We are just playing. Me and Max. Max is my dog. I’m six. I love to run. Max does too. It starts in the family room watching TV. Max is on the floor next to me. I look at him. He looks at me. Then he looks at the TV, at the floor. He smells the floor and licks it. Then he puts his head on it and closes his eyes.

       If I move Max moves. If I stand up Max stands up. When I run…

      “Run Max!”

      Max runs under the Christmas tree and makes some of the balls move. It tips a little and he’s got green stuff on him now.

      I flash through the kitchen. I am the Flash. Or Superman. Or a super fast train. I can’t decide. I’m thinking faster than my body. I make a quick turn and appear in the living room. Max’s nails clack, clack on the floor. I hear a long scratch. He booms to a stop. He must have hit the wood door leaving the kitchen. Poor Max.

      Pouncing on the carpet I am a tiger. Dad calls me tiger sometimes. I scamper into the dining room. I hit another door going into the kitchen by accident. I don’t see Max. I’ve given myself away. He knows I didn’t hide yet. I can’t hear him. He must be on the carpet. Wait.

      “Woof!”

      Good. He’s half way behind. I have a lead enough to hide. I run straight through the kitchen onto the stone floor behind the front door. I hear the sound change from the kitchen boom, boom, boom.  To the stone pat, pat, pat. To the hallway carpet mush, rush, rrrrush. The naaa, haaa, naaa,