Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog Read online

  “No.”

  Stripes walked a couple of circles around Karen, staring down and examining her the whole time. “I think I got it,” she said. “You’re a gorilla who fell asleep wearing a dachshund costume.”

  “No!” said Karen, feeling a little exasperated. “Stick Dog? Do you have a guess?”

  Stick Dog did indeed have a guess. He wanted to say, “You are the weirdest dog on the planet!”—but he didn’t. He simply said, “No, I don’t have a guess. I give up. What are you?”

  “Duh,” said Karen, lifting her little chin up slightly and looking at herself. “I’m a frankfurter! See the color!? The shape!? Everything?!”

  “Umm, okay,” said Stick Dog. “You’re an awfully large frankfurter, by the way. But let’s try and see past that. Let’s say everybody—including Peter—believes you are a frankfurter. What’s the rest of your plan after you’re done imitating a frankfurter?”

  Karen looked at Stick Dog like his brain had just turned into a rawhide chew. She sighed. “Do I really have to explain it? It’s so simple.”

  “Umm, yes,” said Stick Dog. “Please explain it.”

  “When Prickle Pop . . .”

  “Peter,” corrected Stick Dog.

  “Right, right. That’s what I said,” said Karen. “When he sees me, he’s going to think he hit the jackpot. I’ll be the world-record, biggest frankfurter he’s ever seen. He’ll do anything to have me. Think about it: His whole world revolves around frankfurters. And when he sees me, his greed will overtake him. He’ll do anything to get me. You can trade me in for all the other frankfurters!”

  They just looked at Karen, so she continued with her plan.

  “After you get those frankfurters from the cart, he’ll put me down to admire me. He’ll think he is in some crazy, beautiful dream with the world’s largest, most magnificent frankfurter right there for him to have and to hold.”

  “What then? What will you do when Prickle Pop—” Stick Dog said. Then he stopped. He looked down at the ground and shook his head a couple of times before looking back up. “I mean Peter. What will you do when Peter is admiring you?”

  “That’s easy,” said Karen. There was a clear sense of superiority in her voice. “I’ll pop out my legs and run all the way to your pipe, Stick Dog. Save some frankfurters for me! Yeah, baby! Brilliant plan, huh?”

  Stick Dog had grown more and more impatient. And his stomach had grown more and more grumbly. He usually tried to be polite when one of his friends had a plan that was a little, umm, not so good. But now he had just had enough.

  When was the last time you had had enough? I’ll tell you mine. I was taking out the garbage. Do you have to take out the garbage? Well, I do.

  It was one of those big, white, plastic, stretchy bags from the kitchen garbage can. It had a bunch of old food and paper and old cleaning rags in it. And my mom had just dumped all the dust and yuck from the vacuum cleaner in there. You know that big, gray clump of grossness that has dust and hair and shoe mud all swirled around inside it like a tornado? The bag was full of it along with all the other garbage stuff.

  So I’m taking it out to the end of the driveway, right? Only it’s really heavy this time. Now, I’m pretty strong. I can break a stick in half right over my knee! How about that? Yeah, it’s true—totally true.

  Anyway, I’m strong.

  But that garbage bag was real heavy, so I had to sort of drag it to the can instead of carry it. And about halfway down the driveway, it started tearing. Only I didn’t know it started tearing. So by the time I got to the can, most of the garbage was spread out behind me in a line on the driveway.

  And—NO!—I didn’t happen to notice that the bag was getting lighter. So please don’t ask.

  Well, I had to go pick up all that filth and yuck with my hands. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until it was all back in the bag. I was so mad that I kicked the bag.

  And all the dust and hair from the vacuum cleaner came POOFing out in a great cloud of terrible-ness right into my face.

  That was the last time I had had enough.

  All of a sudden, I feel like taking a shower.

  So this time, it was Stick Dog who had had enough. He looked at Karen, who was still kind of strutting around about the genius-ness of her plan. Stick Dog just said, “Frankfurters don’t have fur. Peter will never believe it.”

