TAE: The usual disclaimers are still in force. I'm using characters created by others, to whom I am ever grateful for not suing me for their use. I also thank Wolfpup for providing me a home for all these musebashes, even if I have crashed her page and keep putting it into an 'overflow' condition. I hasten to assure anyone who cares that this was never my intention, it's just worked out this way.

My muses are back in force. I'm getting bashed all over the place and had no way to take care of them over the weekend. Sigh. Well, I'm working on at least two other stories, right now, and this one is simply screaming to be told, so, I'll tell it.

This is a somewhat different story, as I've got a collaborator, for a change. I don't usually need help, but this one called out for some expert advice and assistance. (There's a pun there, but you'll see it later, maybe) So, I recruited Danawheels to help me with this. In fact, Dana is the reason my muses have been bashing me with this story. You see, she wrote me a while back and asked me why I put Mable in a power chair, they're big, bulky, heavy not to mention cost as much as a car. I finally did come up with an answer: Joel wanted the best for his baby, and the insurance was willing to pay for it (I've a friend who talked her insurance into buying her a power chair the blamed thing cost more than $8,000.00, and I understand that they can cost upwards of $15,000.00. That's a pretty nice car. That's more than I paid for all the cars I've ever owned AND my travel trailer [which is big enough to live in])

Danawheels: TAE said she wanted a bio up here oh, dear. An innocent question comes back to bite me. grin**I've been disabled all my life, having been born with Spastic Cerebral Palsy. CP is caused by lack of oxygen to the brain, and in my case, causes the muscles of my body to be very spastic. My brain is sending signals to my body and they aren't quite what they should be, so I have a lot of my muscles (legs and arms mostly) contracting all the time. CP sometimes affects speech, but in my case, it doesn't, so I can use voice-recognition to operate my computer. I use a manual wheelchair to get around, but also have a motorized wheelchair to use when going long distances, as Gillis isn't quite old enough to pull yet. (Yeah, yeah, in this story we've got him being about 3 years old, and at that age, he can pull). Gillis is currently 11 months old, and learning his job. I can walk, some, but it's a fair bet that if I walk more than 20 feet, I'm gonna fall. I have no balance whatsoever. sigh**I will use Gillis for balance (as soon as I teach him it's okay, that I can grab his harness) soon, and get rid of one or both of my crutches when I need to walk.

I'm very busy training Gillis and taking him to work with me at two jobs! I work for the local H&R Block as a tax preparer during tax season, and I also teach a computer programming course two evenings a week at the local Technical College. I'm married to a wonderful man who is currently working on the Y2K problem for a local company (making sure their hardware and software is compliant). I've been married 8 years, this June. My hobbies include working for GeoCities as a Community Leader, giving help to homesteaders in building their websites, and answering questions. I also am very active in the local Service Dog Support Group that my dog trainer runs from her facility. A lot of people think that Service Dogs are "magic" nope, there's a lot of hard work to train a dog to be almost invisible, and also to do the things you need them to do for you. Even at 11 months, Gillis knows to lay quietly when I'm in public he went to a funeral yesterday, laid down and promptly went to sleep.

If you want to learn more about me and Service Dogs, you can visit my website at http://www.danawheels.net.

TAE: This is primarily a Mable story, the rest of the crew are there in her support. Those of you who don't like original characters may as well go elsewhere, now. I make no apologies for the stories I write. Those who like them have told me, and those who don't generally haven't. Besides, this one is for Dana, who posed a logical question as to my writing and motives; for which she deserves an honest and realistic answer.

So, this is dedicated to Dana, who is going to help me (as soon as I get something written, that is). Oh, yes, she and her dog, Gillis, are also appearing in this story. In case you wonder where my stories come from, Dana asked why Mable was in a power chair. I put it aside for a month or two, then when my dear muses finally came back on line, (in full force I might add) they came with this story, which also involves an incident here a few years ago when a man wanted to run a triathlon with his seeing-eye dog and the administrators told him he had to have an 'attendant'

Hero Du Jour

Major Crime-The Race

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SLAM!!! The cupboard door connecting to its latch was so fierce that it bounced back open in protest to the abuse, only to be slammed shut again. This time, it was wise enough to stay closed. A moment later another cupboard door was jerked open and released, allowing the door to bounce off the cabinetry next to it and rebound back to catch the hand that had started it all, bruising the wrist as the edge struck it.

