by Tom Watson
Karen then came a step closer to Stick Dog and winked at him. “Great minds think alike.”
Stick Dog nodded to her and then turned to Stripes. “What’s the answer? What’s black and white and red all over?”
Stripes giggled to herself for several seconds and then said, “Me!”
When Poo-Poo, Mutt, and Karen were finished groaning—and Stick Dog was finished grinning and shaking his head a bit—they looked down at the empty carton. Playing tug-of-war was now the last thing on anyone’s mind.
Mutt seemed to speak for the group when he said, “We need to find some more of those skinny, flimsy ropes, Stick Dog.”
“They’re all gone, Mutt,” replied Stick Dog. “I don’t know where we’ll get any more.”
“That’s totally unfair!” yelped Stripes. “All we get is a little taste and then it’s over?!”
Stripes’s frustration instantly affected the others.
“Stick Dog, why did you bring us here anyway?” Mutt asked.
“We were looking for rope, remember?”
“But we were looking for rope to play with, not to eat,” Poo-Poo moaned. “Now we’ve got a little taste, but there’s none left. That’s the worst!”
“Oh, Stick Dog,” sighed Karen. “It’s like that time we tasted those rainbow puddles left behind from the ice cream truck. A little taste but nothing else! Totally frustrating.”
“Wait a minute,” Stick Dog said. He seemed bothered. It appeared that he wanted to set something straight. “Didn’t I lead us to the ice cream? Didn’t I almost get caught by the police? Didn’t we share eleven cartons of ice cream?”
“Umm, I think you might be exaggerating your accomplishments,” Karen said.
“And besides, Stick Dog, we can’t live in the past,” Stripes added. “We have to live in the NOW. And right NOW we need to find some more tasty ropes.”
“I’d like to, Stripes,” Stick Dog replied calmly. “It’s just that we don’t have a clue about where to start.”
Poo-Poo looked down at the empty box and slapped a paw at it in frustration.
When he did, the lid flipped halfway shut for a moment and then flapped back open. It was closed just long enough for Stick Dog to see words and a picture on top of the box.
“Wait a minute,” Stick Dog whispered. He reached down and closed the box again.
Stick Dog read the words on the box out loud. “‘Tip-Top Spaghetti Restaurant.’” He cocked his head and let the words sink in. The words were above a picture of a tall hill or mountain.
Nobody said anything. Poo-Poo, Mutt, Karen, and Stripes all watched Stick Dog closely. There was a look on his face. His forehead was wrinkled; one eye was squinted. They had all seen this look on Stick Dog before.
He was working something out.
There was suddenly a nervous energy among the group. They knew that an adventure was about to begin—an adventure that might just lead to more food.
“What is ‘spaghetti’?” Karen asked.
“That must be what was inside the box,” said Stick Dog.
“Not rope?” asked Mutt.
“I don’t think so,” Stick Dog whispered. He was still thinking.
“Well, I LIKE spaghetti!” yelped Poo-Poo. “I could eat a bunch of it!”
Stick Dog repeated the words on the box—as much to himself as to anybody else. He stared at the picture. He whispered, “Tip-Top Spaghetti Restaurant. Tip-Top Spaghetti Restaurant.”
Karen asked, “What does that mean, Stick Dog? The words and the picture?”
He answered slowly—as if he was still figuring things out as he spoke. “There’s only one really tall hill around here,” he said. “It’s past Picasso Park. I’ve never been up there. Have any of you?”
None of them had.
“We’re going up there tonight,” Stick Dog said.
Mutt, Poo-Poo, Karen, and Stripes began jumping up and down. They trusted Stick Dog. They believed he could lead them to food.
Before speaking again, Stick Dog looked at each of his comrades with a fierce and determined gaze. “If there is spaghetti up there,” he said, “we’re going to get it.”
CHAPTER 4
LASSOS AND TEAMWORK
“That’s a really big hill, Stick Dog. How will we get up there?” asked Stripes.
