The beach resonated a clear, crisp blue that stretched towards the horizon. Standing on the rocky soils of the sand stood numerous amounts of canines, barking tenaciously. All of them were good friends, but today they showed their molars at each other. They all glared at the lone, green tennis ball lying down the beach. The only thing that kept them from retrieving it was the starting line, hung by two sticks put deep through the sand. A rectangular speaker was to the right of the stick on the right. Today, the beach was having the annual capture the tennis ball contest, nicknamed ‘Dogfight’.
“I’ll be winning the prize again my friends!” Bill boasted. Bill was the champions of this contest for six straight years, having many fans look up to him in admiration.
“Not this time, bro! I’ll be taking the reward!” Steve barked.
“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t forget about me!” Jim roared. Both hounds were rivals to Bill, both coming close to snatching the prize. However, Bill was just a step ahead of them every time.
“Everyone, may I have your attention, please?” The sudden sound surged stupendously from the speaker. The growling stopped immediately, and the dogs pointed their ears toward the speaker. One mystery of this prestigious competition was the announcer. He was human, because the voice had no bark to it. The voice began again. “Good! Now everyone knows the rules, correct? You must hold the ball for a total of five consecutive seconds. That means if you lose the ball, it won’t add up if you reclaim the ball again. Whoever wins earns themselves a lifetime’s supply of Dingy Dingilos’ Dog Food!”
The barking began again, louder than before. The waves of the beach seemed to reflect the dogs’ barking, as they grew bigger and bigger as well.
“Oh, yes! Dingy Dingilos! My all-time favorite!” Bill bellowed.
“Yeah, too bad I’ll be claiming the prize this time around!” pronounced Jim. The howling continued for what was a millennium, until a single mutt stepped onto the beach. The noise disappeared, and novices of the contest exasperated for air. Rasped breathing leaked out of the speakers.
“Oh my! Everyone, give a round of wiggling tails to the one and only, Zimmy Zambersky!” the announcer yelled.
Tails wagged left and right, even the champion Bill wagged his tail with recognition. “For anyone who doesn’t know Zimmy, he is the pooch who claimed the championship eighteen times!” The wagging continued even more furiously, until a solitary bark filled the air.
“Everyone, please! I am but an old pup now. I wouldn’t have a chance at winning now. My son, however; is competing in the Dogfight.” Zimmy announced.
Every mutt grew quiet, pondering about what the legendary champion had said.

“Zimmy, you have a son?” Jim asked. Jim jumped as Zimmy turned to him.

“Why, yes. His name is Hubert. This is his first time at this, but he has my blood. Don’t underestimate him, my friends!” Zimmy replied.

“Where is your son, Zimmy?” an unknown dog questioned.
A light chuckle erupted from Zimmy.

“My lad is to the right of you, dear boy!” Zimmy answered.
All of the eyes looked to the right of the mutt, and what was there was a puppy. Bill stepped toward Zimmy and shouted,

“You’re kidding! Right, Zimmy? That pup looks not even four years old. You think he will win?”

“Well, of course,” Zimmy declared. “Hubert, show them your teeth!”
“Right, Dad!” Hubert responded.
Everyone gasped as they saw Hubert’s gigantic molars, perfect for gripping the tennis ball. Bill immediately stepped back.

“Okay, everyone! Enough chatter! The fifty-first annual Dogfight will begin shortly, everyone prepare for the whistle! It may come as soon as I stop talking, so be prepared!” the announcer exclaimed from the speaker.

“Okay Hubert, show them who’s boss!” Zimmy bellowed.

“Got it, Dad!” Hubert answered.
Every tail-wagger crouched to dash as soon as the whistle blew, each wanting to win. FWEEEEEEEEEEEEET! Hubert had gained the lead for the ball, with Bill close behind, followed by Jim and Steve. The veterans of this contest already had a sufficient distance for the ball, with Hubert, a blood relative of Zimmy being first.

The ball was only a few feet away after only three seconds, and Bill tried to seize the moment with a pounce. Jim and Steve read the movement and began to jump too. Soon, it became a mess of dogs on the tennis ball, nobody knowing where the ball was.

“Dad, dad, I have the ball!” Hubert yelped.
All eyes turned to Hubert except for Jim and Steve, who were biting him for the ball.

“One, two-,” the announcer began.
Jim caught the ball by his teeth trying to push it away from Hubert. The tennis ball flew downwards, bouncing once until Bill emerged from the dog pile and grabbed it.
“One, two, three, fo-,” the announcer rippled.
Bill was tackled by Steve, with the ball flying way to the left of the beach, no one near the ball at all except for one hound.
“One, two, three, four, five! We have a winner! For the nineteenth time, champion Zimmy Zambersky has won the Dogfight!” the announcer screamed.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t competing, Zimmy!” a weary Jim yelled, which Zimmy retorted with;

“Well, I wasn’t going to, but then I remembered it was Dingy Dingilos’ Dog Food! I love that stuff!”