Hare, There and Everywhere: Episode Seven

by  Martin Smith
Previous Episode

At the 34K marker, a motorcycle roared past Hare, only to brake and swerve and settle at Hare’s pace five metres in front of him. The pillion passenger sat with his back to the driver and pointed a large TV camera in Hare’s face.

‘Where the hell have you lot been?’ Hare said.

‘Covering the Great Race,’ the cameraman said.

‘But the race is three-quarters run, and this is the first time I’ve seen you.’

‘Sorry about that. We’re beaming the race worldwide, and, well, to be honest, there is more interest in the undertortoise than the red-hot favourite. Viewers just love those against-all-odds stories. Hey, give us a grin for the camera.’ Hare raised his head and flashed a toothy winners-are-grinners smile. ‘But we’re going to follow you now, champ, every single hop from here to the finish line.’

‘I should bloody well think so.’

A truck behind Hare tooted its horn, and the motorcycle veered to the side of the road and let the truck pass. Hare coughed and spluttered as dust filled his eyes and mouth.

As the dust settled, Hare looked ahead and saw the truck stop at the next marker—the 35K drinks station. A hand reached out, paused and then withdrew back into the truck, which then sped off.

What with marathon running, dust swallowing and Doe bonking, Hare arrived somewhat relieved at the drinks station. As he slowed to a jog, he sought his bottle to quench his parched throat, but, to his angst, his bottle was not there. Only Tortoise’s bottle stood upon the table. What the bloody hell? Hare thought. He stopped and searched behind and under the drinks table, but still he could not find his bottle.

‘Any problem?’ the cameraman said.

‘Umm … no,’ Hare said. He eyed Tortoise’s bottle and said, ‘I say, is that Tortoise approaching?’

The camera swivelled back down the road. Turning his back to the cameraman and his driver, Hare uncapped Tortoise’s bottle, raised it and downed its contents in three gulps. He smacked his lips and shivered a shimmy.

‘Ewwww,’ Hare said. ‘Tastes like pickle juice.’

‘Pardon?’ the cameraman said, swivelling back to Hare.

‘Nothing,’ Hare said as his eyes watered. ‘Well, best push on. The finish line awaits no hare.’

Hare resumed his onward shuffle before the lens of the camera and the eyes of the world. Best put on a good show for my sponsors, he thought. He straightened his back, lifted his head, raised his knees and pumped his arms. Yep, he thought, bet those commentators are saying Hare looks every inch a winner.

Guuuurrrrrgggggllllleeee!

Hare looked down at his stomach as he ran on.

Grrroooooowwwwwlllllllllll!

Hare placed a hand on his abdomen and slowed his pace.

Ruuuummmbbblllllleeeee!

Hare cupped his hand under his bunny tail and clenched his buttocks and slowed to a stiff-legged walk.

Pppppppfffffffffffffffffffffffffff!

Oh God! he thought, he’d broken the golden rule. The new new golden rule: Never steal another competitor’s drink. And now he, the world’s greatest runner, leading the world’s greatest running race, had the runs.

‘You OK there, buddy?’ the cameraman said.

Hare responded with a watery fart and beat a hasty retreat into the bushes on the side of the road and ripped his jackstrap down and squatted.

Prtrtrtrgurtrufnasutututut! And Hare’s face paled.

Flurpppppppppppppppp! And Hare’s eyes watered.

Plllllllliiiiiiiiippppppp-plooop! And Hare’s legs shook.

On and on he squatted, squinted and squirted, oblivious to all and sundry. Every time he went to rise and resume the race, his bowels betrayed him.

Amidst the liquid explosions, he heard the boom-boom of Tortoise approaching, of Tortoise passing, of Tortoise leaving. Oh God! Hare thought, the leathery bastard’s hit the lead. And he, Hare, couldn’t run because of the runs.

On and on Hare squatted and squinted and squirted until at last his bowels called a truce. He released a sigh of relief and looked up … straight into the lens of the race camera.

‘Hey!’ Hare said, placing his hand on the camera lens.

‘Hey, nothing,’ the cameraman said. ‘Shit that was good. No, great. Great television. And to think we caught the whole thing live and commercial-free. Pulitzer Prize, here we come.’

‘Hey, what happened to professional ethics?’ Hare said, standing.

‘Just doing my job, pal. Like I said, we and the world are going to follow you every plop—sorry, I mean hop—from here to the finish line.’

Hare shook his head and pulled up his jackstrap and waddled his way back into the race. Having lightened his load, he soon caught up to Tortoise, and as he jogged past his shelled opponent, Hare left Tortoise gagging in a headwind of not so pleasant fumes. ‘No catching me now, slowcoach,’ Hare said.

‘Mephitic miscreant,’ Tortoise said, and he lumbered on.

On and on Hare ran.

On and on Tortoise plodded.

And wider the gap between leader and last became.

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of Hare, There and Everywhere on Sunday 12 July.

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