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Show Spring 1976 Signpost Supplement Page 5 Third Place Fiction First of the Month by Kevin Hansen Alex Kinsey took he usual seat next to the window in the dining car. He sat motionless for a moment, staring at the lush, green fields that raced by outside. He was oblivious to the subdued conversations of the other commuters. The quiet hum of the monorail's engines and the scenes that flew by outside seemed to send him into a kind of peaceful trance. He soon withdrew from his reverie however, and lifted his attache case onto the table. He opened it and unfolded the small viewing apparatus that lay within. He turned it on and tuned it to the morning news. Only half-listening he searched through his pockets for his credit cards. After finding the proper one, he inserted it into a slot on the side of the machine that sat at the end of the table and pushed several multi-colored buttons. A cup of steaming coffee materialized in the small service hole. He picked it up and turned his attention to the news. "Good morning Alex!" Alex looked up in time to see a tall, dark featured man wearing glasses take the seat across from him. "Oh, hi Doug," he greeted the man in a subdued tone. "Keeping abreast of world events I see," Doug said cheerfully. He busied himself with the previous ritual of obtaining some liquid breakfast, and sippled it slowly. "Yea, just the same old stuff," said Alex turning off the viewer and shutting the case. "This stuff sure doesn't measure up to the fresh, home brewed kind," said Doug looking distastefully at the cup of coffee in his hand. Third Place Non-Fiction Winners by Patrice DeJong Dog obedience is an unusual sport especially among people of my age, but I have found few ac tivities as rewarding. It's the people, however, and not necessarily the prizes that make it that way. My "career" as a trainer and exhibitor, and an amateur one at that, began last year when I bought my first dog a golden retriever. Anyone that has been a golden as a puppy will understand exactly why I fell instantly in love with him. And naturally , I wanted him to be the perfect dog in every way beautiful", intelligent, loyal, and most important, well behaved. That wasn't too much to expect was it? My mother had been showing dogs for many years, and it seemed like I had always been tagging along to dog shows, watching her exhibit many different breeds in the obedience ring. At home she'd explain the principles of the exercises involved heeling, where the dog must walk at your side and hopefully remember that he has to watch you and sit when you stop; the recall, where you leave the dog on the other side of the ring and pray that he will come galloping in to you on command, not before, then sit straight in front of you; and the stays, where the dog must sit or lie down in a line with every other dog in his class, not moving even a foot or trying to go to his beloved handler. I found the entire game hopelessly boring. But, as I said before, I wanted the best for my dog, and since I wanted everyone to be as pleased with him as I was, I took him to training classes. Needless to say, my dog, Pike, turned out to be brilliant, and it seemed a shame not to try him out in a show. After all, I told myslef , it was all for fun right? Right. At least that's what Pike seemed to think. He showed off terribly, forgetting that he was supposed to be watching me. The audience held a great deal of appeal for him, especially when they laughed at his sloppy heeling pattern and the way he flirted with the pretty golden female that sat beside him in the stays. Our score was so low, 180 points out of a possible 200, that I vowed never to put myself through such a humiliating experience again. My mind was made up. My mother's mind was also made up. We packed our car a few days later with dogs, leashes, suitcases, and ourselves, and drove all the way to Pocatello, Idaho for a repeat performance, because, my mother insisted, Pike deserved a chance to redeem himself. And redeem himself he did. We got a score of ly2 that day first place in our class! we were hooked. Several months went by very slowly before our next opportunity to show came along. The trial was held in Idaho again that time in Idaho Falls. We drove up the night before we were scheduled to perform, rented a motel room, and I was privileged enough to lie awake all night. The next morning finally dawned, and I dressed hurriedly, ran a brush through my dog's coat, ran out of the door with my . mother right behind me, and got to the show grounds just in time to wait for a couple of hours. But, after suffering through two or three migranes and an upset stomach, Pike and I were summoned to the ring. Pike was beautiful. I could feel him with me through both heeling exercises; his recall was fast and accurate: I had his attention constantly we were so absorbed in eachother that the audience, the judge everyone seemed to disappear into a blur. When the rest of the class was brought in for group stays, Pike never flinched. A joyous face and bright golden eyes told the spectators that my dog was perfectly delighted with himself. The class was over. The judge finished tallying scores and walked to the group to announce the winners. "First place goes to dog number 17, with a score of 197V2." We had done it again! I was on Cloud Nine, and Pike, sensing my happiness, was ecstatic. But unfortunately clouds aren't too stable. My head was barely beginning to return to normal when I found that my own mother had topped her class with the same score. Tied scores mean only one thing a runoff. In every obedience trial in the country, a trophy goes to the highest scoring dog in the entire show. In that show, a trophy and a check for $25.00 was the prize. Back to the ring for both of us. Now in a runoff, both dogs are required to do a simultaneous heeling pattern, executed perfectly. The first dog that makes even a minor error is marked as the loser. And, everyone that has shown a dog will agree a runoff is tense, nerve-racking, and an absolutely horrible experience. When the runoff was with my mother, of all people, I wasn't even sure I wanted to win. "Forward! " the judge commanded. We complied. The dogs moved out beside us, watching carefully, and our eyes were focused straight ahead. Then we heard, "Halt!" Still staring at the wall before me, I couldn't force myself to look to see if my dog was crooked, or if my mother's dog was even sitting. I was frozen. Finally, after an eternity, the verdict