Several weeks later, excitement buzzed in Biscuit's belly as he prepared for an important day. It had been six weeks since he cheered on his teammates in their victorious matches against their biggest rivals. Despite being sidelined with a cast, Biscuit attended every game, rooting for his friends—Roy, Lucas, and Quinn—who had performed admirably, especially Quinn, who took on the goalkeeper position until Biscuit could return.
Their defense proved so exceptional that whispers circulated among parents about scouts from the regional team showing interest. However, this news left Biscuit feeling uneasy. He worried that the scouts only noticed his friends and that he would be left behind, stuck in their old team. The thought gnawed at him; he could already picture his friends moving on without him.
Little did he know, the scouts had actually come for all of them. They had seen recordings of their impressive match against the Wallabies and wanted to observe the team together before making any decisions. Unfortunately, an injury sidelined Biscuit, and the recordings cut off before showing the full strength of their friendship on the field.
Flashback
But that was all in the past now. Today marked the long-awaited day when his cast would finally come off. Biscuit had endured six weeks of challenges, constantly on guard to avoid further injury, which meant he had to miss out on many fun games with other kids. The threat of another fall loomed over him—one that could lead to an even longer road to recovery.
Turning to his father, Bandit, Biscuit felt a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The itch beneath the cast had driven him nearly crazy; it had become worse after the first week. Early on, he tried scratching it with a skewer, but Mum promptly stopped him, explaining the potential dangers. Although he knew better, the relentless itch made it difficult to think straight.
Two weeks later, the worst itch struck him—not only a distraction but an almost unbearable torment. Desperate for relief, he searched around the house and found a long knitting needle. With no adult supervision, he succumbed to the temptation, ignoring the voice in his head warning him to stop. The immediate relief felt blissful, like a wave washing over him, but it disappeared the moment he heard his mother's voice behind him.
"What are you doing, sweetheart?" she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.
Biscuit froze, dread pooling in his stomach. Should he admit his actions and face the consequences? Or should he remain silent, hoping his mum wouldn't figure it out? He opted for quiet, feeling vulnerable as he stared at the floor. However, he quickly realized she was peering over his shoulder.
"Biscuit Mort Heeler, we talked about this." Chili took his wrist gently, pulling the needle away. The use of his full name sent a jolt of fear through him; his parents only did that when he was in serious trouble. Biscuit turned away, ashamed.
"Biscuit, look at me, young pup."
He heard the softness in her voice mingled with worry, giving him the courage to turn around. Concern etched across her face, she wasn't angry but deeply troubled.
"You can't scratch under your cast. If you damage your skin, you could end up in the hospital with sepsis. You really don't want that," she explained, her eyes filled with unease.
"I—I know, Mum, but the itch is driving me crazy!" Biscuit admitted, his frustration bubbling to the surface.
"Oh, honey. You should have told me sooner how bad it was. We can try some different things." Chili led him to the kitchen, where she grabbed a bag of frozen peas and a towel. After wrapping the peas in the towel, she placed it gently on his cast.
"Okay, Biscuit, you can use this to help with the itch, but remember to always have a towel in between so your cast doesn't get wet. And be sure to put the peas back in the freezer when you're done," she instructed.
Feeling grateful for the relief, Biscuit nodded, noticing the cold dampness against his cast helped ease the itch considerably.
Flashback end
As they drove to the hospital, Biscuit's thoughts wandered back to his friends again. His heart ached with longing for their camaraderie on the field. He missed the energetic shouts, the rush of the game, and the shared laughter that brought them all together. He couldn't shake the worry that he'd be forgotten while the scouts observed his friends, as if he would be left out of their future success.
As they arrived at the hospital, Biscuit felt a rush of mixed emotions. The bright blue sky beyond the entrance filled him with anticipation, but as they navigated through the corridors filled with the whirring and beeping of medical machines, a wave of unease washed over him.
