Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog Read online

  And Stick Dog’s right: They really are delicious. With a little ketchup and mustard, mm-mmm. On a nice, soft, doughy bun. Maybe a little cut-up dill pickle. Oh, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. A sprinkle of salt. Maybe just a little shredded cheddar cheese on the top. Superb-i-melicious indeed.

  “We need a plan,” said Stick Dog. It was just then, however, that something caught his eye as he spied the frankfurter cart as a potential food target. It was a slight movement among the branches of a maple tree. The tree itself was a few houses down the road from where Peter had parked the frankfurter cart. It was very obvious that Stick Dog had become distracted by what he saw. He continued his thought, but his speech had become monotone, and his words came out much slower. “We . . . need . . . a . . . plan . . . to . . . get . . . those . . . frankfurters.”

  “What is it, Stick Dog?” Mutt asked as he stepped closer. He had noticed Stick Dog’s change in demeanor.

  Poo-Poo, Karen, and Stripes noticed as well. There was a sudden nervousness among them. It was quite unusual, they knew, to see Stick Dog lose his focus—especially when food was involved.

  “I saw something in that tree,” he whispered. “It’s about four houses down the road from Peter, the frankfurter man. In the maple tree there by the road.”

  The other four dogs instantly turned their heads in that direction.

  “How far up?” Mutt asked.

  “About five or six branches from the bottom,” Stick Dog answered. He had not stopped staring at the spot. “On the left side.”

  As everyone calculated this and peered in that specific area, a branch there shook a little and then the branch below it shook a lot—as if something had moved from one tree limb to another.

  “If it’s a squirrel,” said Poo-Poo, “I’ll take care of this problem in a jiffy. That maniacal little nutkin doesn’t stand a chance with old Mr. Poo-Poo on the case!”

  This startled Stick Dog out of his trance. His voice and speech pattern normalized. “It’s not a squirrel,” he said quickly. Stick Dog didn’t want Poo-Poo charging out of the woods and barking up at the tree. That would definitely put Peter on alert—and ruin any chance they had of getting those frankfurters. “I saw a strange set of eyes. Not a squirrel’s eyes or a bird’s. Something different.”

  They all continued to stare at those upper branches.

  But only for three seconds.

  That’s because, after three seconds, a pair of black eyes poked their way through some maple leaves. There was no doubt what those eyes were staring at—they were staring at the frankfurter cart. And seconds later, a narrow gray nose emerged beneath the eyes and began sniffing and twitching.

  “Somebody else is after the frankfurters,” whispered Stick Dog. When he said this, the face of their competition revealed itself fully.

  “It’s a bandit!” yelled Stripes.

  “Shh!” said Stick Dog.

  In rapid succession, the others guessed at the identity of the thing in the tree.

  “It’s a burglar!” said Poo-Poo. “It’s wearing a mask!”

  “It’s a masked madman!” Mutt guessed.

  Then Karen said, “It’s an inchworm!”

  At this, they all turned to their dachshund comrade.

  “It’s not an inchworm, Karen,” sighed Poo-Poo. “It’s way too big. It’s black and white and gray, not green. And it’s wearing a mask—an evil mask of some sort.”

  “No, not in the tree!” Karen giggled. “Here on the ground on this rock. I love these little guys. The way they move cracks me up. Look! Up and down, up and down, up and down. Just to go the tiniest distance. I mean, grow some legs, little fellah! You know what I mean?!”

  Stick Dog stared at Karen only for a moment. She was certainly going to be occupied with that inchworm for a while. He turned to the others.

  “It’s not a masked madman or a burglar or a bandit,” he said.

  “What is it?” Mutt, Stripes, and Poo-Poo asked in unison.

  Off to the side, Karen dropped her head lower toward the rock. The others could hear her. “Up and down, up and down.” She giggled. “You’re really moving now, little inchie!”

  “It’s a raccoon,” Stick Dog answered. “And it has its eyes on those frankfurters just like we do.”

  Poo-Poo was surprised. “I thought raccoons only came out at night.”

  “That’s the only time I’ve ever seen them,” confirmed Stick Dog. “This one’s different, I guess. It must be really hungry.”

