“We can enjoy movie dates right here in the house.” He led her down the stairs so she could see. I followed behind.

Mom gasped. The screen was huge. Then she pushed him away. “You should have saved that money for a rainy day.”

“It’s always raining at this house,” Dad grumbled.

“All the more reason not to install a movie theatre in the cellar,” Mom snapped. Then she stomped back up the stairs to make breakfast.

She would have come around. I know she would have. She loves watching the old movies Dad brings home from the library because we can’t stream new ones on the internet. But it was so hot and sticky that day.

Hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk. Or not, as Dad’s experiment proved.

So Dad never did get to enjoy his theatre room. But today we sure do. Down here, the air feels cool and smells like wet, salty earth. Luanne and I stretch out on the L-shaped couch. Diesel sprawls on the carpeted cement floor, belly up, feet in the air.

Even though it’s not a finished basement, and she says she’s not into the big-screen thing, Mom has fixed up the area nicely. She covered up the cement wall on either side of the screen with purple thrift-store drapes, and the other exposed-brick walls she painted white. If it weren’t for the salty basement smell I could imagine we were in the movie theatre. The room feels almost like one of those new ones with the big, comfy seats I’ve heard about.

I thumb the remote to get to my channel.

Today, Super Canines is on. We watch as a chocolate-coloured dog named Titan sprints through an obstacle course of tunnels, springboards, and hurdles.

“Disie!” Luanne bounces on my lap.

Diesel flips over and leaps onto the couch. How can I help? He licks Luanne’s face.

“Check it out, Diesel. That dog could be your twin.” With one ear up, the other down, Titan runs to sit by his owner’s side.

You called me for that? Not treats? “Arouff!” Diesel snatches a pillow and leaps down again.

“You can’t eat that!” I yank the cushion from his teeth and white fluff drifts through the air.

Pillows are dog chewing gum. He yawns and ends it with a whine. I’m so bored.

I ignore Diesel’s complaint. “Watch this dog and learn.”

Flat pictures don’t interest me. “Arouuff!”

The announcer declares Titan the overall champion of the National Agility Games. I glance Diesel’s way. “No reason you couldn’t be a champion, too. You have the same bodies.”

I am already a champion. He sneezes out some pillow fluff. Running through tubes and jumping on things is useless. There is no prey.

Titan’s owner takes a bow while her dog sits quietly raising one paw. Then, as they make their way over to the announcer for a post-game interview, he step-bounces alongside the woman in the same dingo style Diesel uses.

The announcer asks the owner about Titan’s breed and she explains that Australian cattle dogs are intelligent, loyal family dogs who make great herders.