 regional races would win a trip to San Diego to participate in the national race, held during a baseball game at Petco Park. The winner would receive the title of fastest chihuahua in the country, the associated glory of national attention, and a year’s supply of free dog food from the sponsor. I didn’t care about the free food because it wasn’t something I wanted to feed to my dogs anyway. But a chance at a free trip to San Diego? That was worth getting up at 8 am on a Saturday.

As luck would have it, a regional contest was being held in our area in just two short weeks. I immediately preregistered Stanley, who was by far the fastest runner in our group of chihuahuas.

But as training progressed, I realized that Stanley was, well, lacking a competitive spirit. He was apt to wander off to pee on a nearby bush when I tried to get his attention. He was also unwilling to exert his full speed even when he knew I was holding really, really, good food.

Luckily, Paco had attended all of our training sessions in the back yard. Paco was already jealous of any dog that received my attention, often sidling up to me when I was brushing another dog, and carefully inserting his head between my hand and the other dog. Since food was involved, Paco was even more determined not to let me out of his sight.

Paco has short legs and though he’s been on a diet, he’s still rather chubby. But when I let him know I had chicken in my hand, he was very, very, focused, and ran straight at me when we practiced in our yard. We had, I thought, a contender here. Especially if no one else showed up. Hey, I wasn’t too proud to take a win by default.

This morning we got up at 8 and prepared Paco for his big day. He had no idea what was in store for him.

Chris asked, “Are we going to just feed all the dogs when we get back?”

Had he never seen a Wheaties commercial? Of course there would be breakfast!

I considered carbo-loading Paco, but reluctantly decided that the extra weight in his belly would slow him down too much. So he got a smaller portion of his regular breakfast because after all, he was still on a diet and we had to take into account the bacon he’d be getting later in the day.

During the ride to the Petco, I kept hoping very few people had chihuahuaus in the area. But we drove past a Dunkin’ Donuts, and I spotted a girl with a chihuahua getting into a car.

“Uh-oh,” I said to Chris. “That chihuahua’s bigger than Paco, so it’s got longer legs than him. But he also looks fatter, so maybe Paco can still beat him.”

Then we pulled up to Petco, and I immediately forgot about the Dunkin’ Donuts dog, because there were THRONGS OF PEOPLE AND CHIHUAHUAS all over the Petco parking lot!

“Crap!” I said to Chris. “Those dogs are all so tiny! And skinny!” Paco had been looking svelte to us lately, but now that I was seeing so many chihuahuas, I realized he still had quite a way to go before he hit his ideal weight.

“Look at that one jumping!” I said to Chris, who was trying to pull into the lot. “Not the one jumping and wearing the sweater, but the other one! Look at those long legs!”

“Woman, are you sizing up the competition already?” Chris said.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s not looking good.”

One of the first people we saw as we got out of our car was a woman carrying the leashes of her four chihuahuas. That’s right, four. And I thought it was hard to walk with THREE. We hadn’t even brought Mina and Stanley with us today because we didn’t have anyone to hold their leashes while we raced.

The poor woman kept having to untangle her feet from the leashes, while her friend walked a baby stroller. There was no baby in the stroller though, which I thought odd, until I caught sight of them later in the morning.

I checked out the race track, and immediately realized we had problems. First, the competition. There were over 190 chihuahuas racing (and only ten at a time, which meant that the whole race would take hours). Many of the dogs were wearing sweaters, outfits, sparkly collars, and assorted accoutrements which I hoped would weigh them down at the pivotal moment. Many were being held in their owners’ arms, many were shivering, nearly all had their tails tucked, and there was much sniffing going on.

But even worse, most of the chihuahuas were the lanky, long-legged kind who looked like they could run quite fast. Petco was going on the honor system for your dog being a chihuahua, so there were some questionable dogs in attendance who were considerably larger than the six pound AKC standard maximum weight.

“They should be disqualified,” I muttered to Chris, disregarding for the moment that just a few weeks ago, Paco himself would not have met that requirement.

Oh, and there was this dog,too.

The main problem, though, was that the race track had tiny openings for the dogs and the openings were covered by a large piece of plexiglass which the Petco employees flipped open as each race began.

We hadn’t practiced with plexiglass.

