Stick Dog Craves Candy

by Tom Watson

  “I don’t know if I can fit all five sticks,” Mutt said. He then looked backward over both his shoulders and then down between his front legs. He was obviously determining if he could carry the five sticks. To himself, as much as to his friends, he added, “I need to make some room.”

  Mutt shook his whole body in three short bursts of energetic motion. When he did, several things flew from his fur. All about him were scattered a broken coat hanger, a tennis ball with a long tear in it, a pen cap, and a half-eaten sock.

  “There,” he said, and smiled triumphantly. “Now I can save them all for you!”

  Poo-Poo, Stripes, and Karen watched as Mutt tucked their sticks into his fur to be retrieved later for licking. Stick Dog, however, looked at something else. He examined the things that had sprayed and fallen from Mutt’s fur.

  He looked at all the objects and then he looked at the gate. He repeated this twice.

  “The doorknob is metal and probably too slick to turn with our paws,” Stick Dog whispered to himself. “And we can’t reach it anyway.”

  Stick Dog tilted his head. He considered the dilemma for three seconds.

  And then he began to move.

  The others watched in silence. They were mesmerized—and confused—by Stick Dog’s actions.

  Stick Dog began pushing flowerpots toward the gate. They were heavy with dirt and withered, fading geraniums. He had to push the pots slowly in order for them to slide across the cement without tipping over. There were only four and Stick Dog knew he would need all of them right side up.

  After two and a half minutes of pushing and arranging, he finally had the pots in the positions he desired. They stood in a rectangle before the metal gate with each flowerpot representing a corner.

  “Stick Dog looks confused,” Karen whispered to Mutt, Poo-Poo, and Stripes.

  Stick Dog carefully climbed up into the flowerpots—placing a paw into each one. They tilted and tottered as he stepped into them. The old plants were dry and brittle and scratched roughly against the pads on his paws, but he paid little attention to the pain. He focused solely on finding the perfect, stable balance atop the pots.

  “Stick Dog?” asked Karen. Her head was leaned over to one side. She tried to figure out what she was looking at. “Do you feel all right? I think you might be mixed up in the brain or something. You know you’re not a flower, right?”

  Stick Dog closed his eyes for a few seconds before answering her.

  “I’m fine,” he said upon opening his eyes. “I know I’m not a flower.”

  Once situated securely, Stick Dog was tall enough to reach the gate’s doorknob. He raised his front paws one at a time to the gate, pressing against the metal to maintain his equilibrium. He knew that if his weight shifted too far forward, or backward, or left or right, then his back paws would slip and the pots would kick out and tip over—and end this one opportunity he had to help his friends escape.

  Carefully, very carefully, he slid his front paws to the gate’s doorknob. It was made of metal and extremely slick. His paw pads gained no traction on the smooth metal surface. Even though he could now reach it, Stick Dog knew there was no way he could ever turn it. But he had expected just such a thing.

  And he already had an idea.

  Stick Dog called, “Could one of you guys bring me that torn tennis ball, please?”

  But none of his friends responded to his request. They were too busy being confused.

  “Uhh, guys?” Stick Dog called again. His leg muscles and back were growing tired and sore from maintaining that one position. But he knew he couldn’t budge. He couldn’t risk losing his balance. His voice sounded strained and weak. “The ball, please?”

  “Umm, Stick Dog?” Poo-Poo said, and came a step closer. He was not bringing the ball. He stared at Stick Dog’s paws. “You know those aren’t shoes on your paws, don’t you? They’re, umm, flowerpots, man.”

  “Yes, I know they’re not shoes,” he answered quickly, and hung his head briefly. Stick Dog knew he had to move this along. Other humans could be coming at any moment. “Bring me the tennis ball, would you?”

  Now Stripes came up close to him. She did not have the ball either. “Maybe you better lie down,” she said to him quietly. She didn’t want the others to hear. “I think you need to rest.”

  “Why?” Stick Dog said with as much patience as he could muster. “Why do you think I need to lie down?”

