Stick Dog watched as the big man used his hands on a joystick inside the narrow basket at the end of the crane. A motor whirred to life. Stick Dog couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the man controlled the speed and direction of his descent with the joystick.
When Karen saw the man come down, she instantly began to scan the ground for pizza, frankfurters, and other human food.
She didn’t see any—much to her own surprise.
Stick Dog saw the disappointment on her face. “He’s probably coming down for something else,” he said to Karen. “Maybe he’ll swoop for food later.”
This made Karen feel better.
The huge mechanical arm reached the ground, and the man stepped out of the basket. He came to the back of the truck where the dogs could easily see him.
The man opened a large, metal toolbox, tossed in a heavy screwdriver, and let the lid slam shut. It sounded like this: Bash-Clang!
“That’s the sound we heard,” Stripes said.
Stick Dog nodded.
“Now that we’ve identified the sound, Stick Dog, can we please go on a food search?” asked Mutt.
“Yeah, Stick Dog!” Karen chimed in. So did Poo-Poo and Stripes.
Stick Dog listened to his friends’ request while he watched the man at the back of his truck. Now that he had put some tools away, the man did something else.
“Stick Dog?” asked Mutt.
“Just a minute, please,” Stick Dog replied. He was disappointed that their investigation had not turned into a longer adventure—a better distraction—for his friends. He had wanted to take their minds off food—well, their lack of food—for a while. Instead, Karen’s misguided and ridiculous theory that the man would swoop down from the telephone pole and snatch nonexistent hamburgers, pizza, frankfurters, and ice cream from the ground had actually done the opposite thing: they were thinking about food even more than before. They were hungrier than ever.
“Can we go now?” Karen asked.
“Shh.” He knew they were starving. But there was a reason why he wanted to observe this man at the back of his truck a little longer. Stick Dog’s instincts were kicking in.
“Are you even listening to us?” Stripes asked.
“Shh,” Stick Dog requested again politely. Then the man reached his hand into a box and pulled out a light-brown ball. It didn’t appear to be a tool. It was round and sort of flat. It fit perfectly into his hand. The man didn’t bounce it or toss it up in the air as Stick Dog suspected he would. He did something totally surprising.
The man took that ball and brought it to his mouth.
Stick Dog couldn’t believe his eyes. He stared at the man as he chewed and swallowed that first bite. He had a very happy and satisfied look on his face. His mouth was turned up in a small grin, his eyelids drooped a little, and he nodded his head.
The man at the truck took a second bite. When he did, Stick Dog saw that the ball had a red liquid center. It was very peculiar, and Stick Dog took a sniff of the air in the man’s direction. Oddly, Stick Dog picked up the scent of strawberries even though he knew they were out of season. They’d picked their last wild strawberry more than a month ago.
Some of that red juice—it actually looked thicker than juice—was on the man’s lower lip. Stick Dog watched as he used his index finger to wipe it off. Then the man licked his finger, smiled, and finished eating the thing.
Stick Dog stopped watching when Poo-Poo spoke.
“Let’s go already!” Poo-Poo insisted. “We need to find food!”
Stick Dog turned to his friends and smiled. He looked at each of them one at a time, meeting their eyes with a determined gaze. All he said was, “We already have.”
Poo-Poo asked, “Where?”
“There,” Stick Dog said, and pointed toward the man.
The man took a jacket that hung from a corner of the truck and tossed it into the back. The sun was bright and warm and Stick Dog figured the man wouldn’t need it. As it fell, the jacket captured some air under it like a parachute and fluttered down softly to its landing. Then the man stretched his arms over his head and gave his shoulders a quick shake.
“He’s not eating, Stick Dog. There’s no food,” Poo-Poo said. “I think he’s dancing. He’s not a very good dancer. I mean, that guy’s got no moves at all.”
“He’s waking up,” Stick Dog answered, and watched some more. “And you’re right. He’s not eating just this second. But watch.”
As if on Stick Dog’s cue, the man reached into the box and took out a second object. This one was totally different from the first. It didn’t have a red liquid center. In fact, it didn’t have a center at all. Stick Dog was very curious about it. It was covered in pink paint or goo or something. It had small colored specks all over it too. It looked, Stick Dog now realized, like a much smaller version of the huge truck tire thing that spun around on the roof of that building down the road.
The worker opened his mouth and took a huge bite of it, licking some of the pink stuff from his lips.
“That’s definitely food!” whispered Stick Dog.