The sounds—the soft beeps of monitors, the rhythmic clatter of carts, and the hushed conversations of nurses—triggered a familiar flutter of anxiety deep within him. He couldn't shake the memories of his younger days spent in the hospital for his breathing problems. The recollection of being alone in stark rooms, surrounded by the unrelenting noise, flooded his mind uninvited.
As they approached the examination room, Biscuit felt a slight tightness in his chest. Instinctively, he began rummaging through his backpack for his inhaler. His small paws fumbled through the compartments; each moment stretched out in his anxiety-filled mind. The noises intensified—beeping became louder, and the hurried footsteps echoed ominously—tightening the knot in his stomach.
"Hey, you doing okay, buddy?" Bandit's warm voice cut through his mounting panic as he walked beside Biscuit, providing a reassuring presence.
"Yeah, I just… the sounds remind me of when I was little," Biscuit admitted, glancing up at his dad as they entered the examination room.
"It's alright to feel a little uneasy. This place can bring back memories. Just remember that you're not alone," Bandit said, placing a comforting paw on Biscuit's shoulder.
Biscuit found his inhaler and took a moment to use it, feeling the cool relief as he inhaled deeply. Just as he felt the tightness begin to ease, the nurse entered the room, her cheerful demeanor offering a stark contrast to the clinical atmosphere.
"Hello there, Biscuit! Ready to get that cast off?" she asked, smiling brightly.
Biscuit nodded eagerly, his anticipation rising again as the nurse gently began to unwrap the cast. With each layer that peeled away, he felt both apprehension and excitement. Finally, with a flourish, the cast came off completely, revealing his arm for the first time in weeks.
He stared at it in awe. His arm looked strange: overgrown with hair and slightly discolored, it seemed almost foreign to him. An odd smell wafted up, a mix of stale air and something musty, but the most pressing feeling was the maddening itch that radiated from his skin.
Before he could think, the overwhelming urge to scratch took over. He brought his paw to his arm, desperate for relief.
"Wait a moment there, Biscuit!" the nurse said quickly, gently stopping his paw before it could connect with his skin. "Let's clean it up first."
Biscuit hesitated, the itch still screaming for attention. "But it feels so itchy!" he protested, struggling to hold back the urgency.
"I know, sweetheart, but scratching right after removing the cast can cause irritation or even an infection. Let's wash it up and make you feel better," she explained, guiding him to a sink. The nurse turned on warm water, and Biscuit watched her carefully wash his arm, gently scrubbing away the grime.
As the cool water flowed over his skin, a wave of relief washed over him, even if it didn't entirely rid him of the itch. Once cleaned up, the lingering sensation was much more manageable.
"Now that you're all cleaned up, Biscuit, let's go over a few things you need to keep in mind for the next few weeks," the nurse said, setting aside the water and grabbing a clipboard.
Biscuit felt a flicker of concern return as she began to explain. "For the next few weeks, you'll need to take care of your arm and avoid activities that could lead to injury. That means no sports or rough play, alright?"
His heart sank. "No sports?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm really sorry, honey. Until your arm is fully healed and strong again, we need to ensure you don't put any strain on it. That includes avoiding sports that have a high risk of injury, like football or basketball," she said gently.
Disappointment flooded Biscuit. He had been looking forward to playing again, especially with the team finally getting noticed by scouts. "But I was supposed to start playing next week!" he exclaimed, the mood deflating as he faced the harsh reality.
"I understand this feels disappointing, but think of this as a chance to rest and let your arm heal completely," the nurse reassured him. "You can still support your team from the sidelines—they'll need your energy and enthusiasm as they prepare for the next matches!"
He wanted to be out there with his friends, kicking the ball and celebrating victories. The thought of being sidelined again felt unbearable.
"Just remember," the nurse continued, noticing his expression, "when you do return to play, you'll be stronger than ever. Your friends will be cheering you on, and they'll be so excited to have you back on the field, too."
Biscuit forced a nod, trying to accept her reassurances. "Thanks, I guess," he replied quietly, his voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. He glanced at his clean arm, still tinged with the frustration of having been out of the game for so long.