  “You seem a little confused,” Stripes continued. She spoke in a hushed way—like she was sharing a secret. “You’ve planted yourself in these pots, buddy. You’re trying to grow more of you, Stick Dog. That’s not possible. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

  Stick Dog didn’t even answer. Instead, he turned to Mutt.

  “Mutt, bring me that ball. Now. Please.”

  Mutt picked up the torn tennis ball and trotted it over to Stick Dog. It went from Mutt’s mouth to Stick Dog’s mouth.

  “Here you go,” Mutt said after the exchange took place. “But it seems like kind of a strange time to play fetch—what with us being trapped in here and all.”

  Stick Dog was extremely thankful that there was a tennis ball in his mouth. It prevented him from answering Mutt—or saying anything to anybody else.

  He turned the tennis ball in his mouth until the torn side faced outward toward the gate. Then, gingerly, he leaned forward as far as he could and pressed the ball against the gate’s doorknob. For a few seconds, it remained pressed in that exact position, but slowly—very slowly—the ball began to slide onto the doorknob through the tear in its side. Then it popped all the way on. Stick Dog opened his mouth and the ball remained on the doorknob—and then he leaned back again.

  Poo-Poo, Mutt, Karen, and Stripes all looked back and forth at each other. There was bewilderment and sadness on their faces.

  Poo-Poo leaned in toward his friends and whispered, “He’s really lost it, you guys,” and nodded his head twice toward Stick Dog. “He’s trying to make friends with the fence, I think. He gave it the ball.”

  “Poor Stick Dog,” Karen sighed quietly.

  Stripes and Mutt lowered their heads and shook them.

  “Stick Dog,” Poo-Poo called in a louder voice. “That was real, real nice of you to give the tennis ball to that friendly fence. Real nice. Why don’t you come down out of those pots now and let us figure out a way out of here?”

  Stick Dog opened his mouth but not to speak. Instead, he bared his teeth and leaned forward again. He bit down on the fuzzy, yellow exterior of the ball. When he did, the rubbery inside of the ball gripped against the doorknob’s smooth, metal surface. Maintaining his bite on the ball—and the handle—Stick Dog slowly twisted his head to the left.

  When he did, the doorknob twisted too.

  And clicked open.

  Stick Dog pulled on the ball and the gate swung toward them. He let go and jumped from the pots.

  Holding the gate open, Stick Dog turned to his friends. He said only two words.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 13

  TAKE ONE, PLEASE

  After their escape, the dogs gathered in the dark behind a few mailboxes by the street. Overgrown bushes grew on both sides of the mailboxes and it served as a terrific hiding place.

  “Did those caramel-covered apples fill you guys up?” Stick Dog asked.

  “Pretty much,” Poo-Poo answered. “But not all the way. I wish we could have just a little bit more of something.”

  Stripes, Karen, and Mutt nodded in agreement.

  “Okay,” Stick Dog said. “We’ll be okay if we don’t get anything else. But we’d like a little more. Another piece of candy or something, right?”

  Again, they all nodded toward Stick Dog.

  He poked his head out from between two of the mailboxes and scanned the street as best he could. It was still very dark, but the streetlights and porch lights provided enough illumination for him to spot what he wanted to see.

  He pulled himself back
and whispered to his friends.

  “The witches are three houses down,” Stick Dog said. “Let’s follow them to one more house and see if they drop something. We’ve had good luck following them so far. If we don’t get anything, we’ll just head back to my pipe. Those caramel apples were enough to satisfy our appetites until tomorrow.”

  “Plus, we have the sticks in Mutt’s fur,” added Karen. “We can still lick those tonight.”

  “That’s right. We do,” said Stick Dog. “Come on! Let’s see if we can get anything else!”

  It took a couple of minutes for them to stalk their way closer to the two witches. They darted behind trees and parked cars. They pulled themselves on their bellies through the grass, careful to avoid the house lights and streetlights.

  When they caught up to the witches, they found a perfect hiding place for observation. A huge bunch of fallen leaves was piled in the front yard of a small brick house. When the witches were all the way up the driveway, the dogs dove into the pile.