"DARN IT!" Mable cried out as she snatched her hand back from the offending piece of wood. She started muttering to herself as she examined the already bruising wrist. She sat back and took a deep, hopefully calming, breath. Then she did it again; and again; and yet again. It wasn't working.

"Baby? What's the matter?" Her police detective husband asked as he came into the kitchen from the porte-cochere. He had heard her from outside as he got out of his car, even over the sound of the closing garage door, which had caused him to hurry to find out what was wrong.

"Nothing is wrong." Mable said, through gritted teeth. She was still rubbing her sore wrist when she realized that he wasn't buying her story; she sighed and jerked the pot she needed from the cupboard and slammed the door. This one was good enough to stay closed. She banged the pot down on the counter, where she had been viciously chopping vegetables. When her husband just stayed and waited patiently for her to talk, she finally took another deep breath and looked up at him, a little rueful.

"You're not buying the idea that nothing's wrong?" She asked sweetly.

He knew perfectly well that it was all an act. His beloved wife of thirty years was seriously pissed-off at someone he just hoped that he wasn't the one who had gotten her so riled up. "Did I do something?" He asked, if it was his fault, he wanted to get it fixed just as soon as possible. They had made a pact long before they had ever discussed marriage that no matter how angry they ever got with one another, they would always talk it out and get it settled before the end of the day.

Mable looked up at him, seeing the worry on his face; knowing that he was ready and more than willing to apologize, even if it wasn't his fault. That in itself was enough to defuse her anger. "I'm not mad at you, Sweetheart. I'm mad at those idiots down at the paper. I went down to sign up for that ten-K run. You remember my telling you about it?"

"Sure. The newspaper is sponsoring a five-K, a ten-K, and a marathon for Special Olympics, right?" Knowing that he wasn't the cause of her ire, he approached, leaned down and kissed her 'hello', as usual.

She smiled as they separated. "Right. Well, I signed up for the ten-K. I mean, I manage to keep up with you and Jim when you run your five miles on Saturdays, don't I?"

"Yeah," Joel chuckled, "and you generally aren't as winded as I am, either. Ten-K is what, about six, six and a half miles? You should be able to do that, no problem. So, what happened?" He turned to pull a kitchen chair from the table and sat down, primarily so she wouldn't have to look up so far.

"They told me I had to have a keeper." She half-snarled, half-whined. Her husband could tell how upset she really was. Of course, hearing the banging of cupboard doors had been a pretty good clue, as well. But her voice told him how angry and frustrated she was feeling.

"What do you mean, a keeper?" His own countenance drew down in a frown, not liking the sound of someone telling his wife that she needed a keeper. They obviously didn't know just how versatile and capable his wife was, wheelchair or not. If they were discriminating against her because she was in a wheelchair, well, they were going to have to think again. He could feel his own gorge rising in response to the presumed threat to his 'Baby'.

"They said that 'as a handicapped person, you must have an attendant who runs with you to take care of you in case of any problems you may have.' What a crock. I asked them if able-bodied people had to have an attendant in case they had any problems. They sort of hemmed and hawed but couldn't answer me. They just said that those were the rules and if I wanted to participate, I had to abide by them." She had put her chopped vegetables on to cook, and was checking on her roast in the oven. "So, now I have to find not only sponsors, but someone to 'assist' me." She gently closed the oven door and turned to her husband for his response.

"Well, I'd run with you, but I wouldn't want to slow you down." He told her. They smiled. He hated to run, but it had been a big help in losing all the excess weight he'd been carrying.

"I wouldn't mind." She replied, smiling lovingly up at him.

"I know you wouldn't, but you can go so much faster than I can; I mean, it is a race, after all. Maybe Jim would go with you. I could ask him? Or maybe Blair? He's pretty fast. Heck, any of they guys would probably jump at the chance to run with you." He reached out to clasp her hands in his. Awed, as always at the comparatively small, delicate hands that held so much strength in them. Gently rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her hands, marveling, yet again at how they practically disappeared into his own ham-sized fists.