As they finally stepped out of the hospital, the sunlight hit them, warming Biscuit's fur and giving him a moment of reprieve from the suffocating anxiety of the hospital. He took a deep breath of fresh air, realizing how much he had missed this simple pleasure while cooped up at home.
"Come on, kiddo. Let's grab some ice cream to celebrate the cast coming off! You've earned it," Bandit said, guiding him forward.
The thought of ice cream sparked a flicker of excitement in Biscuit. Ice cream always made everything better! He imagined juicy flavors and a cone dripping with sweet syrup. "Yeah! Sprinkles, too!" he exclaimed, his mood lifting just a bit.
As they made their way to the car, Biscuit felt the tightness in his chest easing further. He knew that while he had to take a break from sports, he could still be part of the team by cheering them on from the sideline. He could support his friends in their matches, even if he wasn't playing.
With each step toward the car, he reminded himself of the joy of being with his friends and the fun they would have together. He would be there for every game, using this time to appreciate the moments he could share with them.
Bandit opened the car door, and Biscuit climbed inside, feeling a renewed sense of hope. Though he faced a few challenging weeks ahead, he knew he wouldn't be alone. He had his family by his side, and soon, he would be back with his friends, supporting them from the sidelines and planning for his return to play when the time was right.
As they drove toward the ice cream shop, Biscuit looked out the window, focusing on the vibrant scenery outside. He imagined the future with excitement, picturing himself back on the field, stronger and more determined than ever. With each passing moment, he reminded himself that this was just a pause, a moment to recharge, and soon he would be back in the game—ready for whatever came next.
The following Saturday, excitement buzzed in the air as Chili and Biscuit settled onto the rafters for the match. The familiar sights and sounds of the field filled Biscuit with warmth, even as he kept his arm close to his body, diligently remembering his doctor's advice. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he scanned the scene, searching for his friends and teammates among the lively crowd.
To their right sat a big Saint Bernard that they didn't recognize. With his fluffy coat and gentle eyes, the dog had a friendly demeanor, but Biscuit was too focused on the game to engage with him.
As the match began, Biscuit cheered loudly, his heart swelling with pride for his team. But amidst the cheers and the roar of the crowd, he didn't hear the Saint Bernard muttering quietly to himself.
"Such a shame they aren't complete again. Might have to give up on this," the Saint Bernard murmured, a hint of disappointment lacing his voice.
Chili caught the comment and turned toward the large dog. "Excuse me, what do you mean by that?" she inquired, curiosity piqued.
The Saint Bernard looked at her, his expression thoughtful. "Oh, I didn't mean to speak aloud," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I'm here to scout this particular team. They've shown incredible promise."
Chili leaned forward with interest. "Promise? I've seen a few talented pups on the team, but I thought you were here just to observe."
"Indeed," the Saint Bernard replied, his gaze shifting to the field. "We've watched this team closely. They've caught our attention, but we were hoping to see all of them together. Unfortunately, one of the players has been missing from the last few matches."
Chili felt a flutter of recognition and concern. "Are you referring to Biscuit?"
The Saint Bernard turned to her, his expression serious yet curious. "Yes, is that the name of the missing pup? I saw some potential in the group, and it seems like there's a lot of talent waiting to be showcased."
"He's here today, cheering on his friends!" she said, excitement bubbling within her. "I can't wait for you to see him!"
"Really? That's good to hear," the Saint Bernard said, leaning forward with interest. "But if you don't mind me asking, why hasn't he been playing?"
Chili's heart raced as she thought about her son's recent challenges. "He had an injury that required a cast. He's just now getting back to supporting his team after a long recovery," she explained, pride mingling with sympathy.
"Ah, I see," the Saint Bernard responded, nodding thoughtfully. "Injuries can be tough, especially at a young age. It can make a big difference in a young pup's confidence and growth."
Chili watched Biscuit as he cheered for his friends, feeling a swell of hope. "He has such a passion for the game, and I know that having the support of his teammates helps. Once he's back in action, I believe he'll be ready to shine."