Before Stick Dog could even answer, Poo-Poo said, “I know how to do it. It’s easy.”
You could tell Stripes, Mutt, and Karen were anxious to hear his idea about reaching the top of the biggest hill in the suburbs. They all stepped a little closer to Poo-Poo to listen. Stick Dog remained where he was.
“It’s simple,” Poo-Poo said. “All we need to do is find a really, really long piece of rope, see. And we tie a big, loopy thing at the end. A lasso—that’s what it’s called.”
“But we can’t find any rope, remember? That’s why we came here in the first place,” Stick Dog said. But his friends didn’t hear him. They were far too wrapped up in Poo-Poo’s plan.
Poo-Poo continued, “Then we wait.”
“What do we wait for?” Mutt asked.
“An airplane.”
“An airplane?”
“An airplane,” confirmed Poo-Poo. “When the airplane flies overhead, we throw the lasso. It wraps around one of the propellers. We hold on to the other end. The plane carries us up toward the spaghetti restaurant. When we get there—wah-lah!—we let go!”
“Sounds great!” Karen yelped. “Let’s find some rope!”
And with that, Mutt, Karen, and Stripes began to search for rope even though Karen had just, you know, searched for rope and not found any.
“How long should the rope be to reach an airplane, Poo-Poo?” Stripes called as she searched.
Poo-Poo thought about it for a few seconds. It was his plan, after all, so he wanted to give a good answer. He called back, “At least ten or twelve feet.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little too long?”
“Well, remember,” Poo-Poo began to explain, “we need extra to tie the lasso at the end.”
“Oh, right.”
“Poo-Poo, can I ask you a question too?”
“Sure, Stick Dog,” Poo-Poo said. “Although I can’t think of any flaw in my plan. It’s absolutely foolproof.”
“When we throw that rope up to the airplane and it gets caught in the propeller,” began Stick Dog, “won’t the rope wind up and get all tangled?”
“Yeah, I guess so. What’s your point?”
“Well, my point is, the rope will just keep wrapping around the propeller. It will get shorter and shorter—until it reaches the very end of the rope.”
“Right. So what?”
“Umm,” said Stick Dog. He waited, hoping he wouldn’t have to ask the question. After several seconds, however, he asked, “Where are we hanging on to the rope?”
“At the very end. Obviously,” said Poo-Poo. “Why do you ask?”
Stick Dog didn’t answer. Instead he waited for Poo-Poo to figure it out. And after about thirty seconds, he did. You could tell when it happened. Poo-Poo seemed to visualize the rope getting shorter and shorter as he and the others got pulled closer and closer to the propeller. He cringed and trembled when he thought of the ultimate result of his plan.
“Hey, guys,” he called to Mutt, Karen, and Stripes. “I think we better stop looking for rope now. I know it’s an excellent idea and everything, but, umm, I’m a little tired of coming up with excellent ideas all the time. I think one of you should get a turn for a change.”
“That’s very noble of you,” Stick Dog said quietly.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Poo-Poo replied. Then he added, “It’s just in my nature.”
“Well, then,” Stick Dog said after Karen, Mutt, and Stripes had gathered around him. “Do any of you have another idea to get to the hilltop?”
“I do,” said Stripes as she raised a paw. “I do indeed.”
“Great. What is it?” asked Stick Dog.
“Well, climbing
up the hill is hard and tiring, right?” asked Stripes.
“I’m not sure it’s all that hard. But, yes, it won’t be easy; that’s true,” answered Stick Dog.
“Well, if it’s hard and tiring, we should help each other out,” Stripes said. “I call it the Teamwork Plan. We all work together.”
Karen asked, “How do we do that, Stripes?”
“We take turns helping each other, that’s how,” Stripes said. It seemed like she was done speaking for some reason. She scratched herself behind her left ear for a moment and stretched a bit as if she was about to sit down.
Before she sat, Stick Dog said, “I’m not sure I get what you mean.”