  “Now, everybody, be very, very quiet and hold still. I’ll try to see what’s going on,” said Stick Dog as he poked his head out of the leaves to watch the witches at the front door.

  “Stick Dog?” Stripes whispered.

  “What?”

  “There’s a leaf in my mouth. It tastes awful.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Good idea.”

  Stick Dog could hear Stripes spit the leaf out. He watched as the witches approached the front porch.

  “Stick Dog?” It was Stripes again.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s another leaf in my mouth,” she said. “It tastes even worse than the last one.”

  “Spit that one out too,” he whispered in response. “But this time, don’t open your mouth again after you spit it out. If your mouth is closed, no leaves can get in.”

  Again, Stick Dog heard Stripes spit the leaf out.

  “But how will I breathe?”

  Stick Dog closed his eyes and shook his head. “Use your nose.”

  “Good idea,” Stripes answered. “Thanks, Stick Dog.”

  Stick Dog tried to see up to the front porch of the brick house. Leaves from the pile kept falling and rustling in front of his face, making it difficult to see. He tried to blow them quietly out of the way.

  “Stick Dog?” called Poo-Poo from the middle of the huge pile.

  “Shh!” he replied. “We’re trying to be quiet, remember? What is it?”

  Poo-Poo whispered back, “I think we lost Karen.”

  “Oh no!” Mutt and Stripes said in unison.

  Stick Dog watched the witches on the front porch. They were not pressing the doorbell button or knocking on the door. Instead, they were bent over at the waist as if they were looking for something—or reaching for something. He couldn’t tell what they were doing, but he was certain the door to the house never opened.

  “Stick Dog, what about Karen?”

  “Try to find her,” Stick Dog said. “She has to be in there somewhere.”

  As soon as he made this suggestion, there was a wild and rambunctious rustling of the leaves behind him. It was as if the enormous leaf pile had suddenly come to life. Sprays of leaves shot out in every direction. A loud and continuous crackling broke the quiet of the night.

  “You guys!” Stick Dog said as loud as he thought he could without being heard by the witches on the front porch. “What are you doing?!”

  “We’re looking for Karen,” Poo-Poo answered quickly. He—and Mutt and Stripes—had not stopped searching. “Just like you said.”

  “Hold still! Please,” demanded Stick Dog.

  They did as he asked.

  “Don’t you want us to find Karen?” asked Mutt. He had remembered, at least, to speak in a whisper.

  “Yeah, Stick Dog,” added Stripes. “We’re on a heroic mission to rescue Karen in this massive heap of bad-tasting leaves. And now you want us to stop?”

  “Shh,” Stick Dog answered. “Calm down, all of you. Of course, I want you to find Karen. Just don’t go thrashing and smashing all over the place in this pile of dry, crunchy leaves. Every human out here is going to wonder what’s going on. We’ll get totally busted.”

  “Then how are we supposed to find her?” Poo-Poo asked.

  “Call to her,” Stick Dog suggested to his friends. “Quietly.”

  “Why didn’t you say so before?” shrugged Poo-Poo. “That would have been a lot smarter.”

  Stick Dog lifted his eyes and looked at the moon. It was a peaceful and calming shade of yellow. He inhaled and exhaled two times and then answered, “You’re right. It would have been smarter.”

  Stripes yelled, “Karen!”

  “Karen!” called Poo-Poo.

  “Karen!” screamed Mutt.

  “Shh! Stop yelling! Wait!” Stick Dog said as quickly as he could. “Hold still now for a minute. The witches are going to walk back past. Then we’ll find Karen, I promise.”

  They all held perfectly still in the pile.

  And the witches walked by.

  “That was nice of them,” one witch said as they passed by.

  “It was,” said the other witch. “Not everybody leaves stuff out like that.”

  Stick Dog did not know what this snippet of conversation meant—and he spent no time at all trying to decipher it. As soon as the witches were out of earshot, he called, “Karen? Karen?”

  A quiet voice escaped from beneath the far side of the enormous leaf pile. “Yes, Stick Dog?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Karen answered. “How are you?”

