Stick Dog Tries to Take the Donuts Page 6

  “It’s possible,” Poo-Poo answered slowly as he considered this option. Then three seconds later he remembered where they were and what they were doing. “I’m just so excited! I’ve waited so long for this chance! It’s like a beautiful dream finally coming true. I’m not dreaming, am I, Stick Dog? Please tell me I’m not.”

  “You’re not,” Stick Dog said. He moved the joystick again to continue the basket’s rise.

  “I know how to make sure,” Poo-Poo whispered to himself. He then banged his forehead twice into the side of the basket. He rubbed his head and looked at Stick Dog with a smile. “It’s not a dream! That hurt! That REALLY hurt!!”

  “I’m glad,” Stick Dog answered, and shook his head a little. He manipulated the basket to the lowest branch.

  “Please still be here. Please be here,” Poo-Poo whispered as he squeezed his eyes shut and clasped his paws. “Plee-eee-ease!”

  Stick Dog eased the basket a little farther into the tree and took his paws off the joystick. The motor sighed to a stop. The crane stopped moving. And Stick Dog peered toward the tree trunk. On the opposite side, he saw the puffy tail sticking out. The squirrel was still there.

  “Is he there?” Poo-Poo whispered. His eyes were still closed. “Please, oh please, tell me he is.”

  “He’s still there,” Stick Dog whispered back. “I can see his tail.”

  “Is it twitching?”

  “It is,” whispered Stick Dog.

  “Erggh! I can’t stand it when they do that!” growled Poo-Poo as quietly as he could. “Where is he?”

  “There. Behind the trunk,” responded Stick Dog. “You can only see his tail.”

  Stick Dog had parked the basket right next to the wide, thick branch. Fortunately, it was kind of flat on top. He was fairly confident that Poo-Poo could keep his balance on it. And since it was the lowest branch, Stick Dog felt that Poo-Poo would be okay even if he did fall.

  “I think you can go now,” Stick Dog said. “Be careful. And be as quiet as you can.”

  Poo-Poo narrowed his eyes. “I’m going in.”

  He pushed his left shoulder against the basket door. He took his first step onto the branch, his paw pads easing quietly down onto the tree bark.

  Poo-Poo was halfway out of the basket when he took his second step.

  But it wasn’t as quiet as the first.

  He stepped on a small twig jutting out of the wide, flat branch.

  In a third of a second, the squirrel’s head peeked out from the other side of the tree trunk.

  Now, you would think a squirrel who had just noticed two dogs up in the tree might scurry along or jump to another branch—or begin shaking or chattering.

  It did none of these things.

  It didn’t move at all. It stared at Poo-Poo with cold, fierce eyes.

  “You’re not afraid, huh?” Poo-Poo whispered with both surprise and defiance in his voice. He spoke quietly through clenched teeth. “Well, neither am I. I’m coming after you! I’ve been waiting my whole life for this one-and-only chance!”

  Stick Dog listened—he had never heard such pure rage and determination from Poo-Poo before. He watched in silence—transfixed by the confrontation.

  Poo-Poo was fully out of the basket now. He wriggled his paws on the branch a bit to ensure absolute footing and balance. He lowered his head—ready to charge. He couldn’t even see the squirrel in this position. It didn’t matter. Everything about Poo-Poo—his anger, his conviction, his sense of justice and superiority—had driven him to this one moment in his life. This one moment in time.

  When he lowered his head, the squirrel emerged completely from behind the trunk.

  “Time to meet your density, Mr. Squirrel!” Poo-Poo growled. He lowered his head even farther and leaned back on his rear haunches. He got ready to lunge and bash.

  “Wait!”

  It was Stick Dog.

  Poo-Poo shifted his weight forward and steadied himself again. He didn’t lift his head. His body trembled in anticipation. He whispered, “Why?”

  “It’s not a ‘mister’ squirrel,” Stick Dog answered quickly. “It’s a ‘missus’ squirrel.”