Stripes straightened back up and kind of sighed under her breath. “Frankly, Stick Dog, I’m not at all surprised that my clever and sophisticated plan might be a little difficult for you to understand. I’ll describe my plan some more, but please do your best to follow along.”
Stick Dog squeezed his lips together tightly. It almost looked like he wanted to say something but then decided not to. Ultimately, he just said, “I’ll try to keep up.”
“Here’s how we do it,” Stripes began. “Stick Dog, you go up the hill first.”
“Okay,” Stick Dog said slowly.
“Mutt, you go up next,” Stripes continued. “But you don’t go up by yourself. You work as a team with Stick Dog. He comes down to help you. He’ll give you words of encouragement as you two climb up. He’ll cheer you on a bit—that kind of thing.”
“Sounds good,” said Mutt.
“When you two reach the top,” Stripes continued, “I’ll give you a signal to come down and help Poo-Poo. He’s next. Same story. You’re now a three-dog team. You two help Poo-Poo get to the top. You know, root for him and tell him he’s doing a great job. Give him a nudge now and then. Stuff like that.”
“Stripes, can I say something?” asked Poo-Poo.
“Certainly.”
Stick Dog looked forward to this. Obviously, he figured, Poo-Poo had done the math and realized that Stripes’s plan didn’t add up.
“I just thought you should know,” Poo-Poo said sincerely, “I think it sounds like a fantastic plan so far.”
“Thank you,” replied Stripes.
She also glanced ever so quickly in Stick Dog’s direction. “I’m glad someone here understands my most excellent strategy.”
Stick Dog said nothing. He glanced up at the night sky. It almost seemed like he was trying to mentally put himself somewhere else.
Stripes then said, “Once the three of you reach the top, I’ll signal you again to come down to get Karen.”
“Got it,” Karen said. “I join the team.”
“Exactly,” Stripes said. “These three will encourage you. Push you a bit. Whatever you need. Upon your arrival at the top of the hill, I’ll give the final signal to come down and get me. The last trip will include all five of us—the final team!”
Mutt, Karen, and Poo-Poo all nodded their understanding toward Stripes.
Stripes herself turned to Stick Dog and asked, “Now do you understand how teamwork makes things so much easier?”
Stick Dog took a single moment to consider his response. Ultimately, he said, “It’s a totally unique plan. I’m absolutely certain that I would never have come up with it myself.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” said Stripes proudly.
“I was just doing a little counting though,” Stick Dog said. “And I want to make sure I got this right. Will you double-check my numbers for me?”
Stripes nodded.
“By my count, I will go up the hill five times. Mutt will go up four times. Poo-Poo, three times. Karen, two. And you, one. Is that correct?”
“Sounds right.”
“Five plus four plus three plus two plus one equals fifteen, I think,” said Stick Dog.
Stripes scrunched up her face a bunch. She said, “Well, I don’t have a supercomputer to do the calculations, but I believe that’s correct. What’s your point?”
“My point is,” said Stick Dog as kindly as he could, “why would we go up the hill fifteen times when we could just go up five times—one time all together?”
Stripes didn’t say anything. She shuffled her feet against the blacktop, spraying loose pebbles about. She whispered loud enough for all of them to hear, “Math is my worst subject.”
“That’s not your fault,” Stick Dog said immediately. “It’s math’s fault.”
Stripes adopted this line of thinking quickly. “It IS math’s fault.”
Then she growled for about ten seconds.
While she growled, Stick Dog turned to Mutt and Karen. He asked, “Do either of you have a plan to get to the hilltop to see if a spaghetti restaurant is up there?”
They both nodded and wagged their tails.
“Mine involves a hot-air balloon,” Mutt said with great confidence.
“And mine requires a bonfire, a really large skillet, and five buckets of cold water,” Karen said with even greater confidence.
Stick Dog cocked his head a little, trying to ensure that he had actually heard what he thought he heard. Finally, he said, “I can’t wait to hear your ideas. Let’s make our way over to the hill and then we can hear your plans.”
“Works for me,” Karen said.
