Melissa reassured her son that despite striking out for the fifth time at seven stores in three days, she was confident they would eventually secure a Mr. CanDog toy.

Mr. CanDog had emerged two weeks earlier as the new must-have thing among kids between the ages of seven and eleven.  It was based on a long-running YouTube series that for two years achieved almost no attention with videos that averaged fewer than 50 views in the first week.  But for reasons known only to the nebulous, evolving culture of the internet, someone somewhere stumbled upon one of the videos, shared it with a friend who shared it with 10 friends, and all of a sudden people were rearranging their lives to be online every Thursday at 9 p.m. when the creator unleashed the latest installment.

Where once there was obscurity, now Mr. CanDog brought in millions of views in the first day, making the woman who produced the videos hundreds of thousands of dollars a year in ad revenue.  She also got attention from marketers who wanted to cash in on a piece of the new empire, and when an Oklahoma-based toymaker called, a new phenomenon was born.

“At least we have all the extra characters already,” Melissa said, with a peek in the rearview mirror at Andy sitting in the middle seat.  He didn’t look up from his phone, her old one, but he smiled at the sight of Mr. CanDog crashing his bike into a gas station and setting off a big, cheesy-looking fire.

“Is there one of them that is your second-favorite?”

Nothing.

“I like Mrs. CanPanda,” she said, content to have this conversation with any willing participant.  “Her little ears are just so cute.  Oh and Professor CanHam’s squiggly tail is fun too.  And his glasses.  Maybe he’s my second-favorite.  Hmm…”

She pointed the car toward Target, well, another Target.  The first one had a line of 10 people waiting for what the manager said was a scant supply of five Mr. CanDogs.  A similar story had played out at a Walmart, a Toys R Us and every other Target within 50 miles of their house.  Every online store she could think of was out, too.

Most people would find this sort of search frustrating and pointless, since after all it’s likely Mr. CanDog will be replaced by another flavor of fancy in a month anyway.  But Melissa thrived on these situations.  It was a puzzle, and even a pointless one was a challenge she welcomed into her life at that time.

Andy’s father would never undertake such a mission.  She was sure of that, but not in a competitive way.  It was just a fact of their different styles in divided parenting.  Even if it took all of her court-appointed weekend time with Andy, and even if he barely talked, she was determined to succeed.

“Mom, can we get some burgers for lunch while we’re out?”

Andy knew his mother rarely ate anything she didn’t cook at home, but he decided to take a shot anyway.

“I’ll tell you what, if we strikeout at this one, we drown our misery in cheap beef and French fries,” she said with a shared smile.  “But if we get a CanDog—”

“Mr. CanDog.”

“Sorry, Mister CanDog, then we get him home as fast as possible and I’ll make us celebration chicken tenders.”

“What are celebration chicken tenders?” came the sudden interest from the gallery.

“They’re the kind that taste so perfect you have to stand up from your chair after the first bite and just dance in celebration.”

Andy laughed through rolling his eyes, expressing his purest 10-year-old, I love you but you’re embarrassing.

“So we have a deal?” she said.

“Deal, mom.”

His attention went back to the phone until they pulled into the next Target parking lot, a lucky spot right up front.  “ReadySetGo” Melissa belted out as the car came to a stop, her signal that Andy could get a head start for the toy section.  She didn’t move as well as she used to, but she would catch up.

By the time she made it to the toy section, the look in her son’s eyes started a checklist in her head.  One pound of chicken.  Flour.  Two eggs.  Mix.  Roll.  Preheat 425 degrees.  25 minutes.  Flip.  10 minutes.  Switch to broil.  5 minutes.  Serve.  Dance.

“Mommommommommom,” Andy spit-fired.  He had Mr. CanDog, fresh in the box, held above his head and he ran the final few steps.  “I got the last one!  I got the last one!”

Melissa high-fived her son and paused for a minute as he stared in wonder at the box in his hands.  All she could see was the top of his head, but if there was one thing she could sense it was his hidden smile.  Through everything, that power would never leave her.