With his nose raised slightly in the air, Poo-Poo led the way to the house emitting the strongest and most delicious aroma. Scampering along as low as they could, Stick Dog, Mutt, Karen, and Stripes followed him.
It was a small, red brick home with white shutters and two oak trees in the front yard. The trees had lost only a few of their leaves. The dogs settled in behind the trunk of the biggest tree.
As Stick Dog surveyed their surroundings and eyeballed the house, the others recovered a bit from their long run through the forest.
“Look at that color,” Mutt said as he stared up at the big oak’s branches and leaves.
“What color?” asked Karen, lifting her head to see where Mutt was looking.
“The color of the tree leaves,” Mutt answered. There was great sensitivity in his voice. He almost sighed as he spoke. “It’s a combination of colors, I think. Not quite orange. But not quite yellow either. Sort of golden, but not completely.”
A quiet autumn wind blew through the yard then, rustling the leaves a bit.
Mutt took a gasp of air as the leaves began to move. When they did, the last sunshine of the day darted in and out of the leaves, creating skinny streams of light that flashed and then disappeared through the tree. “Look at that,” Mutt whispered. “Just amazing. It’s like the light and the leaves are dancing. And when that unknown color is combined with the sunlight, it’s almost magical.”
Karen listened to all of this and looked up at the leaves and the streams of light. “I think I know, Mutt,” she said matter-of-factly.
Mutt was still and quiet; his head remained pointed up toward the furthermost reaches of the oak tree. After a moment, he whispered, “Know what?”
“I think I know what that color is,” Karen said. She was not whispering. “I’ve seen it before.”
“Tell me,” sighed Mutt. “Tell me where you’ve seen it before.”
“Cheetos,” answered Karen. “Crunchy Cheetos. That’s the color, all right.”
Mutt dropped his head. “Cheetos?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Karen said. “Crunchy Cheetos. I just found a few at my favorite garbage can at Picasso Park a couple of days ago. That color up in the tree? It’s Cheetos. Crunchy Cheetos.”
“You’re seriously comparing this moment and this color to a snack?”
“It’s not just any snack, Mutt,” said Karen, beginning to defend her position. “It’s Crunchy Cheetos. They’re both colorful and delicious.”
Mutt lowered his eyes and looked at the ground. He began to shake his head slowly back and forth.
Karen wanted to make sure that Mutt understood. She said, “Now, I’m not talking about the puffy kind. Those are not quite as delicious and not quite as colorful. I’m talking about the crispy ones with the wrinkles.”
Mutt lifted his head.
When he did, Karen decided a little physical explanation might help him understand. She brought her front left paw to her mouth and pretended to hold a Crunchy Cheeto. Then she chomped her teeth together several times, demonstrating the crunchiness of the imaginary Cheeto. Next, Karen looked up into the tree and pointed toward the rustling leaves and sunlight, and then chomped some more and pointed at her mouth. Finally, she said, “Get it?”
Mutt simply nodded and glanced back toward the top of the tree. The wind had settled now, the sun had set, and the leaves looked more brown than anything.
It was just then that Stick Dog said, “Let’s see if we can get a peek into that open window. That must be where the smell is coming from. It’s probably the kitchen.”
“Maybe they have some Crunchy Cheetos in there,” Karen said. “All of a sudden, I’m really in the mood for Crunchy Cheetos.”
“Umm, maybe,” Stick Dog said as he looked at the open window. “That’s kind of a tall windowsill. See the one with the flowerpot on it? Stripes, I think you’re the tallest on your hind legs. Can you run over there and prop yourself up on the window to try to see inside? Just be careful not to knock over that flowerpot.”
Stripes nodded and stretched her front and back legs a bit, readying to sprint across the lawn.
“Ahem,” said Karen in a low voice.
Stick Dog turned to her. “What is it, Karen?”
Karen did not answer. She simply looked at the scattered oak leaves on the ground as her tail drooped.
“Come on,” said Stick Dog. “I can tell something is bothering you.”
“It’s just I never get considered for the ‘big dog’ parts of our plans,” she said quietly, tail still drooping. “I’m tired of being disappointed all the time. Maybe you four giants could give me a chance at one of the big dog jobs, that’s all.”
Stick Dog came a step closer.
“We all have a role to play in our quests for delicious treats and scraps, Karen,” Stick Dog said. “No one’s job is more or less important.”
She nodded a little but didn’t seem very convinced.
“Look,” Stick Dog said, “think back to that day when we retrieved all those frankfurters from that cart.”
Poo-Poo, Stripes, and Mutt all nodded and remembered that glorious day fondly. Even Karen seemed to perk up a little.
“That was a great day, wasn’t it?” asked Stick Dog.
“And a great meal,” added Mutt, trying to help.
Karen nodded again.
“Well, you’re the one who got trapped in the laundry basket. Remember?” Stick Dog asked. “None of us are small enough to get inside a basket like that.”
“Maybe so,” said Karen, a little more loudly.
“And none of us could have jumped out of a second-story window after they got trapped inside the house, right?” Stick Dog asked. “We would have all broken our legs. Not you though. You were able to jump right out so we could catch you and everything. If I remember correctly, you were like a beautiful, majestic bird flying out of that window and landing so gracefully right in the middle of that sheet.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Karen said. Stick Dog noticed that her tail had risen a good bit.
“And when we all got stacked up behind that sheet, who was on top?”
Karen smiled. “I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do,” Stick Dog said. “Who was it? Was it Mutt the giant? Was it Poo-Poo the huge beast? Was it Stripes the enormous? Was it big, old, fatty-fat me?”
Now Karen’s tail was wagging. “No,” she laughed.
“Who was it?” Stick Dog asked a final time.
“It was me,” Karen said. Her tail was wagging like mad now and slapped Poo-Poo in the knee three times every second.
“Now, come on,” Stick Dog said with both joy and a smidgen of authority in his voice. “Let’s do this thing. Stripes, let’s see what we’re up against. Go for it.”
With that, Stripes was off. She dashed from behind the tree, across the lawn, and came skidding up to the window. The grass was a little wet and slick and Stripes slid past the window and smashed into a row of hedges.
She untangled herself quickly, regained her balance, and stretched her forepaws up to the windowsill to look inside. When she did, she bashed her head into the little flowerpot and it came crashing to the ground. She dropped instantly back down and sprinted back. Stripes ran as fast as anyone had ever seen. She had a look of pure terror on her face. Her eyes bulged, her lips were drawn back, and her head seemed to be vibrating—almost shaking—as she ran back toward the oak tree.
You would think, perhaps, that she ran so fast because she had been seen by a human. Or maybe because the flowerpot made such a big noise. Or maybe she ran because a human was coming to investigate the sound.
None of those reasons was true.