  All four of the other dogs looked at Stick Dog with their heads sort of turned sideways like he was speaking a foreign language—like cat language or turtle language or pumpkin language.

  “What is it?” Stick Dog asked.

  They all asked at the same time, “Who is Peter?”

  Stick Dog closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them slowly, very slowly. “Peter is the man over there with the frankfurter cart. Remember?”

  Then all four of them started nodding their heads with great energy and enthusiasm.

  “Okay. Those were four great plans—really, they were,” Stick Dog said with as much sincerity as he could muster. “But I think I have a plan that might just work, if you all agree.”

  “What’s your plan?” asked Poo-Poo. Stripes, Mutt, and Karen had gathered around Stick Dog to listen.

  “Well, look over there. See where Peter has his frankfurter cart parked?” Stick Dog said. And before he could be interrupted, he added, “Peter is the one working at the cart.”

  The four other dogs looked over at the cart and then back at Stick Dog.

  “Well, somebody is drying their clothes in the yard right next to where he’s parked. See the clothes and sheets and stuff flapping in the wind? And there’s a basket of folded laundry too. I think we can sneak around the back of that blue house to right where all those clothes are hanging. We’ll get behind one of those two sheets hanging there. As soon as he turns his head to look in the other direction, we’ll pounce out from behind the laundry, grab some frankfurters, and run like crazy.”

  Stick Dog looked to see the reactions of his four friends.

  “What a lousy plan,” said Karen.

  “All of our plans were much more sophisticated and brilliant,” said Mutt.

  “What a bogus plan,” said Poo-Poo.

  “Pretty simple, isn’t it?” sighed Stripes.

  Stick Dog gathered himself together a little bit. He wanted those frankfurters really badly. And he wanted to end this conversation almost as much. So all he said was “You’re right. You’re right. You’re all correct. It’s not a very good plan at all. It’s rather simple and boring. And your plans were all so much better in so many ways. But I wonder if we could just try mine out? Could we? Are you with me?”

  It was just the kind of encouragement they needed.

  “Yes!” they all shouted together.

  After they calmed down a little, Mutt asked, “Stick Dog?”

  “Yes?”

  Mutt glanced down the street, then quickly back at Stick Dog. “I think we better hurry.”

  “Why?”

  “That raccoon is getting closer to the frankfurter cart.”

  Stick Dog could instantly see that Mutt was correct. He had been so busy listening to his friends’ plans that Stick Dog had neglected to keep a watchful eye on the raccoon. It was no longer in the maple tree four houses away from the cart. It was now in a pine tree three houses away.

  The others saw it, as well.

  Poo-Poo couldn’t stand it. “Errgh!” he snarled, and began pacing. “It’s getting closer. It’s going to get there first! What are we going to do, Stick Dog?”

  “It’s okay,” Stick Dog said. “But we do need to hurry.”

  “We need to do something else too,” added Karen.

  “What’s that?” Stripes asked, and tilted her head.

  “We need to give the raccoon a name,” she said simply.

  “A name?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Karen as if this was a perfectly logical thing to do. “If we’re going to have a nemesis who is trying to snatch what is rightfully ours, it needs to have a name—an evil name.”

  Stick Dog could hardly believe what he was hearing. They had to hurry. He knew that raccoons were quite capable of finding and retrieving food. He’d seen enough toppled trash cans and ripped-open garbage bags to know that. He also knew that raccoons had powerful, sharp claws. He’d seen plenty of tracks in the woods and outside his pipe below Highway 16. He did not want to mess with a raccoon—and he certainly didn’t want one to get the frankfurters before they did.

  But instead of hustling along with their plan, they were going to waste precious time naming the raccoon. He was just about to put a stop to this nonsense when Mutt spoke up.

  “I have a problem with this whole naming business,” said Mutt.