“Sure, why not?” responded Mutt.
And with that, all five dogs began their journey to the tallest hill in the suburbs.
CHAPTER 5
HOT-AIR BALLOONS. CORRECTION: STRIPED HOT-AIR BALLOONS
It was the first time Stick Dog and his friends had ever run through Picasso Park without stopping to search for food. Karen didn’t even slow down when they passed her favorite garbage can.
They ran past that garbage can. Then they motored past a swing set, basketball court, and gazebo. They exited the park on the other side and made their way across two fields, three streets, one creek, and two meadows before arriving at the foot of the tallest hill in the suburbs.
They stood in a patch of rocks and pebbles that had rolled down the hill over time. They looked up. There was, indeed, a building on the hilltop, but it was too far away to identify.
“We’re never going to make it up there,” moaned Stripes.
As soon as the others—well, everybody except Stick Dog—heard Stripes’s doubt, they expressed similar sentiments.
“It’s too far.”
“I’m too tired.”
“My legs hurt just looking at this hill.”
Stick Dog, as you can probably guess, had a plan. He said, “It looks pretty daunting, all right. Maybe Mutt’s plan can get us to the top.”
Stripes, Karen, and Poo-Poo turned to Mutt with hope on their faces.
“Okay,” Mutt said. “The first thing we need is a hot-air—”
Stick Dog interrupted him just then.
“Mutt, before you get started,” he said, “I wonder if we could just find a better place to hear about your strategy. It’s kind of rocky and uncomfortable here, and I want to settle in and really give your plan a good listen.”
The others looked around on the ground, noticed the rocks and pebbles, and agreed with Stick Dog.
Mutt asked, “Where should we go, Stick Dog?”
Stick Dog looked up the hill and saw exactly what he wanted to see. There was a small plateau—a little, flat spot on the hill—about one-third of the way up.
“Look at that nice spot right there,” Stick Dog said, and pointed. He made certain not to use the word “up.” He continued, “It looks perfect. I bet it’s covered with soft grass too. Let’s go there to hear your plan.”
“Okay” is all Mutt said before he and the others hurried up the hill to get there. He was anxious to share his plan with the group.
Stripes, Karen, and Poo-Poo all flopped down on their bellies when they got there. Mutt sat back on his rear legs in front of them. Stick Dog scanned the rest of the hill—he appeared to be looking for something. After a moment, he flopped down to l
isten to Mutt’s plan as well.
“Okay,” Mutt said. “The first thing we need is a hot-air balloon.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Stripes said immediately.
“What is it, Stripes?” Mutt asked.
“This whole hot-air balloon thing,” she said.
“Yes. What about it?”
“I was wondering if it could be one of those really cool striped balloons,” she said. “You know, my name is Stripes, and the balloon would be covered in stripes. I just think it would be neat. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” answered Mutt, happy to oblige.
“Excellent!” Stripes yelped.
“Okay. So we get this hot-air balloon. And then—”
“Striped hot-air balloon,” reminded Stripes.
“Right, right,” Mutt acknowledged. “So we get this striped hot-air balloon. Then we all climb into the basket thing. The hot-air balloon soars over the top of the hill, and we jump out. Then it’s spaghetti for everyone!”
“Great plan!” Poo-Poo said with terrific enthusiasm.
Karen and Stripes endorsed the hot-air balloon strategy as well.
Stick Dog asked, “Where exactly do we get the hot-air balloon, Mutt?”
“You mean striped hot-air balloon,” Stripes corrected.
“Excuse me. Of course,” Stick Dog said quickly. “Where do we get the striped hot-air balloon?”
“Oh, we just grab one when it floats by,” Mutt answered with complete confidence. “Those things fly by all the time. You can’t throw a rock around here without hitting a hot-air balloon.”
“Oh, I see.”
Karen then threw a couple of rocks.
She didn’t hit a hot-air balloon.
“What if one comes by that isn’t striped?” asked Stripes. “I’m not getting into just any hot-air balloon.”