"All right. Ask for volunteers." She suddenly giggled, "If more than one wants to do this, let them. I'd love to see the organizer's faces if I showed up with an entire contingent of nice, big, strong men to escort me." The sparkle was back in her eyes as she began to look forward to the charity run once more.

"So, I'm looking for volunteers. They insisted that Mable have an attendant and, since she can go a lot faster in her sport-chair than I can run, I thought one of you guys might be willing to act as her attendant."

The other members of Major Crime looked at each other, slow smiles spreading across their faces. The captain, Simon Banks, spoke for them all, "So, can she have more than one attendant?" He asked, mildly.

"As many of you as want to go with her. I figured we'd enter as a team. I doubt if I'll be able to keep up, but I'll still go." Joel answered. He watched in amused silence as the rest of the squad squirmed in excitement.

"So, how many besides me are going to join in on this little jaunt?" Simon asked. No one was surprised by the unanimous show of hands, even their observer, Blair Sandburg, was grinning excitedly as his hand waved in the air.

"OK, Joel. If that's all?" Simon looked around, ready to close the weekly staff meeting, "Good. Get back to work, people. Joel, I expect all the particulars on the race on my desk by close of business." He pushed back in his chair and stood. Smiling at the cohesiveness of his unit and how quickly they had jumped to the assistance (unanimously) of one of their co-workers.

They had nearly a month to prepare. The entire group from Major Crime started meeting every evening after work to practice for the run. Mostly, it was for those who didn't usually run, Brown, Simon, Joel, and Megan. Jim, Blair, and Rafe all ran regularly, so served as the pacesetters; always pushing the others just a little faster, just a little farther. Four times a week, Mable would join them. People seeing them on the street or running through a park wondered who the important person in the wheelchair was to have so many guards, particularly since anyone who cared to look could tell that they were armed. Of course, none of them thought anything of the picture they made as they ran through the streets and parks in and around Cascade.

By the time the day of the race arrived, they were all in condition to easily run the measly ten kilometers required; even Joel was confidant of being able to keep up. They had trained for ten miles, without telling anyone; Jim had felt that by overtraining, they had a better chance to do well, perhaps even place. The important thing was to finish; but their pride would be better served if they could do well.

It had rained most of the night, but the dawn brought beautiful, clear, blue skies. It was cool, but not cold. Nearly perfect weather for running. That nearly perfect condition of roasting in the sun and shivering in the shade. They met at the Taggart home, deciding to all ride together in Mable's van. Each had brought something for the potluck they were going to have after the race. They were all excited and pumped up in anticipation.

They arrived early, just because they expected trouble. They found themselves in line behind another wheelchair athlete. She was a young woman in her 30's wearing glasses, with long jet-black hair (streaked with white) which was pulled back in a ponytail. She was in a sport wheelchair much like Mable's, only without the push-handles. Standing beside her chair was a dog. The animal was obviously a Doberman Pinscher, a bit larger than most, with uncropped ears, making it look more hound-like than Doberman and wearing a blue harness. He barely glanced at them as they arrived. He stretched his head to his mistress and gently licked her face. She turned to her dog and patted him on the shoulders, then turned her attention once more to the officials who were signing in the participants.

Mable scooted her chair up beside the younger woman, on the side opposite the dog. She smiled and asked, "Is he actually trained as a service dog?" When the younger woman turned to her, there was a ready smile waiting. "My name is Mable Taggart." And she offered her hand.

"My name's Dana Marshall." The younger woman answered, shaking hands. "This is Gillis and yes, he's my service dog. Well, he's still in training. But he's doing very well. He still has a problem wanting to play with anything on four legs, but we're working on it." She smiled.

"He's beautiful." Mable enthused. "One of my doctors suggested I get a dog, but I'm able to pick up most things I drop, including me."

She chuckled, blushing when her husband worriedly came up beside them and asked, "What do you mean, yourself? Have you been falling out of your chair lately?" There was concern in his voice, and his face had that overprotective expression that most if not all, recent caretakers tended to have.

