CHAPTER 12

TASTY SHOES

Stick Dog instantly forgot that plopping sound.

He knew it was all over. All their food adventures. All the good times with his buddies. Poo-Poo’s obsession with squirrels. Karen’s relentless tail chasing. Mutt’s shaking. Stripes’s crazy plans. All his friends’ crazy plans, for that matter.

Everything.

Done.

Karen licked some more.

The sound came from above again.

PLOP!

There was no way Karen’s shoe licking would go undetected. Five dogs were under the table. The door to the outside was barely open. Even if they made a run for it, they couldn’t all get out the door quickly—one or two of them might make it if they were lucky.

Karen licked some more.

Stick Dog couldn’t grab Karen. Or talk to her. He had to remain perfectly quiet—and perfectly still. Detection was certain if he made a sound or movement.

Karen stopped licking.

She scooted her little dachshund body to the left and began to lick the giant man’s other shoe. Mutt, Stripes, and Poo-Poo gawked at her. So did Stick Dog.

And Karen licked.

And licked some more.

After several seconds—which felt like several years to Stick Dog—Karen took her final lick and ducked her head back under the table.

PLOP!

Stick Dog couldn’t believe it.

How had Karen not been seen?

He thought about the huge human. The way he sounded. The way he walked. The size of him. The shape of him.

Size.

Shape.

Size and shape.

And Stick Dog figured it out. The man didn’t catch Karen because he never saw her. He couldn’t see past his own belly down to the floor.

Stick Dog closed his eyes. Absolute relief rushed over him. But it only lasted a few seconds.

Because right then the man called out, “Penelope! Order up! Table five!”

Stick Dog listened as the doors to the dining room swung open. He heard lighter, faster footsteps enter the kitchen.

“Table five, Chef?” she asked.

“That’s right,” he answered, and sighed. The chef sounded tired. “Last customers of the night.”

Stick Dog listened as Penelope picked up the final two plates.

“I’m going to get some fresh air for a few minutes,” the chef said. “We’ll clean up in a bit. It’s been a long night.”

“Okay,” Penelope said as the doors swung shut behind her.

The chef exited the door that led outside.

As soon as he did, Stick Dog emerged from beneath the table. He clenched the edge of the tablecloth in his mouth and pulled. By tugging firmly and consistently, Stick Dog moved the pots closer and closer—inch by inch—toward the table’s edge.

Mutt, Karen, Stripes, and Poo-Poo came out from under the table too.

“Stick Dog?” Karen asked after observing him for a few seconds. “Why are you eating the tablecloth?”

Stick Dog couldn’t answer because he was busy and because, you know, there was a wad of tablecloth in his mouth.

“He’s not eating the tablecloth, Karen,” Stripes said, and snickered. “He’s playing tug-of-war with it. Remember how he said he wanted to play tug-of-war so much?”

“That’s right. He did,” confirmed Poo-Poo.

Mutt decided to join the conversation then. “I think Karen’s right,” he said. “I think he’s eating the tablecloth too. Sometimes things made from cloth can be quite delectable.”

This thought seemed to remind Mutt of something. He gave a quick shake, and the red mitten fell from his fur. He started to chew on it.

“I still think he’s playing tug-of-war,” Poo-Poo said.

“But he’s not tugging against anyone,” Karen retorted. “To play tug-of-war, someone has to be on the other end.”

This was an excellent point, and Poo-Poo and Stripes seemed to acknowledge it. They pursed their lips and nodded their heads a bit.

“Maybe he’s confused,” Stripes suggested. She was unwilling to concede completely. “Stick Dog is always getting confused.”

Now, this debate might have gone on a while longer, but something happened right then.

Stick Dog unclenched himself from the tablecloth. He shifted his mouth left and right to loosen his jaw muscles.

“Stick Dog?” Karen said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Stick Dog said. He glanced at the swinging doors that led to the dining area. “But can you ask it quickly? We’re kind of in a hurry here.”

“Why are we in a hurry?”

“Umm, the humans are coming back soon,” Stick Dog answered. “We have to get the spaghetti as fast as we can.”

“The spaghetti!”

“Shh!” whispered Stick Dog.

“I forgot all about the spaghetti!” Karen exclaimed in a much softer voice.

“Me too!” Stripes and Poo-Poo said in unison.

Mutt tucked the red mitten back into his fur. He came closer to Stick Dog and asked, “How are we going to get to the spaghetti on top of the table, Stick Dog?”

“We don’t need to get to it,” answered Stick Dog. “It’s coming to us.”

Karen, Stripes, Mutt, and Poo-Poo tilted their heads in confusion. They stared at Stick Dog. Stripes asked the one question they all had on their minds.