  “Who cares?” Poo-Poo hissed.

  “And she has a baby.”

  Poo-Poo lifted his head out of its battering-ram position. He looked at the squirrel with narrowed, menacing eyes. And he saw the baby squirrel in her arms.

  Poo-Poo’s eyes widened—and his expression softened.

  The baby squirrel was so small.

  So small.

  The mother squirrel held it so close.

  So close.

  But squirrels were Poo-Poo’s archenemies.

  Archenemies.

  This might be his only chance to get one.

  Only chance.

  “Poo-Poo?” Stick Dog whispered.

  He didn’t answer. He stood motionless.

  “Poo-Poo?”

  “Stick Dog,” Poo-Poo whispered back. He waited a few seconds and blinked his eyes several times. His body stopped trembling. “It’s the tiniest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Stick Dog smiled.

  And Poo-Poo took another step—backward into the basket.

  Chapter 14

  TELLING THE TRUTH

  While Poo-Poo stared blankly out from the basket, Stick Dog backed it out of the tree. He paused just a moment to pick that final big, red, delectable apple. He dropped it down to Mutt, Karen, and Stripes. When he dropped it, the basket shook a bit, bumped the branch, and knocked a second apple loose.

  Stripes saw the two apples fall in succession. “Hey!” she said. “Two for one special!”

  Stick Dog hesitated. Something at the edge of his mind bothered him again. Another instinct.

  He whispered to himself, “Two for one special. Two for one special.”

  Then he snapped his head down and peered into the back of the truck. He knew there was something else there. He just knew it.

  The worker said he would bring donuts for the men at his next job. What did the sticker say on that first box? Stick Dog tried to remember.

  And then he did remember.

  And he saw what he sought immediately. He could just see the corner of it poking out from beneath the worker’s jacket—the one that had fluttered down into the back of the truck like a parachute.

  He didn’t say a word. He looked at Poo-Poo, who stared blankly into the tree’s branches. Stick Dog put his paw on the joystick and continued their descent toward the others.

  It was a short, slow, and quiet ride down to the ground in the basket. Poo-Poo said nothing. There was a mixture of disappointment and wonder on his face—as if he didn’t quite know how to feel. His eyelids drooped with discouragement, but there was a trace of a smile on his face.

  When Stick Dog and Poo-Poo stepped out of the basket, their friends were ready with questions.

  “What happened up there?” Stripes wanted to know.

  “Did Poo-Poo get the squirrel?” inquired Mutt.

  “Did you find any coffee?!” asked Karen. She then plopped down on her belly and barely lifted her chin off the ground to speak. “All of a sudden, I feel really tired. I think some more coffee might help.”

  Stick Dog turned to Poo-Poo. He wanted to give him the opportunity to answer all these inquiries himself.

  “There was no coffee,” Poo-Poo said, and lifted his head. “And there was a squirrel. Two squirrels, in fact.”

  This answer sparked his friends’ curiosity even more. Stripes asked the question that was on all their minds. “Did you prove your superiority to them?”

  Poo-Poo began to speak, but no words came out.

  And Stick Dog stepped forward, closer to Stripes, Mutt, and Karen—and closer to the donut box that was now absolutely full of red apples.

  “Did Poo-Poo prove his superiority to squirrels?” Stick Dog said, repeating the question. “He did. He most definitely did.”

  Mutt and Stripes began to hop and yelp and swish th
eir tails madly. Karen, reenergized by this momentous news, pushed herself up off the ground and hopped up and down too. They gathered around Poo-Poo. They congratulated him. They patted him on the back.

  Stick Dog waited for them to calm down. Once, for the briefest moment, during all the back slaps and yelping, Stick Dog caught Poo-Poo’s eye. And Poo-Poo smiled at him.

  “It’s time to go!” Stick Dog yelled. He looked down the road to the right. No cars were coming. He looked down the road to the left. No cars were coming.