"Have you found any scrapes, cuts, or broken bones?" She looked up, smiling gently. She stretched up one hand to pat his cheek. "I'm fine. When I first started really using the sport-chair, I fell out a few times. I was too stubborn and embarrassed to wait until you got home to rescue me, so I figured out how to get myself back up into the chair. Of course, I also use the seatbelt, now." She winked at Dana, who chuckled in agreement.

"Yeah, that can help, unless you have one of those racing styles, but they look too uncomfortable to me."

"With the seat tilted and your knees halfway to your chin? Oh, yeah. This is good enough for me." Mable agreed. "Oh, this is my husband, Joel. He's my 'attendant'." She made it sound like a slur.

Dana grimaced. "I know what you mean. I'm expecting a fight when they find out that Gillis here is my attendant; but the rules didn't specify what species the attendant had to be. At least I don't have an ape for a service animal."

"Ape? You're kidding, right?" Dana looked up at the speaker, a tall, good-looking man with short brown hair and beautiful blue eyes. He was glaring at a short man with long, curly dark brown hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail. The shorter man smiled.

"Don't mind him. I was working with a Barbary Ape. He and Larry didn't get along." He smirked at the taller man then turned back to Dana. "Hi, I'm Blair Sandburg. The ape-hater here is Jim Ellison. The rest of the group are Simon Banks, Megan Connor, Brian Rafe, Henry Brown, and you've met Joel and Mable Taggart."

Dana stared at the group. "Wow." She stared at Mable. "You have seven attendants?" Shocked. She hadn't been able to find anyone willing or able to join her. "Those aren't attendants, that's an entourage." She declared, smiling.

"Well, I was pretty upset last month when they told me I needed a keeper. I sort of took my mad out on the cupboards and dinner, and, well, Joel, when he got home." She smiled ruefully up at her husband, then turned back to Dana to continue, "Anyway, he offered to ask the people he works with for volunteers, and here we are." She bestowed her proudest smile and most pleased expression on the group with her. They all blushed a bit in embarrassment, but returned her smile, nonetheless.

"Hey, I think it's great. I hope they choke trying to fill out the 'attendant' space in the form." Dana grinned at the group, who returned her smile.

"So, tell me how you managed to end up with a Doberman for a service dog? I thought most service dogs were German Shepherds or Labrador Retrievers?" Blair asked, tentatively extending his hand for Gillis to sniff and lick. Soon he was scratching the dog's neck and under his ears, much to Gillis' delight.

"Gillis, leave it!" Dana said sternly. Gillis immediately backed away from Blair. Then she looked up at Blair. "Sorry, but you're not supposed to just start petting a service dog. It distracts them from their work, and they are working animals, not pets. You're supposed to ask, first." She smiled to take the sting from her words. "It's OK, though. Go ahead. Gillis, say Hi." She then grinned up at Blair and answered his question. "They are, if you get them from a program that trains service dogs. My first dog, which was a Labrador Retriever, had to be retired unexpectedly at the age of 6 years because of seizures. He was a dog from a program. It took me 6 years before I got Tyler, and after I retired Tyler and returned him to his trainer (she wanted him when he was too old to work), I had decided to train my next dog myself, because the wait for a new dog (who was probably not specifically trained for me (they all know the SAME commands)), was going to be too long. Anyway, I met a Doberman Pinscher breeder where I go to dog train every week, and when she heard I was between dogs, she offered me one of her 6-week-old puppies. So, my dog trainer and I went and looked at the puppies. Gillis was the one I chose, he was the only puppy at 6 weeks to decide to untie my shoelaces twice, then he decided that my crutches were good to chew on and then he fell asleep laying on them. As for his name, well," Dana started giggling. "When 6 friends make the same suggestion of a name like Gillis, so I can introduce my dog as "This is my Dobie, Gillis", you go with the flow, even if I first thought the name was too corny." Her explanation was met with muted groans from those old enough to remember the TV show.