“How?”

“Like this!” Stick Dog said, and smiled. He stretched up on his back paws, propped himself up at the table with his front paws, and gripped the handle of the first pot with his mouth. He could reach it now. With a gentle tug, it began to tilt. And with that tilting momentum and a little extra tug, it tipped over on its side. The rim overhung the edge of the table by a few inches.

A great mass of noodles fell to the floor.

While Mutt, Karen, Stripes, and Poo-Poo stared in shock at the pile of spaghetti, Stick Dog tipped the second pot in the same manner. In seconds, a giant puddle of red sauce accompanied the noodles on the floor.

Stick Dog said just one thing.

“Dig in!”

And they did.

Now, eating a pile of noodles—and a puddle of tomato sauce—off a kitchen floor may not sound too appetizing to you.

But that’s to you.

To the dogs, it was absolutely delicious.

They slurped at the noodles and lapped at the sauce. Even Stick Dog nudged his way into the crowd to take some bites. But he was still curious—very curious about that third pot. He began to reach up to tip it over like the first two. He had to know what was inside.

He stretched up toward the table.

And then he stopped.

Do you know why?

I’ll tell you.

He noticed that Karen was not getting her fair share of food down on the floor. She kept getting nudged out of the way by the others. It wasn’t mean-spirited or on purpose. Mutt, Stripes, and Poo-Poo were just too focused—and too hungry—to make room for her.

“Karen,” Stick Dog said.

“Yes?” she whispered in frustration.

“Hop up on my back,” Stick Dog said, and stooped down a little. He had fallen back to all fours paws again. The third pot would have to wait. “You’re perfectly proportioned for another job.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

“What job?”

Stick Dog nodded at the two tipped-over pots on the table. He could see there were still some remaining noodles and sauce in them. Their contents had not all fallen out.

“You have to finish off everything in the pots.”

Karen couldn’t see inside them like Stick Dog could. She was far too short. But she could understand what this job meant: a portion of spaghetti and sauce all to herself.

In less than one second, she hopped onto Stick Dog’s back. And she was up onto the table in even less time than that. She pushed herself into the noodle pot first.

The pile of noodles was rapidly disappearing from the floor—and so was the puddle of sauce. Stick Dog decided to get a few more slurps for himself while there was still some left.

For one full minute, the dogs ate loads of spaghetti and tomato sauce. They dipped the spaghetti into the sauce. They slurped and chewed and smiled as that delicious and hearty spaghetti filled their bellies. Karen exited the noodle pot and entered the sauce pot. She licked the inside clean and savored every bite—and every drop.

While Stick Dog ate, he remained constantly alert for anyone to come back into the kitchen.

Nobody did.

It worked out nicely that Karen stepped out of that second pot right when the others were almost finished licking the floor. She hopped down to Stick Dog’s back and then to the floor to join them.

While his friends got the last splotches of red sauce off the floor, Stick Dog propped himself up on the table like before and used his nose to push the pots back toward their original positions. It wasn’t hard—the pots were empty now.

He raced to the other side of the table and tugged on the cloth cover again until the pots were back in the center of the table.

He took one look at that third pot—one quick, hard, curious look.

And that’s when he heard footsteps—heavy footsteps—coming from outside. He heard pebbles scatter and scratch across the pavement.

The chef was returning.

“Under the table, now!” Stick Dog yelped as loudly as he thought he could without being detected. He ducked back under the table from his side, while Poo-Poo, Mutt, Karen, and Stripes ducked under from their side. He motioned for everyone to be still and quiet. He laid his head flat against the floor and peeked out at the door.

The chef came back into the kitchen. The door closed on the screw, but he didn’t seem to notice. It remained cracked open just a bit. The chef took two steps toward the table.

And stopped.

“Chef?” a voice called as the doors swung open.

“It’s Penguin Man!” Karen whispered.

“Shh!” said Stick Dog.

“Table three wants to give personal compliments to the chef,” Penguin Man said. “Can you come out?”

“Yes,” the chef answered. “I don’t mind waiting to start cleanup, that’s for sure.”

And with that, both humans left the kitchen.

Stick Dog couldn’t believe it. The coast was clear.

“Okay, guys. Out. Now!” Stick Dog said quietly but forcefully. He held the tablecloth up so the others wouldn’t snag themselves on it. Stripes and Mutt pushed the door open and exited. Karen and Poo-Poo followed.

Stick Dog took one look at that third pot. He considered investigating it but decided the risk was too great. He pivoted to head outside just when the door squeezed shut.

All the way shut.

The long screw that held the door open was gone.

Stick Dog was trapped.

And he heard human footsteps approaching.