  But the worker was. He was about halfway back—and he held another giant cup of coffee.

  The others saw him too.

  “Stick Dog?!” Karen asked. “Can we stay and try to get his coffee again? PLEASE?!”

  “No,” Stick Dog answered simply and definitively. He double-checked the road to ensure there was no traffic. “But when we get back to my pipe, you can bite into some of these apples and drink all the juice.”

  Karen smiled. Then she raced across the street and into the woods in the general direction of Stick Dog’s pipe.

  Mutt and Stripes followed immediately after her.

  “Stick Dog?” Poo-Poo asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey,” Stick Dog said, and used his front left paw to close the lid on the donut box the best he could. It was really full. He continued, “All I did was tell the truth.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course,” Stick Dog explained. “You had a choice to make. By choosing not to prove your superiority to squirrels, you actually proved your superiority to squirrels.”

  “Huh?”

  “You showed restraint. You showed absolute control. You could have taught that squirrel a lesson,” Stick Dog said. “But you didn’t need to. You didn’t have to prove anything—to the squirrel, to me, to yourself. You know who you are.”

  Poo-Poo scrunched up his face as he contemplated Stick Dog’s words. He tilted his head skyward. Then he began to smile just a little bit. “I’m Poo-Poo.”

  “That’s right. You’re Poo-Poo.”

  Poo-Poo lowered his head and looked right into Stick Dog’s eyes. “Stick Dog,” he said. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Believe what?”

  “I actually understand what you mean.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me a bit,” Stick Dog said, and triple-checked for traffic. He pushed the box of apples toward Poo-Poo. “Can you carry these back to my pipe? I have one more thing I need to do here.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Poo-Poo said, and nodded. He picked the box up with his mouth. His first couple of steps were awkward, but once he understood the weight of the box and how it swung, it was pretty easy. Poo-Poo crossed the street and entered the woods to track down Stripes, Karen, and Mutt, and continue the journey to Stick Dog’s pipe.

  Once Stick Dog saw that Poo-Poo was into the woods safely, he hurried to the back of the truck.

  The worker was only a few hundred feet away now.

  Quickly, Stick Dog propped himself up on the truck’s bumper. He yanked at the sleeve of the man’s jacket in the back of the truck. He pulled it all the way out and allowed it to fall to the ground.

  And the thing Stick Dog sought revealed itself fully.

  Stick Dog pulled it closer.

  He looked at the sticker on the box.

  “Two for one special!” Stick Dog read and smiled. “Buy one box, get another free!”

  Stick Dog flipped the flaps of this second donut box. There were thirteen sweet, colorful, scrumptious donuts inside.

  He closed the lid. He clenched the box in his mouth and dropped to all fours. He scampered to the street and saw that the worker was still a good distance away. He had his Big GULP Coffee cup tilted up in front of his face as he drank and walked.

  He never saw Stick Dog.

  Stick Dog checked for traffic. He couldn’t wait to share a second box of Dizzy’s Donuts with Mutt, Karen, Stripes, and Poo-Poo. They would be so surprised.

  As Stick Dog hurried across the road, the pavement felt smooth and warm beneath his paws.

  THE END

  EXCERPT FROM STICK CAT

  Move over Stick Dog;

  there’s a new pet in town!

  Read on for a sneak peek of

  Tom Watson’s new series STICK CAT!

  Coming soon!

  Chapter 1

  REMEMBER OUR DEAL?

  Do you remember our deal from the Stick Dog books? You know, how you’re not allowed to hassle me about my drawing skills and stuff? And how I am allowed to go off in other directions now and then?

  I’m glad you remember, because I have a bit of a situation here. I need to go off in a way different direction.

  And it’s Mary’s fault.

  Who’s Mary? Good question.

  Let me just tell you how this all got started.

  Mary Cunningham walked by my desk on the way to the pencil sharpener yesterday.

  She paused for a second at my desk and said, “Hi.”