"So, he's pretty friendly." Jim said, crouching beside the dog. Gillis, even though he knew better, recognized a soft touch when he met one and had placed his enormous paws on Jim's shoulders and was resting his head on one shoulder, his eyes closed in bliss as Jim rubbed his sides.

Dana just shook her head at Gillis, resigned to the fact he was gonna play mooch and get petted. "Pretty friendly? Oh, that is an understatement. He loves everybody." Dana replied with a laugh. "Most of the bad reputation came from people who ran puppy mills and inbred the poor things so much. And owners that either neglected their dogs, or trained them to be aggressive and bite. Which isn't the dog's fault, but lots of people have misconceptions about Dobermans. I know I did, before I met Gillis' sire. The entire breed is much better, now. A lot of it is in the training, of course." Dana enthused about her friend. "He's really very sweet. But because he's a Doberman, he gets much the same reaction as a Pit Bull. I didn't have his ears cropped, so he's often mistaken for something else. Aren't you sweetie?" Dana reached out a hand for her dog to lick, as he leaned back from his position on Jim's shoulders, grinning.

"He certainly seems calm, not to mention, friendly." Simon agreed.

"Calm? That's only because he knows he's working. I take the harness off, and I've got a 100-pound puppy, who makes me tired just watching him run up and down my apartment. Even at the age of 2 " years."

While they were talking, the line moved and Dana was up. She handed her form to the official, who looked up and asked for "Mr. Gillis?"

"Gillis is my service dog." Dana declared.

"I'm sorry, miss, but you have to have an attendant." The official replied, condescendingly. Dana took a deep breath, trying to control her anger.

"Gillis is accepted all over the United States as a service dog. I'm allowed to take him into restaurants, grocery stores, airplanes, everywhere, without a human 'keeper'. I protest that you will not accept him in the same way for this."

"I'm sorry, but the rules clearly state "

"That any handicapped athlete be accompanied by an attendant. Your rules do not specify the species of the attendant. If you look on page twenty-three of your rules and regulations, you will find no mention of the species of the attendant, only that handicapped participants will be accompanied by an attendant." There was a hint of triumph in her voice as she finished her statement. The group behind her smiled in agreement.

"It's implied "

"It is not specific. There isn't a judge in the country that will disagree with me. I have an attendant. His name is Gillis. He will accompany me on the run. He can pick up anything I drop. He can pull me if I need help. He can even go for help if I'm incapable of helping myself. He can do just about anything a human attendant can do." Dana was on a roll.

"But can he pick you up and put you back in your chair?" The official demanded snidely.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Mable exclaimed. She looked at her husband and growled at him, "Don't you do a single thing, do you hear me?" With that, she tipped herself out of her chair.

The official panicked. He started to call for help, but Dana glared at him and said, "Shut up and watch, you jerk." Mable used her arms to sit up. She then scooted over to her overturned chair, set it upright, and locked the wheels. Then she shifted around and struggled a bit, finally lifting herself back into the chair. Then she rearranged her paralyzed legs and shifted her butt more securely in the chair. Finally, she re-fastened her seatbelt.

"I don't need a keeper." She snarled at the dumbfounded race official. Her words (and actions) brought applause from the participants in line behind them.

"And neither do I." Dana said, smiling. "Gillis brace," she commanded, and then placed her left hand on Gillis' withers, she slowly stood up. "As you can see, I do have the ability to get in and out of my wheelchair."

"But, but you're walking why do you need a wheelchair then?" The official asked.

Dana lowered herself into her wheelchair. "Standing up, and walking are two different things; however, that is a personal question that you do not have the right to ask, and I do not have to answer. I am a disabled person as defined by the Americans with Disabilities Act, and Washington State RCW 49.60."

The official hemmed and hawed, not knowing what to say, finally, he called for some assistance. They discussed the problem out of the hearing of the people in line at least, they thought they did.

Jim Ellison, Detective and Sentinel, cocked his head to listen. He moved a few feet further away from Dana and Mable. His colleagues gathered around him to protect him from prying eyes and ears, and then watched him as his eyes glazed over a bit. Blair's hand settled on Jim's lower back to ground him. Jim just started to repeat the conversation taking place between the officials.