  “Why, that little scavenger!” Poo-Poo exclaimed. He was now more aghast than surprised. “Imagine, just imagine, what it’s up to. Looking for food wherever he can find it! Stealing it! Eating it! What kind of a nasty little beast would act like that?!”

  Stick Dog didn’t answer, but he did smile a bit to himself.

  “I have a right mind to warn the frankfurter man about this ring-tailed menace,” Poo-Poo continued. There was little doubt that Poo-Poo was greatly offended by the raccoon’s interest in the frankfurters.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Stick Dog said in a calming voice. “We have a little competition, that’s all. It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

  By this time, the inchworm had made its way off the rock and Karen had rejoined the group.

  “We need a plan to get those frankfurters,” Stick Dog said again.

  Thankfully, his four friends had four fantastic plans.

  Chapter 4

  Stick Dog Cannot Fly a Helicopter

  “I’ve got it,” said Mutt. He looked excited. “They’re called ‘frankfurters,’ right?”

  “Right,” said Stick Dog.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” Mutt continued. “We walk up to the guy. What’s his name? Is it Pumpkin-Head?”

  “Peter,” said Stick Dog.

  “Yeah, yeah. That’s what I meant.” Mutt nodded. “And we say we’re all from the same family. And we say our last name is Furter. Like, you’re Stick Dog Furter. And I’m Mutt Furter. And we introduce Poo-Poo Furter, Stripes Furter, and Karen Furter.”

  “Go on,” Stick Dog said real slowly. It appeared he didn’t like where this whole idea was going.

  “Then,” said Mutt, “we tell Pumpkin-Head . . .”

  “Peter.”

  “Yeah, Peter. We say, ‘Hey, Peter. We’re missing a member of our family. We desperately need to find him. We’re so worried.’ And then Pumpkin-Head says . . .”

  “Peter.”

  Mutt shook his head back and forth. “Right, Peter. Then, Peter says, ‘Oh no, that’s terrible. What’s his name?”

  Stick Dog, Karen, Stripes, and Poo-Poo all stared at Mutt. But he didn’t say anything.

  “And?” asked Stick Dog finally.

  “And,” said Mutt, getting excited. “We say, ‘Frank!’ Frank Furter! Get it? Frankfurter! Then we say, ‘Have you seen any Frank Furters around here, Pumpkin-Head?’ And he says, ‘Boy, have I! I’ve seen about fifty frankfurters right here in this cart. And since they’re all members of your family, you should take them home with you.’”

  Stick Dog closed his eyes. “Umm.”

  “Yeah?” said Mutt. He was very excited. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  “It is great,” said Stick Dog, trying to let him down easy. “It’s great in a sort of non-great way. Sort of. Umm, yeah.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Mutt, tilting his head a little to the left.

  “Well, we don’t really look like we’re all from the same family,” Stick Dog said, nodding his head toward each of them. “It’s hard for a Dalmatian, dachshund, poodle, mutt, and whatever-I-am to be from the same family.”

  “Umm, HEL-LO!” Mutt said. “Adoption? Ever hear of it?”

  Stick Dog nodded his head. “I have heard of it, yes. And that may explain all of us being from the same family, but that still doesn’t explain how a rolled-up piece of meat stuck in a folded-up piece of bread is related to us.”

  This seemed to suddenly make sense to Mutt. “N
ot going to work?”

  “Oh, I’m not saying that at all,” said Stick Dog. “But because there is just a sliver of doubt about its feasibility, maybe we should listen to some other ideas too.”

  Mutt nodded his head. “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Never fear,” declared Poo-Poo. “I know exactly how to get those frankfurters.”

  “Let’s hear it,” said Stick Dog. And Karen, Stripes, and a somewhat-dejected Mutt all nodded along in agreement.

  “Well, you remember how we got those hamburgers at Picasso Park that one day?” Poo-Poo began. They all remembered because it was, of course, one of the best days of their entire lives.

  “Yes, we remember,” answered Stick Dog.