The Saint Bernard studied her for a moment, then smiled knowingly. "It's great to see that kind of encouragement. That's what young athletes need—a strong support system," he said, his tone sincere.
Chili nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. "Thank you for taking an interest in them. I'll be sure to let you know when Biscuit is back on the field, and I'll encourage him to keep dreaming big."
"Please do," the Saint Bernard replied, pulling out a small notepad and a pen as he wrote down his number. "Here's my contact information. Call me when he's ready to take the field again. I'd love the opportunity to see the full team in action."
Chili accepted the note with gratitude, her heart fluttering at the thought of Biscuit getting the chance to shine. "Thank you for your support. I'll make sure he knows he's been missed."
As the match progressed, she felt a renewed sense of excitement for Biscuit and the team. Watching him cheer for his friends filled her with warmth, and she couldn't help but imagine how one day he would proudly return to the field, ready to showcase his skills and passion.
The air around them felt charged with possibility, leaving both Chili and the Saint Bernard hopeful about what lay ahead, unaware of the connections being forged in this moment.
As their conversation wrapped up, the Saint Bernard stood up, stretching his legs as he prepared to leave. "It was a pleasure speaking with you," he said with a nod before heading down the bleachers.
Biscuit noticed the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. Confused, he turned to his mother. "Why is that dog leaving in the middle of the match?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. He felt a strange mix of curiosity and disappointment, wondering if the scout had seen something that made him lose interest.
Chili glanced over to where the Saint Bernard had been seated, then turned back to Biscuit, her heart swelling with pride as she watched her son cheer for his friends. The truth about the scout lingered on her mind, and she wore a look of quiet determination.
"What's up, Mum? You look really proud of something!" Biscuit pressed, his eyes shining with eagerness.
Chili hesitated, feeling a weight of uncertainty. She wasn't sure how to break the news about the scout and Biscuit's potential without setting expectations too high. She didn't want to give him false hope that might lead to disappointment if things didn't pan out.
"Um, it's nothing," she replied a bit reluctantly, trying to steer the conversation away.
But Biscuit wasn't easily deterred. "Come on, Mum! You know you can tell me anything," he urged, leaning closer to her. "Is it about the game? Did you see something amazing?" His enthusiasm was palpable, and he wanted to share in whatever pride his mother was feeling.
Chili's resolve wavered as she caught Biscuit's excited expression. She thought back to her conversation with the Saint Bernard and the possibilities he had mentioned. "Well, actually," she began, carefully considering her words, "the Saint Bernard was here to scout the team. He was interested in some of the players, and he seemed to think your friends have a lot of potential."
Biscuit's eyes widened, his excitement spilling over. "Really? Did he say anything about me?" he asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
Chili hesitated again, feeling the pressure of his eager gaze. "He mentioned that they were hoping to see the whole team together," she said slowly. "But I don't want you to get your hopes up too high, Biscuit. You just got out of your cast, and there's still time before you're back to full strength."
"But Mum, if they're scouting, doesn't that mean they might be interested in me, too?" he pressed, a mix of hope and determination in his voice.
Chili took a deep breath, realizing how much she wanted to foster his dreams without setting him up for disappointment. "Yes, they might be interested. They know you've been injured, but they're following your entire team. When you're back in action—faster and stronger—I'm sure they'll see your talent, just like I do."
A smile spread across Biscuit's face, his heart filling with a sense of purpose. "That's so cool! I want to show them what I can do!"
Chili felt relief wash over her as Biscuit beamed with excitement, and she couldn't help but smile back. "And you will, sweetheart. Just take your time to heal and get back to playing. I believe in you."
As the match continued around them, Biscuit felt a newfound energy. The conversation with his mother and the potential opportunity ahead made him even more eager to get back on the field. He cheered louder for his teammates, feeling more connected to the game than ever before. With the firm belief that he had a bright future ahead of him, Biscuit could hardly wait for the day he'd return to playing, ready to prove himself to scouts like the mysterious Saint Bernard who might just be keeping an eye on him.