"You know that the rules mean that the attendant is supposed to be a human. An adult who is capable of taking care of the handicapped person in case of trouble."

"Yeah, but if she sues, she'll win. She's right in that the rules aren't specific enough. On top of which, this is for Special Olympics. How do you think it would look if we made such a big deal about this?"

"It doesn't matter. We have to keep her safety in mind. Besides, what if her dog bites someone?"

"The rules don't prohibit service animals, only pets. Since that's a certified service dog, we can't exclude it. Just be glad it isn't a monkey. We can check for the service license, though."

"But "

"Look, she's right, she'll win in court, but in the meantime, we can tell her that she also needs a human attendant, as a dog, even a service dog doesn't qualify as an attendant."

"Do you think it will hold up in court?"

"Hard to say, but it's worth the shot."

The two men came back, the new one spoke, "I'm sorry, but even a service dog doesn't qualify as an attendant. You can sue us if you like, but you'll only be hurting the charity, in the long run."

"So, that means that you don't want me or the ten thousand dollars in pledges promised if I complete this little run, right?" Dana was having a hard time containing her fury.

Joel looked from his angry wife to his friends. He raised an eyebrow in question. Every, last one of them nodded, anger apparent on their faces as well. Joel stepped up with their paperwork.

"She can run with us." He said, dropping the filled out forms on the table. "I assume that the seven of us are sufficient to accompany two ladies in wheelchairs and a service dog?" The venom in his voice was enough to make his friends flinch, knowing just how gentle and accommodating Joel usually was.

"She'll have to leave the dog behind. No pets are allowed on the course." The first official began. Seeing the nine pair of furious eyes, several of which belonged to very large, muscular men, caused the smaller official to back up, deferring to his superior. That worthy took one look, saw what looked suspiciously like a gun in a shoulder holster on one of the men and signaled for security.

Dana looked at them in disbelief. "He's a Service Dog. You can't exclude him. It's my right to have him accompany me on this run. Why don't you simply call the police?" She added snidely. Looking on in anger as the security guard arrived. She and the race officials missed the sudden amused looks that passed among Mable's attendants.

"Show me his certification paperwork and maybe he'll accompany you." The official demanded.

"I don't think so. You do not have the right to ask for certification or documentation as a condition of access." Dana shot back hotly. "Try it, and you'll be in court so fast, your head will spin. I'm not going to sue the charity, I'd sue you personally!"

"You have to prove that your dog is a service dog. The county issues out licenses to Service Dogs!"

"I do not have to prove he's a service dog to anyone except in a court of law! As for the license, it's a dog license, the only thing special about it, was that I didn't have to pay for it. It was free." Dana snapped.

"What's wrong, Mr. Jackson?" The security man asked. He glanced at the group intimidating the officials and wondered why Cascade PD was out in force. "Captain Banks, isn't it?" He asked, turning to the very tall, dark-skinned man.

"Jacobs? Is that you? How's it going, man? I haven't seen you since you retired, what, five, six years ago?" Simon smiled upon recognizing the guard.

"It's been almost ten years, Captain. You had just made lieutenant when I retired." The elderly man declared with a smile. Pleased that the younger man remembered him after so many years. "So, Cap, what's the problem, here?"

"They don't want to allow Dana the use of her service dog on the run. She's joining us, so there are plenty of attendants to help in case of any trouble. Oh, Bob Jacobs, this is my squad. You probably remember Joel Taggart, this is his wife, Mable, detectives Jim Ellison and his partner, Blair Sandburg, Megan Connor who's on loan from Sydney PD on an exchange program, Henry Brown, and Brian Rafe. This is Bob Jacobs. He used to be the head of Juvee."

"So, you're Ellison. Heard a lot about you. Heard a lot about all of you in Major Crime Division, to tell the truth. Good things, I might add." The elderly man smiled. Then he turned back to the race officials. "So, what's the problem?" He asked innocently.

The two officials looked like all the wind had dropped from their sails. They looked at each other, sighed, and stamped the entry forms, issuing numbers to the entire group. Then had to watch in annoyance while they pinned the numbers on one another and with smug smiles joined those already signed in to warm up for the race. They had taken up so much time that the officials had to scurry to sign everyone else in to be ready at the scheduled time to start the race.