  “How could we forget?” said Karen, a little drool falling down to the ground from the corner of her mouth. Now, that’s really not all that disgusting, because Karen is, after all, a dachshund—so the drool didn’t have all that far to fall. Now, if the drool was falling, say, from the corner of your mouth? That would be gross.

  “Well,” Poo-Poo continued. “We get a bunch more of those hamburgers, and we slowly saunter by Piddly-Pants there.”

  “You mean Peter.”

  “Yeah, Peter. We saunter by Peter, eating those hamburgers real casual-like. Really enjoying them, you know? Groaning and moaning about how super-tasty they are. Letting some of that meaty hamburger juice drip down our chins. Yeah, that’s what we do.”

  “Umm,” started Stick Dog. Then he waited a minute and asked, “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Don’t you see?” asked Poo-Poo, sounding exasperated. “Piddly-Pants sells frankfurters. Hamburgers are probably the natural enemy to someone who sells frankfurters. If he sees that we’re all enjoying a bunch of delicious hamburgers, he’ll want to convince us that we’re wrong. He’ll want to convince us that frankfurters are so much better. And to do that, he’ll dish out frankfurters to us by the dozen! We’ll be eating frankfurters for hours.”

  “Poo-Poo?”

  “You don’t have to say it, Stick Dog,” said Poo-Poo proudly. “I know it’s a great plan. You don’t have to congratulate me or anything.”

  “We don’t have any hamburgers,” said Stick Dog. “And if we did have hamburgers, we wouldn’t really be worried about getting frankfurters. You know what I mean? And his name is Peter, not Piddly-Pants.”

  Poo-Poo looked a little sad—and a little disappointed—when Stick Dog pointed out this flaw in his plan. Stick Dog saw this and added, “You know, Poo-Poo, that’s a really sophisticated plan you came up with. Using the hamburgers as a way to stir the jealousy instincts in a human has probably never been considered before. You are, no doubt, the only creature on the planet who could come up with it.”

  Poo-Poo lifted his head. A smile had returned to his face. “I am quite unique, aren’t I?”

  “Without question,” answered Stick Dog, and then he turned to the others. “Well, does anybody have any other ideas?”

  “I do,” said Stripes. “I do indeed.”

  Stick Dog inhaled a great big breath and asked, “What is it?”

  Stripes smirked a little bit, smiling from one corner of her mouth. She was obviously very pleased with herself. “The first thing we need,” said Stripes, “is a helicopter. Then . . .”

  “Stop right there,” said Stick Dog.

  “Yes?”

  “Where are we going to get a helicopter?”

  When Stripes looked at Stick Dog, you could tell she thought Stick Dog wasn’t very bright at all. “The helicopter store. Where else?”

  “There’s no such place as a helicopter store,” sighed Stick Dog.

  But by this time, Stripes was already chattering ahead with her plan. “We take the helicopter. And we fly it over to Patsy Puffenstuff over there.”

  “His name’s Peter.”

  “Whatever,” said Stripes. “We hover the helicopter over the frankfurter cart. Then a couple of us get lowered down on a rope ladder from the open door of the helicopter. While Patsy Puffenstuff is getting totally blown away by the wind from the helicopter blades, we snatch all the frankfurters we can grab. One of us pulls the others back up; we land the helicopter by Stick Dog’s house and have the feast of a lifetime.”

  Mutt, Karen, and Poo-Poo were all nodding along in agreement with Stripes. And the more Stripes got excited, the more the three of them got excited too. By the time Stripes had provided the final details of her plan, she was jumping up and down in place.

  She yelled, “Off to the helicopter store! Follow me!”

  Poo-Poo, Mutt, and Karen wheeled around to take off after her.

  “Stop,” said Stick Dog calmly. “Where are you going?”

  “The helicopter store,” answered Mutt, skidding to a stop just after he had taken a few quick steps. The other dogs stopped too.

  “There’s no such thing,” said Stick Dog.

  “Sure there is,” said Mutt, but he was starting to sound a little doubtful. He knew that Stick Dog was usually right about such things.

  “Where is it?”

  “Well,” said Mutt, and then he paused for a moment. “I’m not positive. But Stripes knows. Yeah, that’s it! Stripes knows! We’re all following Stripes.”