  Stick Dog exhaled a little to himself. Finally, someone else saw how silly this was.

  “What is it, Mutt?”

  “Well, we don’t know if our new raccoon enemy is a boy or a girl,” he explained. “That’s going to make it difficult to come up with a name.”

  Karen, Poo-Poo, and Stripes nodded in complete understanding. Stick Dog just stood there getting hungrier. He was trying not to let his frustration show.

  Karen, who had come up with the whole naming idea, took charge of the conversation. “Look, let’s just throw out some name suggestions for the evil raccoon and see what works best,” she said. “Remember the whole boy-girl problem as you make your suggestions. Try to stay away from names that are too girl- or boy-specific.”

  This seemed to make good sense to the others. Even Stick Dog agreed, but solely because he wanted to move the give-the-raccoon-food-snatcher-a-name process along as fast as possible.

  The suggestions came at a furious pace from all of them except Stick Dog.

  “Despic
aBeast!”

  “Masked Mobster!”

  “Racc-a-Doom!”

  “Devil-Meister!”

  “The Raccoon Typhoon!”

  While Stick Dog listened to these and other suggestions, his stomach became impatient. It grumbled loudly. It was as if his body was telling him to put an end to all this naming business.

  “Okay, guys,” he interjected in a firm but friendly voice. “Those are all great suggestions. But we better get moving here. The next name is the winner.”

  You would think that would make them all blurt out a choice quickly. But the opposite was actually true. There was a slight hesitation as they each considered and tried to come up with something really good. But it was Mutt who spoke up first. And it was Mutt who chose the name of their new raccoon nemesis.

  It was Mutt who said, “Phyllis!”

  “Phyllis it is,” Stick Dog said instantly, before anyone could object. He nodded toward the house with the drying laundry in the yard. “This way, as fast as we can!”

  As if to add a greater sense of urgency and a spirit of teamwork, Karen exclaimed, “Down with Phyllis!”

  And they took off.

  Chapter 5

  Karen Is Gone

  They tore as fast as they could around to the back of the blue house. When they got there, they slowed down and stalked their way to the corner so that they could just see where Peter had his frankfurter cart parked on the sidewalk.

  “Okay,” said Stick Dog. “First, we need to get closer. When he turns his head, we run behind the hanging laundry. Let’s get behind one of those big white sheets. Got it?”

  “Got it,” the other four said.

  “We better go one at a time. There will be less chance of us getting spotted that way,” Stick Dog said. “Karen, since you’re the smallest, you should go first.”

  Karen raced across the green lawn, pumping her little dachshund legs as fast as she could. In a matter of seconds, she was positioned behind one of the sheets hanging out to dry. She turned around to face the others, waved to indicate the coast was clear, and then crouched down low to ensure that she was well hidden.

  “Okay,” said Stick Dog. “Who wants to go next?”

  Before anyone could answer, however, a sudden and terrible sound vibrated the house—and the ground beneath their paws. It was metallic and shaky. It screeched and then smashed.

  Do you know what it was?

  It was a screen door opening and slamming shut.

  A large man with a dark black beard came out of the house, stomping toward where Karen was hiding behind the hanging sheet.

  She had heard the bang and jerked her head in the direction of the sound. But behind the hanging sheet, she could not see this large, impending doom. She turned to look at Mutt, Stripes, Stick Dog, and Poo-Poo.

  While Karen could see nothing, the other dogs could see everything. They saw the large, bearded man coming toward the laundry—coming closer toward Karen. They began waving their paws in the air, signaling Karen the best they could about the approaching danger.

  She knew she had to run—or hide. Her legs were already tired, and they felt heavy and frozen from fright. Karen could feel the giant human creature coming closer even though she couldn’t see him. The rumbles and vibrations in the ground grew more severe with each additional footfall.

  She snapped her head back toward her friends one final time before taking action. The other dogs were still waving frantically, but they knew they couldn’t bark and give themselves away to the bearded beast.