Dana looked up in awe at the group she had suddenly been made a part of. "Major Crime? Like in the Police department's Major Crime? The guys that are always on the news? That Major Crime?" She couldn't quite get her belief around the idea of these perfect strangers adopting her and her dog into their group. Especially not after finding out that they were all police detectives, notoriously closed ranked. She giggled a bit nervously at the realization that she had told the officials to call the police, but they were already there, and on her side.

"Don't worry about it, dear." Mable smiled. "Their bark is much less than their bite. But like Gillis here, it takes extraordinary measures to make them bite well, except maybe for Jim." She grinned up at the blushing detective. "Oh, you know it's true. You have the shortest fuse of everyone." She teased, gently, but seriously.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Jim agreed, a bit reluctantly. Turning to their new member, he asked, "So, how fast and long can you go? We're doing ten-K in about forty-five minutes to an hour. We can slow down, if you need to." He offered.

"No, I think I can keep up. Gillis, here can always pull me along if I start to tire out." Dana assured them.

"Or one of us can push for a while. According to the rules, attendants are part of the 'team' as it were. So we can help without penalty." Joel smiled. He looked at their 'team'. "So, shall we do this to win?" His words were met with enthusiastic agreement. They headed up toward the front of the pack of people getting ready to start the race, only to be told that they had to wait until the 'normal' runners (those on two feet) started first.

"That's all right." Mable declared, rather loudly. "They need the handicap of a head start, just to make it fair." All the footed runners blushed in embarrassment upon either hearing her words as she spoke them or repeated as everyone murmured, repeating them. Dana took one look at Mable and turned away to hide her giggling from the other runners. She found the comment very funny in light of the situation. One of the runners approached the officials (a different group from those signing people in) and requested a fair start for everyone, based upon when they arrived. The officials whispered in conference again and decided to clear one side of the starting area for wheelchair athletes, allowing them a fair start with the 'normal' runners.

Finally, everyone was ready. There were a total of eight wheelchair racers and more than two hundred men and women on foot. Since Dana and Mable had been the first of the wheelchair participants to arrive, they had the front spot. While they had waited, they had stretched and warmed up, the men and woman of Major Crimes stripping off their sweats to reveal running shorts and tank tops, putting their matching lightweight windbreakers on to cover their guns. When the starting gun went off, they were able to keep up quite well with the 'normal' racers. The runners settled into a steady, ground-eating pace, the two wheelchairs in the middle with no one in front of them. As they approached a downhill section, Jim and Rafe accelerated ahead to warn other racers of the wheelchairs' approach from behind. The two men's soft calls of "Wheelchairs coming through." Was sufficient to get the runners to move to the other side of the course to make room for the chairs.

The race coordinators probably had no idea that the course they chose actually favored those in wheelchairs. There were many more downhill sections as compared to the uphill portions. After the first long downhill part, only a few of those they had passed managed to catch up and pass them on the uphill slope. Those they easily managed to pass on the next downhill, as well as catching and passing a few of those they had not caught up with on the first downslope.

The next section of rising ground was the steepest section of the entire course. Gillis leaned into his harness and pulled mightily, with encouragement from Dana. Joel grabbed the handles of Mable's wheelchair and helped push it to the top of the hill, where they all paused at the checkpoint that the race had wisely placed there. Those on their feet remained on their feet, bending over and gasping until their hearts and lungs managed to catch up and calm down a bit. They all accepted the sports drinks offered them, along with water to pour over their overheated bodies. Dana tried to dump water on Gillis, but like most Dobermans, he'd have nothing to do with water being dumped on him. Jim finally came to her rescue and blocked Gillis from moving while Rafe and Brown dumped water all over the recalcitrant dog. Gillis got revenge by shaking all over everyone, causing a lot of laughter and snide comments. When Dana and Mable were ready again, they started off once more. While they had been recovering, four people had managed to pass them.