  Stick Dog smiled. “I’m fine. It’s nice of you to ask. You can come out of the pile now. We all can.”

  With that, all five dogs emerged from the pile and situated themselves in the yard between the leaf pile and the front porch. With the moonlight and the porch light, they could see each other pretty well. And Stick Dog had scouted out their surroundings quickly. He felt confident that there were no other humans approaching. In fact, it looked to him like most of them were gone now. Perhaps, he thought, they were all going in for the night.

  “Where were you?” Mutt asked Karen.

  “We were worried about you,” Stripes added.

  “Why didn’t you answer us?” Poo-Poo asked.

  “Answer you?” asked Karen. “I never heard you calling me. Except for Stick Dog just now, I mean. I just heard a bunch of crazy rustling and stuff.”

  “Didn’t you want to see what it was all about?” Poo-Poo asked. He was genuinely curious. “It was the start of our rescue mission to find you.”

  “Find me? I wasn’t even lost.”

  “Yes, you were,” Stripes, Mutt, and Poo-Poo said at once.

  Karen looked at Stick Dog and then back at the others. “I was just being quiet and holding still like Stick Dog asked.”

  Stick Dog smiled again. He said, “Let’s go up to the porch. I’m pretty sure there’s nobody home.”

  They all followed him up the steps of the small brick house to the cement front porch. There, in the soft yellow glow of the porch light, was a huge plastic bucket full of brightly colored candy. There were lollipops, gummy bears, bubble gum, Sweet Tarts, and other candy. Sticking out of the bucket was a small handwritten sign taped to the top of a lollipop.

  It read, “We’re not home. Please take one! Happy Halloween!”

  Stick Dog reached in and grabbed a lollipop with his mouth.

  He then turned to the others. “Okay, everybody. Take one,” he said. “We’re heading back to my pipe for this dessert. I’ll lead the way.”

  It seemed like a shorter trip than usual. Maybe it was because the cool night air felt good when they breathed it into their lungs. Maybe it was the satisfaction of having those delicious caramel-covered apples in their stomachs. Maybe it was the anticipation of a delicious treat when they got back. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because they were all together—happy and safe.

  Sti
ck Dog climbed into his pipe first. Right behind him were Stripes, Karen, and Mutt.

  Poo-Poo was not in sight.

  Stick Dog leaned out of his pipe and cocked his head to listen. He could hear the padding of four paws coming closer and closer through the forest. It was Poo-Poo’s footfall pattern. Stick Dog would know it anywhere.

  He and Stripes, Mutt and Karen began to tear the wrappings off their candy desserts.

  “I wonder why Poo-Poo is so far behind?” Karen asked as she bit through the wrapper of a Sweet Tart candy.

  “He probably found a tree to his liking,” Stripes offered as a reason.

  This made perfectly good sense to the others, and they continued to gnaw, bite, and lick at their desserts. It was another couple of minutes before Poo-Poo entered through the big circular opening of Stick Dog’s pipe.

  Clenched in his mouth was the humongous bucket of candy from the front porch of the last brick house.

  “Poo-Poo!” Stick Dog exclaimed.

  “What?” he asked, and put the bucket down on the floor of the pipe. He stretched his mouth open wide and shifted his jaw left and right. He was sore from clenching and carrying the heavy bucket all the way to the pipe.

  “I said to only take one,” Stick Dog said, and shook his head. He had just gotten the wrapper completely removed from his lollipop.

  “I did take one,” Poo-Poo answered after his mouth felt better. “I took one bucket. I’m going to share. Just like we always do.”

  Stick Dog didn’t respond, but he did take the first lick of his yellow lollipop. It was the finest, sweetest thing he could ever remember tasting. It was lemon. He paused after that first lick and looked at the bucket sitting in front of Poo-Poo. It was completely, totally, absolutely full of candy. He could see plenty of lollipops—lots of them lemon—in that bucket.

  “Well, that’s true. That is what I said,” Stick Dog replied, and smiled. “Good job, Poo-Poo. Everybody, chow down.”