came. I had won. My wonderful mother couldn'i have been happier. I guess she had always wanted to see one of her girls triumph, and that day she did. Pike and I received so much praise that we were almost embarrassed, and our many friends were right there to share in our happiness and to chide me for being disrespectful to my mother. We walked away with a lot of hardware that day, but more important, we left with pride and partnership, and a feeling that winning is nice, but people are nicer. There won't be another show for a couple of months, and even then the closest is in Las Vegas. But rest assured Pike and I will be there. First Place Poetry concert nights these by Christopher Hicks concert nights these no moon but stars glittering as gems in tar concert nights these mellow in lilting drift above foliage beyond night sounds strings piercing senses alive opening senses alive concert nights these as soft beginnings rip into excitement and back to contemplation and soft silence and gems in tar and no moon and lilting drift concert nights these "It's all right I guess," replied Alex staring out the window again. He could make out the geometric outline of the city they were approaching on the horizon. "Things just aren't the way they used to be." Doug set his coffee down on the table and slumped back in his seat. He stared out the window with Alex. "What do you mean?" "I mean everything is too plastic these days. Everything is unreal and unnatural. We're too technologically oriented. Do you know how long I've been waiting for my one day visit to Yosemite to be approved? A year and three months! Oh what I would give for a five minute walk through a forest, a real forest with fresh air, pine needles, and dirt under my feet." "You sound like one of those back to nature people from back in the 90's," grinned Alex. "What's the matter with that? I mean look around you Alex, everything is so artificial. All of the weather is controlled, the economy consists totally of credit cards and computers, and most of our food isn't even grown in the soil anymore. They grow it in those gigantic hydroponic warehouses. All that we eat and drink is chemically treated or just plain artificial. You know as well as I do that these millions of acres of plants we're passing are strictly for oxygen production because the ocean is dead. And to top it all off, everywhere you look there are people. People, People, People, everywhere people." Alex smiled. "Sounds as if your wife gave you a bad time this morning Doug. I don't see what your gripe is anyway, no one on earth is sick, hungry, or unemployed. There are no wars, no depressions, no disease, and no want. Besides, there are 23 billion people living on this planet. Everything has to be controlled in order that we all might survive." "I know that as well as you do, and it's that very thing that is the cause of the problem, too many people!" Alex frowned. "And just what would you propose Doug." Doug leaned forward and looked intently at Alex. "What is necessary is massive birth control, sterilization and legalized abortions." Alex was silent for a moment, then shook he head. "Doug that's disgusting! Not only is what you suggest totally immoral, it treads on the most precious and basic individual right in existence, the right to procreate. Besides, the population level is stable now." "You call this stable! Constantly knocking elbows with others. No room to move or breathe. And the way everything is rationed! I mean everything! The first of the month used to be a time when you just worried whether or not you could pay your bills, now it's a matter of life and death!" The two men stared at each other across the table in a moment of silence. Another faint smile spread across Alex's face. "You know what your trouble is Doug? You were born a hundred ' years too late." Doug stared at him for a moment then slumped back into his seat with a sigh of frustration. "Yea, I guess you're right Alex," he said staring out the window again. Just then the dining car speaker gave out three high pitched beeps, signaling that the monorail was approaching it's destination. Alex and Doug could feel it slowing down. They could both see out the window that they were now inside the city terminal. Alex got up and picked up his attache case. He made his way around the table and patted Doug on the shoulder. "Cheer up old boy! You're just one of those who takes a little longer to adjust to the way things are. Look at me, I'm perfectly happy. I just don't fight it." "Yea, lucky you," Doug answered sarcastically. Alex laughed, and walked on down the aisle. He stepped out onto the passenger landing and made his way across it, through the bustling activity of the morning commuter rush. He came to the section where the taxi-shuttles were waiting. He seated himself inside one and closed the door. He programmed its destination computer with the appropriate credit card and settled back to enjoy the ride into the center of the city and his office. He thought about his conversation with Doug. He had grown used to his fiery lectures but at times found him barely tolerable. He never really took him very seriously and considered their morning conversations nothing more than a break in the routine of the commute. Besides, he really did enjoy the way things were. Alex stepped out of the taxi-shuttle into the lobby of his office building. He made his way through the lobby and boarded a turbo-elevator for the 111 floor ride to his office. He stood pensively watching the lights flash on and off on the floor counter. The elevator stopped at his floor and he stepped off. He walked down the hall to a bright blue door, it slid open before him and he stepped in. "Good morning Mr. Kinsey." He was greeted by a pretty, blond-haired girl seated at a desk. "Good morning Cindy. Are there any calls for me?" "Yes, Mr. Khishek from our Bombay office would like you to get in touch with him as soon as possible. I think it's about that metal fabrication contract with the government." "Thank you." "Don't forget to go through that stack of mail, it has been piling up for the last three days." "Thanks for reminding me! I've been so busy with these latest contracts that I'm falling behind in all my other work. See that I'm not disturbed, will you." "Yes sir." He stepped into his office and the door slid shut silently behind him. He put his case on the desk, opened it and took out a stack of papers. He tflok off his jacket, seated himself at the desk and settled down to the day's work. Com. on 6 |