Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog (13 page)

One problem.

It didn't work out that way.
Instead, here's what happened.

Karen raised her head ever so slightly over the top of that sheet. When she did, she could see what Peter, the frankfurter man, was up to. And do you know what he was up to?

Nothing.

He was just standing there at his frankfurter cart. He was looking around a little bit, sometimes away from the sheet the dogs were hiding behind, sometimes toward it, but never directly at it. He never turned all the way around. He leaned down to make sure his shoe was still tied. Then he double-knotted both of his shoelaces. He rang the bell on the cart once.

Another time, he kicked a little pebble next to a wheel of his cart. A minute later, he rearranged the ketchup and mustard and salt and pepper, putting them in order from tallest to shortest—ketchup being the tallest. Then he rearranged them from skinniest to plumpest—ketchup being the skinniest.

Well, all this looking around and rearranging (and re-rearranging) of the condiments resulted in three things:

1. A very tidy frankfurter cart

2. A long period of time when Peter didn't quite look away

3. An extremely tired stack of dogs—especially the ones at the bottom

And do you know what happens to an extremely tired stack of dogs—especially the ones at the bottom?

Here's what happens:

The stack doesn't stay so solid and straight. It starts to wobble a little. It bends a little bit left. Then it bends a little bit right. It sways a little bit forward. Then it sways a little bit backward. And do you know what happens when more time passes and the dogs—especially the ones at the bottom—begin to get even more tired? Well, that's when the swaying and the tilting start to get even worse.

And that's exactly what happened.

“Hold still down there!” Karen said.

“I'm—uhh—trying,” said Poo-Poo. “Hasn't he looked away yet?”

“No, not yet,” said Karen. “He's moving the mustard again.”

Stick Dog called up to the top of the stack from his position at the bottom, “What about Phyllis?”

“Yeah,” Mutt added, wanting to know too. “What about the Frankfurter Assault Squadron? Where are they?”

“They're in a maple tree,” Karen observed. “It's only one tree away from the cart. In another minute or two, the Frankfurter Assault Squadron is going to be in the next tree—the one with the branches hanging over the cart. They'll be able to drop down to grab everything!”

Coupled with how tired they were becoming, this news made them all feel very discouraged.

“What about now? Has Peter moved yet?” asked Mutt. “My back's killing me.”

“Not as much as my tail,” said Stripes.

“That's because you bit yourself,” said Poo-Poo.

“Did not.”

“Yes, you did. We all saw it. Right, Stick Dog?”

“Shh!” answered Stick Dog with a groan. “I just have to get those frankfurters. I'm so hungry. Is he looking away yet?”

The four other dogs gathered all their strength, inhaled deeply, and concentrated on holding still and keeping the stack steady. They desperately hoped that Karen would answer positively.

Karen peeked at Peter again. He was moving all the condiments back to their original positions. “Nope,” was all she said.

At this answer, the stack of dogs began tilting and swaying worse than ever before. It was like all the concentrating energy they used waiting for that final answer from Karen had sapped their remaining strength and stamina. And when they were disappointed with Karen's answer and Peter had not yet turned away, their remaining energy just evaporated. It was inevitable—the stack was going to fall.

Do you know what “inevitable” means? It means when something is definitely going to happen no matter what. It's like if there's one time you don't know the answer in math class, then it's inevitable that the teacher will call on you. Or it's inevitable that it will start pouring rain when you're only one block from your house.

Anyway, it was inevitable that the stack of dogs was going to fall. It leaned right, and they all shifted their weight to the left. Then it leaned left, and they shifted all their weight to the right. They regained an even balance just for a second, then the whole stack began to lean backward. And to correct that, they all began to lean forward.

But this time they leaned too far forward. And when they did, three things happened:

1. Karen snagged her nose on the top edge of the sheet.

2. The laundry sheet itself came unhooked from the line.

3. Stick Dog did everything he could to keep the stack on top of him. He really wanted those frankfurters, and he started to stagger forward with the four dogs moving, jiggling, wiggling, swaying, and stumbling on top of him.

Now, from the back, it looked like five dogs piled on top of each other all tangled up in a sheet, stumbling all over the place.

But that was only from the back.

From the front, it looked very different. Very, very different. How different? How about if we just let Peter, the frankfurter man, describe it for us?

Peter took one look at that giant white sheet stumbling and bumbling toward him and ran like he never ran before. Now, you might think that somebody like Peter, who has probably had more than a few frankfurters in his day, might be a little slow.

You would be wrong.

When he saw that ghostly creature coming at him, Peter ran like the wind. Like a hurricane wind. Like a hurricane wind combined with a tornado. Like a hurricane wind combined with a tornado that is being chased by a ghost.

That's how fast he ran.

By the time the dogs had stumbled and fallen over to the frankfurter cart, Peter was not even in sight. And by the time they had untangled themselves from the sheet, those five dogs had stopped worrying about Peter altogether. They knew he was long gone—and probably was not coming back for a very long time.

Poo-Poo, Stripes, Mutt, and Karen snatched all the frankfurters they could carry and sprinted off to the safety and comfort of Stick Dog's empty pipe. Stick Dog looked up into the maple tree just a few feet away from the cart. The four raccoons were situated on a lower branch. They looked hungry—and disappointed.

Stick Dog reached into the cart and grabbed a bunch of frankfurters. He carried them to the maple tree and dropped them gently at the base of the trunk.

Returning to the cart, he snatched another bunch of frankfurters and raced to catch up with Mutt, Karen, Stripes, and Poo-Poo.

When they all reached Stick Dog's pipe, they started to eat the frankfurters. And they laughed and laughed at how they had scared Peter, the frankfurter man, away. And they congratulated themselves on defeating the Frankfurter Assault Squadron. Between laughs and congratulations, they took more frankfurter bites.

And those frankfurters, oh, those frankfurters.

They tasted so good.

And Stick Dog's stomach was finally—and happily—silent.