  Karen couldn’t get her legs to run.

  But she could hide.

  And hide she did.

  The stomping human was three steps away, shielded from seeing Karen only by the thin cotton sheet hanging from the clothesline.

  Karen leaped higher than she ever had before—at least ten inches—above the laundry basket.

  The human creature was two steps away.

  Karen dove nose-first into the clean, dry clothes.

  He was one step away.

  Karen dug and nestled herself into the bottom of the basket, wriggling beneath all the folded napkins, blue jeans, T-shirts, and underwear.

  The bearded man opened his fist and stretched his thick fingers wide, preparing to grab and clench. He grasped the sheet in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers. “Still damp,” he said to himself, and looked up at the sky.

  Karen knew she was safe. If the laundry was still damp on the line, this scary, bearded human beast would leave the basket. He’d come back later when everything was dry and then fill up the basket and take it in. She could relax. They could get back to their frankfurter plan. They could beat Phyllis the raccoon to the delicious-smelling food. Karen was closer to the frankfurter cart than before. She could smell that meaty aroma all the better now. She wiped a little drool from her mouth on a white linen napkin in the bottom of the basket.

  Then the basket moved.

  In a voice that was dark and gravelly, deep and foreboding, the human said, “Might as well take these in.”

  With that, the basket—and Karen—were up in the air.

  The man held the basket on his hip, pivoted in place, and began his return to the house. Halfway across the lawn, Karen stuck her head out from the back of the basket. There was a pair of boxer shorts decorated with lots of red hearts on top of her head. She stared with wide eyes at the other dogs at the corner of the house. There was panic and fear on Karen’s face—and there was panic and fear on the others’ faces as they watched from a distance.

  The screen door screeched again on its hinges as it opened.

  Karen ducked her head beneath the underwear again. The man stepped inside. When the screen door slammed shut, the house and the ground shook.

  Karen was gone.

  Chapter 6

  A Donkey?

  “What are we going to do?” Mutt asked. “She doesn’t stand a chance against that guy!”

  “Did you see the size of him?!” Stripes exclaimed.

  “He’s a giant!” Poo-Poo confirmed.

  “Shh. Keep it down. Let me think,” Stick Dog said quickly.

  All of them were edgy and nervous. Every movement they made, from an ear scratch to a head turn, was sudden and fast.

  “Does anyone have a chain saw?” asked Poo-Poo.

  “Why?” asked Stripes.

  “I was going to cut a hole in the side of the house to get Karen out.”

  “Good idea,” said Stripes. “But I don’t have one.”

  Mutt said, “I’m fresh out of chain saws.”

  “How about a motorcycle helmet?”

  “Why?” asked Mutt.

  “I was going to strap it on,” said Poo-Poo. He demonstrated with his paws, placing an imaginary helmet on his head. “And then run repeatedly into the house until I made a hole. Then we could pull Karen out. I’m prepared to do it without the helmet, of course.”

  “You are great at smashing into things headfirst,” said Stripes with genuine admiration. “But I don’t have one.”

  Mutt spread out his legs and shook his entire body vigorously for seven seconds. From his tangled fur fell an old rubber ball, a pen cap, two bottle caps, a shoelace, and a yellow marker. He looked around at the stuff scattered on the ground. You could tell he was hoping to find a motorcycle helmet. There was great disappointment on his face when he realized there wasn’t one. “Nothing,” he said.

  Stick Dog was still thinking.

  Poo-Poo grew increasingly frustrated as his ideas failed to work out. “I’m just going to bark my head off,” he said suddenly. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Great idea,” said Stripes.

  “I’m in,” Mutt said, clearing his throat.

  All three dogs took deep inhales of air.

  “Stop,” said Stick Dog calmly. “Don’t bark.”

  Stripes, Mutt, and Poo-Poo exhaled.

  “Why not?” asked Stripes. “We’re dogs. That’s what we’re supposed to do.”