Brigitte asked. “This is a race, Brigitte! Bring her. Hurry!” We ran to the petmobile. For having such little legs, Fifi could run fast. Brigitte retrieved a gadget from the back of the van and strapped it into the backseat. She set Fifi into the thing, which was very like an infant car seat, secured a harness over Fifi’s fluffy paws, and clicked the seat belt. Fifi could only be more protected if we wrapped her in bubble wrap, but I didn’t mention that because it wouldn’t have surprised me if Brigitte had bubble wrap in one of her pockets. Brigitte got in the front and ever so cautiously pulled out into traffic, checking her mirrors over and over, rolling the window down, and pointing to the spot she was moving to. I thought about explaining the part about the race again. She drove with both hands firmly clenched around the steering wheel, and she leaned in close to the windshield.
