I was first going into this final day, the Junior Sled Dog Championship. We'd trained two years and wanted to beat Blake. I knelt down to pat Kenai and my hands 1 from nerves and excitement. Kenai tipped up his face to lick my chin. "You are 2 , aren't you?"
Just before the count down started, Blake shot me a 3 grin, hands trembling too. Then I heard, "Go!"4 I could yell "Hike!", Kenai leaped forward. The rest of the dogs 5 after. We started last. We flew down the long hill. Then we 6 a corner. I leaned to keep the sled steady. Kenai saw Blake's team before I did. His tail flew up, and he 7 . Seeing his tongue still flopping forward, I let him go all out. We closed the 8 . A bridge later, we inched closer. On the next hill, Kenai drew even with Blake's sled and then we passed it.
9 our sled hit a branch. The runners caught. I lost my 10 and fell off the sled. Witnessing the sled come to a stop, I struggled through the deep snow to Kenai. I 11 . His shoulder was bleeding.
"Kenai! No!" My voice came out a howl. Kenai 12 to stand. He looked at me, his blue eyes13 to keep on. He would do it, too. For one frozen moment I saw myself on the winner's stand with the trophy (奖杯). But no. I bent and gently 14 Kenai in a blanket.
The race vet examining Kenai, I watched Blake accept the trophy. Kenai squirming in my lap, I leaned over upon him. Just at that moment, I felt a warm tongue on my wet cheek. I smiled and realized that I had the 15 that really counted.