  “What the heck, let’s say there is such a thing as a helicopter store,” said Stick Dog. “Can you tell me where it is, Stripes? Where is it that you are running off to just now?”

  “I’m . . . not . . . sure,” answered Stripes, then she gained her confidence back a little. “To the mall. I bet there’s a helicopter store at the mall. That’s where we’re going. You betcha.”

  “Umm, okay,” said Stick Dog. “Let’s go ahead and say that there’s such a thing as a helicopter store. And let’s assume that just such a store is at our local shopping mall. After all, that mall has about every other kind of store. So why not a helicopter store? How much does a helicopter cost anyway?”

  “A dollar?” answered Stripes. “Two dollars? Maybe? We can probably find that much change in the parking lot.”

  “I think it may cost a little more than that. But you know what? I’ve never bought a helicopter before, so what do I know?”

  “Maybe they’re having a big sale today,” said Mutt, trying to help.

  “Maybe so,” said Stick Dog. “So let’s go ahead and say there is such a thing as a helicopter store. And let’s say there is one at the mall. And let’s say it costs one dollar—because of the big helicopter sale today. I still have one question.”

  Stripes closed her eyes. She really, really, really didn’t want to know what Stick Dog’s next question was. “Yes?”

  “Do any of us know how to fly a helicopter?”

  Stripes kicked at some dirt with her front left paw. “Shoot,” she said, and hung her head.

  “If it wasn’t for that one detail,” said Stick Dog.

  Then Stripes lifted her head and started to smile a little to herself just for a moment before straightening her face again. “I thought YOU knew how to fly a helicopter, Stick Dog.”

  Stick Dog began to shake his head and speak, but he didn’t get the chance because Stripes turned to the other three dogs and began speaking herself.

  “Forget it, you guys,” she said, and sort of nodded a couple of times toward Stick Dog. “The helicopter plan isn’t going to work, after all. I had everything all worked out, but Stick Dog doesn’t know how to be a helicopter pilot. So the plan is ruined. Thanks to him.”

  “But . . . ,” began Stick Dog.

  But Stripes interrupted him again. “No, no,” she said. “Don’t worry about it, Stick Dog. You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you for ruining my most excellent plan with your lack of helicopter-piloting skills. Oh, I am a little disappointed in you, that’s true. But not mad. You’re still my good friend. I do wish I could depend on you to do your part when it comes to such things, but it’s okay. We’ll get through it.”

  St
ick Dog just stared. And stared. Finally, he said, “Well, Stripes, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” said Stripes. “It’s okay.”

  “Thanks,” said Stick Dog. And then he turned to Karen. “You must have a plan too. Is it a good plan?”

  “It’s not a good plan. It’s not even a great plan,” said Karen. “It is definitely the most extra-spectacular splendiferous frankfurter-snatching strategy of all time.”

  “Okay,” Stick Dog said. “Out with it then.”

  “It’s so brilliant because it’s so simple,” Karen began, and started to pace in front of the other four dogs. “We’re going to walk right up to old Prickle Pop there and . . .”

  “His name’s Peter,” Stick Dog whispered.

  “Mm-hmm, yeah. That’s what I said,” replied Karen, never missing one of her little dachshund strides. “Anyway, this marvelous plan is going to work for one reason: greed.”

  “Greed?” asked Stick Dog.

  “Greed,” answered Karen. Then she did something rather odd. And, let’s face it, rather odd for this bunch of dogs is going to be pretty darn peculiar. Karen stopped pacing back and forth and said, “Watch this.”

  Stick Dog, Poo-Poo, Mutt, and Stripes all watched as Karen proceeded to drop down on the ground and tuck her little dachshund legs up close to her long dachshund tummy. Then she curled her tail up underneath and between her legs. Finally, she tucked her chin close to her chest and, trying not to move her lips at all, said, “What am I?”

  “A dachshund who just forgot how to walk,” guessed Mutt.

  “No.”

  “Ooh! I love guessing games,” said Poo-Poo. “You’re a furry torpedo!”