Nine holes complete, Jinx and I were off. Back-tracking we jumped to number 10 tee box.
“Golpher…Jinx.” Pierre Nolte, Mrs. Donna Luego Juarez, and Mico Ruilio called out. Inbee Park smiled.
Our gleaming cart eased to the tee box. The shimmering, new cut green grass always made me smile.
“We’ve just teed off,” said Dr. Nolte. Sporting a funny little moustache, Dr. Nolte was chief administrator for environmental affairs, France. “Hit one.”
“Do Golpher, do,” said Inbee.
“I will.” With digits of my left paw gripping my driver, I reached to my pocket with my right. Eyes were on me. “Ah, yes,” I groaned. “My shiny new ball.”
“I like your, embroidered caps. A mastodon and a sabre-tooth tiger you and Jinx, wear? Neat.” Donna smiled.
I turned. “Yes. I’ll tell you about it later. I’ll tell you about synthetic biology, solar winds, too.”
“School us, Golpher.” Mico Ruilio licked lips. “We know Gopher carries clout. Hit the big stick. Only two-under, we need help.”
“Send it screaming,” added Dr. Nolte.
“I’ll keep it in the fairway,” I said easily. I took my stance.
Feet planted, hips, forearms, shoulders aligned, my V-grip snug to leather about the shaft of my driver, I swung.
“Ah!” All gasped.
“Perfect,” said Donna Juarez. She had ruby red lips and brilliant, dark hair that shined, matched gleaming coal first laid down in the Carboniferous period.
“We’re off.” Standing aside the tee box, Dr. Nolte spun. “We’ll have a good time. We’ll, hey! You can’t do that!”
(Image of group on tee box, Golpher and Jinx showing white caps embroidered with mastodon and sabre-tooth)