Paco was getting nervous now. Too many dogs had sniffed his butt already, and he was completely freaked out. While we waited for the races to begin, we went back into the car to give Paco time to rest.

We gave him a drink of water, and he got a pre-race rubdown.

At 10:00, the race officially began, so we got out of the car and walked back to the race track. We were in pack 4, which meant we got to watch the first two heats before getting ready for our own. There were 20 packs in all, and the top two in each pack would advance to the semifinals, and then the top 6 would race in the regional final.

As we waited for the first group to line up, we overheard a Petco employee explaining the rules to another employee.

“They don’t have to stay in their lanes,” he told her. “First one to cross the line wins. Most of the dogs will just run around in circles, though.”

Heat 1 began, and the employee was proven correct. One dog rapidly raced over the finish line, but the other dogs meandered around. The second place dog eventually made it to the finish line, but a few of the dogs didn’t make it to the finish at all, and others refused to even walk through the tiny entrance to the track itself.

I thought things were looking good for Paco. Paco wasn’t the fastest dog, but he had food focus. As I’d written on his entry sheet, which had asked for “fun facts” about our dog, Paco “hates people, loves food.”

Heat 2 began, and it didn’t go much better than the first, although more dogs reached the finish line this time.

We couldn’t see heat 3 because we were lining up for our turn, and in a few moments, we were on the race track. We didn’t have anyone with us who could film Paco’s moment of glory, so I just left my camera on the ground beside me.

I gave Paco a piece of bacon to let him know I was the one with the food, and Chris carried Paco to the far end of the track where the starting line was.

“You gotta yell to him!” Chris yelled.

“PAAAAAAAAAAAAAACO!” I yelled.

My eyesight isn’t very good, but even I could see that Paco hadn’t heard me. He was gazing blankly into the distance, and I worried that he had gone into his Vet Trance. He didn’t seem to even know where I was.

The race began, and Chris pushed Paco through the plexiglass.

Instead of racing toward me as he’d done in our practices, Paco stood still on the track for a while. He didn’t seem to hear me yelling, and kept turning around to look back at Chris.

Before he’d moved more than a foot away from the starting line, dogs one and two streaked over the finish line and I knew it was over. But I kept calling Paco.

Eventually Chris got out from behind the starting line, and started walking toward me, trying to get Paco to follow him. Paco trotted slowly down the track, looking everywhere but at us.

I was hanging over the line that we were supposed to stay behind, waving bacon at him and calling his name, but all that happened was that Paco kept looking around and walking, as if searching each face at the finish line for one that was recognizable. Meanwhile, another chihuahua ran up to me and tried to take Paco’s bacon from me. I was not fooled by this maneuver.

Paco was walking so slowly that I thought about getting out my camera and filming him. But I was busy yelling his name, and my hands were covered in bacon grease.

When Paco was within two feet of the finish line, I practically flung my body toward him, and he finally noticed me. “Ah, there you are,” he seemed to be saying. “Where the heck have you been?”

He trotted toward me, crossed the finish line, and ate the bacon.

We went home after that, because Paco’s moment of glory was over.

“I told him to sit before the race started, so I think he got confused and that’s why he kept looking at me when the race started,” Chris said. “And I don’t think he could see you through the plexiglass.”

“Yeah, he didn’t run like this at home,” I mourned.

“Hey, at least we know how to practice for next year,” Chris said, trying to cheer me up. “We’ll just get a little box for him to start from.”

“That’s true,” I said. “And he’ll be thinner next year!”

Paco seemed to know his ordeal had ended. He trotted behind Chris to the car; tail up, head high. He was going to pretend that the entire demoralizing morning had never happened.

“He’s a winner,” Chris said. “At least he crossed the finish line. Most of the dogs didn’t even do that!”

When we got home, I was still a little depressed about Paco’s stage fright. So we ran a little practice test in the back yard — just me, Paco, and Stanley. Maybe Paco hadn’t done as well as I’d hoped in the real race, but here in the yard, he was a winner and we all knew it.

And also, there was free bacon for all. Even for Mina, who only got up and ran for squirrels.

Click here for pictures from the Boston Herald and here for the article. No pictures of Paco, alas, although the woman with the chihuahua with the bling collar was in our heat and standing next to me when the photograph was taken. Next year Paco gets a costume.