In less than two minutes, the dogs crossed the field, climbed the hill, entered the gazebo, and hopped up onto the buffet table to begin gorging themselves on all the food.
As his friends ate, Stick Dog crossed the gazebo floor, weaving among the cloth-covered picnic tables until he reached the opposite side. Stealthily, he looked down the hill. All the humans were there. Even Stick Cat and his gray friend were there. They were all mesmerized by the spectacular fireworks show. Their heads were tilted skyward in anticipation of the next colorful explosion.
Stick Dog felt certain about one thing: as long as the fireworks continued, no human would come back. He hustled back to his friends, hopped up onto the table, and felt his heart warm with pleasure. Mutt, Karen, Stripes, and Poo-Poo were chowing down.
Karen’s face was buried in one side of a long, deep, silver tray of mashed potatoes. Mutt had found the potatoes too. He had just taken two seconds to lift his head out of the white heap of food. Melted butter dripped from his whiskers. He inhaled—and plunged his head back into the potatoes.
Poo-Poo and Stripes sat back and held barbecue ribs up between their front paws and gnawed tender meat off the bones.
Stick Dog saw a big tray full of leaves, tomatoes, and other natural things. He and his friends had foraged for similar items before. He saw dinner rolls that looked—and smelled—similar to the hamburger and hot dog buns they had often found. But it was the barbecue ribs and mashed potatoes that his friends had rightfully zeroed in on.
And Stick Dog joined them.
He went to the potatoes first. But after several delicious bites and gulps, Stick Dog stopped eating.
So did Mutt, Karen, and Stripes.
That’s because Poo-Poo had something to say.
Before he spoke, however, another giant Boom! came from the sky, and Karen screamed, “What the HECK was that?!”
“The fireworks,” answered Stick Dog. “We’re going to keep hearing those big noises for a while, I think.”
“You’re sure that’s what it is?”
“I’m sure.”
“Not a cannon? Or a thunderstorm?!”
“I’m sure.”
“It’s not the end of the world as we know it?” Karen asked urgently as her eyelashes fluttered nervously. She wanted to be certain. “Everything’s going to be okay? You’re fine with all this booming everywhere around us?”
“It’s not the end of the world as we know it,” Stick Dog answered calmly. “And I feel fine.”
Karen seemed satisfied with Stick Dog’s response, nodded, and then turned to Poo-Poo.
She and the others knew his refined and sophisticated description of newfound food was not to be missed.
“This unassuming, curved, sticklike object is a delightful surprise,” Poo-Poo began. A drop of barbecue sauce dripped from his chin. He held a single rib up in the air and turned it, eyeing it closely. “There’s definitely meat here. It’s tender and warm, and it’s a great pleasure to pull and tear at it. It provides awesome gnawing satisfaction. But it’s the brown sauce that makes the dish. It’s truly spectacular, leaving a sweet, tangy, tingly, slightly spicy finish on the back of my palate.”
“What is it, Poo-Poo?” asked Karen.
“It’s familiar—very familiar,” Poo-Poo answered, and licked his lips for additional evidence. “I get hints of brown sugar, pepper, and paprika. I taste tomato, vinegar, and Worcestershire sauce too. They all combine to make a thick, aromatic, scrumptious—and familiar—taste sensation.”
Poo-Poo snapped his head down just then. “I know what this flavor is!”
“What is it?” asked Stripes.
“It tastes like Karen’s favorite potato chips.”
Karen squealed. “It tastes like barbecue potato chips! Are you kidding me?! But with meat?! Barbecue and meat together?!”
Poo-Poo nodded.
“This might be,” Karen said, and paused. It was difficult to tell for sure—what with the lighting in the gazebo and all—but it looked as if tears welled up in little Karen’s eyes just then. “This might be the greatest day since January sixteenth.”
“The one day when you caught your tail?” Stick Dog asked.
Karen nodded and wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her left front paw.
Then she pushed off the table with her mighty dachshund leg muscles and soared through the air. She landed right next to the tray of ribs—and plunged her head into the sweet, tangy barbecue sauce.
While she did that, Poo-Poo returned to his description.
“There’s more,” Poo-Poo teased. “There’s one thing more.”
Stick Dog turned his head to ensure the fireworks show was still happening. It was. He then asked, “What is it, Poo-Poo?”
“After you tear the meat off and lick all the sauce, there’s a tantalizing final treat. A great finishing tribute to the dish.”
“What is it?” asked Stripes.
Poo-Poo paused four seconds and then whispered, “A bone.”
“A bone?” Stripes asked. You could tell she didn’t quite know what to make of this new information.
Stick Dog tried to help. He said, “Dogs love bones.”
“I see,” Stripes said, but she didn’t seem to comprehend the relevance just yet. She didn’t quite make the connection.
Stick Dog helped some more. He added, “And you’re a dog.”
“That’s right. I am,” Stripes said slowly. After a few seconds, her head gave a slight jerk. Her body trembled. She got it now. “I’ll love bones!”
Stick Dog nodded, and Stripes grabbed a rib and licked and gnawed at it with terrific enthusiasm. You could tell she was anxious to get to the bone part of this newfangled food.
There were plenty of things on the long buffet tables, including mashed potatoes, salad, and soft bread rolls. But after Poo-Poo’s excellent—and savory—description, barbecue ribs were the only food items on any of their minds. Even Stick Dog, after peering into the sky to guarantee the fireworks show continued, took a spot along the massive tray of ribs and snatched one to enjoy with his friends.
For several minutes, the red, yellow, white, and blue fireworks exploded in the black sky in dazzling showers of bright, sizzling light.
And for several minutes, each dog devoured a rib.
And another rib.
And another rib.
And another, and another, and another.
Only one snippet of conversation interrupted their feast.
“We’re totally safe, right, Stick Dog?” asked Stripes after her third rib. She didn’t seem frightened or concerned at all. It was more like she wanted to have as much time as possible with those barbecue ribs.
“It’s fine,” Stick Dog assured. He had been glancing up at the sky and listening for the whistling sound of soaring firework rockets. “As long as the fireworks are happening, no humans will see us.”
Stripes smiled and shoved her head into the tray to grab another rib.
And Stick Dog was absolutely right.
No human would see them.
But somebody else would.