Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog (5 page)

“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.”

Stick 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!”

“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.