  It was weird. She had never said hi to me before.

  It was right in the middle of Ms. Griffin’s English class. I was about to get cranking on a new Stick Dog story. It is pretty much my favorite part of every school day.

  Mary sharpened her pencil and returned to her seat. One minute later the super-weird stuff began.

  Mary came back.

  This was her second trip to the pencil sharpener. Only this time she didn’t just pause at my desk—she stopped. I know you probably think I’m making this up, but I’m not. I swear. She actually stopped.

  Mary tapped her pencil on my composition book as she stood there right next to me. Her pencil has a little rubber cat eraser on it. It jiggled with each tap.

  She has cat everything. Her folders and book covers have cats on them. She has cat sweaters and pencils and socks. I’ve noticed her talking a lot about her cats, Francis and Nora.

  Can I tell you something weird? I don’t know how it happened or when it happened, but something occurred last week or last month or whenever, and now girls are a lot less annoying and a lot more, you know, interesting.

  And Mary is more interesting than any other girl in my class.

  She stopped tapping her pencil and looked at me. The little orange-and-white cat eraser wobbled an extra couple of seconds after the pencil stopped moving. Mary stood real close on the left side of my desk.

  It started to get warm in class for some reason.

  I wondered if maybe Ms. Griffin should open a window.

  “Are you working on another Stick Dog story?” Mary asked.

  I nodded.

  “What kind of food will they discover this time?”

  “I’m thinking about candy,” I answered. “A Halloween story maybe.”

  “That’s a fun idea.”

  Okay, this was more than a walking-by-my-desk-on-the-way-to-the-pencil-sharpener comment. This was an official conversation.

  I said, “I think it could be really funny if they follow two kids around the neighborhood on Halloween. And maybe they get all freaked out by the costumes and stuff.”

  That’s when Mary did this really cool thing.

  She laughed.

  “You should do a story about cats,” she suggested. “I have cats.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “I’d like to read it if you do.”

  Then she left.

  I only said one thing after Mary sat down at her desk again.

  “Ms. Griffin,” I called. “Can I open a window? It’s really warm in here.”

  Chapter 2

  STICK CAT AND GOOSE

  Okay, this feline creature is going to need a name. I’ve thought about it for a very, very long time. And I’ve considered my own drawing abilities. I’ve chosen a name.

  This is Stick Cat.

  Stick Cat lives in an apartment on the twenty-third floor of a big building in the city. It’s kind of an old
building. Stick Cat has a human roommate named Goose. I know, I know. Goose is a very strange name for a human. But this is the only thing Stick Cat has ever heard his roommate called. So that’s that.

  Between you and me, this guy has a neck that looks a little out of proportion with his head and the rest of his body. And my guess is that somewhere back in grade school—when it’s really important to call people by anything except their real names—someone commented on his long neck, nicknamed him Goose, and now he’s stuck with it.

  That’s just a guess. I don’t know for sure.

  Goose is not embarrassed by his name at all. In fact, he’s embraced it. There are geese all around the apartment. He has goose pillows on the couch. He has a picture of geese flying above a field hung over the mantel in the living room. There is a neon sign in the kitchen that says “Goose Island Root Beer.” It’s really colorful, with lots of orange and green tubular lights. Stick Cat likes it during the day but can’t stand how much it glows at night if Goose forgets to turn it off.

  Goose works in the city. Every morning during the week, Stick Cat watches Goose eat his breakfast and brush his teeth. Then Goose checks his pockets for his wallet, keys, and phone, and walks over to where Stick Cat is sitting on the windowsill. This is Stick Cat’s favorite place.

  It’s where he can see another old building across the alley. That building is a lot like Stick Cat’s, but instead of apartments, it has mainly businesses—an old piano factory is on a bunch of the upper floors. At street level, there is a piano store and a bakery. From this sill, he can also see the pigeons. There are dozens of pigeons that live in the alley and fly back and forth and perch on the window ledges of both buildings.