Now came the longest portion of the race. The road twisted and turned, with evenly spaced hills where the downhills gave no advantage to anyone, slowly rising more than dropping, leading to the last checkpoint and the final downhill portion of the race. At the last checkpoint, one of the frontrunners had collapsed and was being tended by paramedics. The group paused to rest for a couple of minutes before Jim surreptitiously checked everyone out, including the dog, and declared them fit to continue. He and Rafe again took point to warn of the oncoming wheelchairs.

The downhill lasted until about two hundred yards from the finish line, where it leveled out to the tape. They managed to pass the last runner ahead of them just before the course leveled out. From there, they sprinted for the finish line. The ladies pushing themselves as quickly as they could, hoping to hold out ahead of the running competitors behind them.

They crossed the finish line, ten abreast: the two wheelchairs in the center, Joel to the right of Mable, Gillis to the left of Dana, trotting gaily alongside, happy for the outing, with the rest of the group from Major Crimes to either side.

EPILOGUE

"The Cascade Times' annual ten-K Race for Charity was held today in Cascade Park," the news announcer read from her teleprompter, "The winning time was fifty-three minutes, twelve seconds. Not the fastest time ever clocked, but notable, nevertheless, as the winners were a pair of ladies in wheelchairs with their attendants." They showed the ending of the race, where they passed the last runner and spread across the path, with the wheelchairs in the center as they sprinted across the finish line. Satisfied smiles on every face. The anchor continued, "Ms Dana Marshall and her service dog Gillis, had a bit of difficulty before the race started when she was told that her service dog did not qualify as an attendant, which the race rules require for handicapped participants. Mrs. Mable Taggart offered to permit her attendants, which consisted of her husband, Joel Taggart and all of his colleagues from the Cascade PD's Major Crime Division, to act as her attendants, as well. Once again, the crew from Major Crime has made a difference. Between the two wheelchair bound ladies, they managed to collect pledges for more than fifteen thousand dollars. Quite a large amount of money by any standard. Not to mention the fact that for the first time ever, a participant in a wheelchair has managed to win the race.

"Race organizers credit their officials' actions with creating the situation leading to the win by the wheelchair bound racers. For the first time, ever, racers in wheelchairs were allowed to begin the race simultaneously with normal runners, perhaps proving that 'handicapped' doesn't necessarily mean 'unable'."

The news anchor smiled into the camera, as his co-anchor began speaking, "Well, once again, Major Crime has made a difference for the community." The lady anchor smiled brightly, "Thank you, from all those whose lives you touch with your caring and generosity." They left the picture of them crossing the finish line up as they broke for commercial.

Dana laughed along with everyone else at the way the story was reported. She had been unable to resist the invitation to join the rest of them for their potluck after the race. The perpetual trophy sat in the middle of the table for the night. They would have to return it to have their names engraved on the pedestal. They would each be given a plaque to commemorate the event, but the trophy would go back to the newspaper, where it would remain until next year. Dana was a little surprised by the family atmosphere. The group was more like close, loving relatives than friends and co-workers. She was thrilled to be included in the party and was having a wonderful time with her new friends. Especially finding Mable to go hiking with. It would be wonderful to have someone else to go places with, someone who, although older, had many of the same interests and was of an equal ability. Of course, Rafe asking her for a date didn't hurt either. Too bad she was married. She had had to explain that her husband had to work that day, but that he had been her greatest cheerleader in her desire to race, not to mention encouraging her in training her own service dog.

Finally, she had to leave to go home to her family, but she left with the knowledge that she had a lot more friends than she had had that morning. Friends she hoped to be seeing much more of. Now, if she could only talk Joel and Mable into getting a service dog

The End

Yeah, I know, not really very much of the guys in this one. Next time. I promise. I need to work some kinks out of a story I'm doing for a zine, and I'm also working on a longer piece, one that just has Jim, Blair and Simon in it. Yep. The one that Nickerbits and Wolfpup have been nagg uh, asking for.

I want to again thank Danawheels for her assistance in writing this story, she made it much more accurate and 'real' than I would have be able to on my own. As for the service dogs, I've met a few, and am training my shepherd/husky/wolf to help us with my cousin's daughter, pulling her wheelchair, as well as uncle Alvin's, just because it's good training. R.I. Eaton

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