Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog (4 page)

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. “Not 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?”