“You don’t know that it’s food for sure,” Poo-Poo said.
“Yeah, Stick Dog,” Stripes added immediately after. “It might not be.”
“It could be anything else,” Mutt concurred.
Karen was too busy to join in the conversation. She had discovered an itch when she rubbed her belly on the ground, and it now demanded her full attention. It appeared to be super-difficult for her to get at the itch. As you know, she has really short legs, and this makes reaching things—even itches—frustrating for her.
“Of course it’s food,” Stick Dog said. “He’s taking bites of those things—whatever they are. And then he’s chewing. See his mouth shift around? See his jaw move up and down? And look: you can even see his neck bump in and out when he swallows. He’s eating. He’s eating food.”
“I think that first thing was a deflated ball, Stick Dog. The second thing is a small pink Frisbee. Not food,” Poo-Poo said, sounding doubtful. “Balls and Frisbees aren’t for eating. They’re for fetching.”
“I thought that first one was a ball too,” said Stick Dog. “But when—”
“Excuse me, Poo-Poo,” Mutt said before Stick Dog could finish. He rarely interrupted anyone, but this time he seemed to have a rather important point to make. “But I’ve eaten several balls and Frisbees myself. I’m kind of an expert on the subject.”
Stripes didn’t seem very convinced. “I don’t think that means they’re food, Mutt.”
“I don’t think those things are balls or Frisbees anyway,” Stick Dog interjected. “And that’s not really the issue here. We may have found a new food source. It’s certainly worth trying to figure out.”
But nobody paid him any attention. Stripes, Mutt, and Poo-Poo had become instantly obsessed with whether rubbery things like balls and Frisbees could be defined as food. And Karen had not satisfied her itch yet. She had moved a few feet to her left to find a rougher patch of ground with twigs and dry leaves. She hoped this new area would offer greater scratching capability.
“I know you eat plastic things and rubber things, Mutt,” Poo-Poo said. “I just don’t know if they qualify as food.”
“Some of them can be quite satisfying, let me tell you,” Mutt said quickly. “I’ve consumed a couple of Frisbees, for instance. I just start chewing on the edges, you know? I love chewing. It passes the time so wonderfully. It’s got a nice rhythm to it. You know what I mean?”
“Umm, sort of,” Stripes said. She’d never eaten any plastic or rubber objects herself. It didn’t seem like a very appetizing idea to her, but she didn’t want to be rude. “I guess.”
“Well, chewing just has such a soothing tempo to it,” Mutt continued to explain. “I sort of go into a trance. My eyelids get real heavy and sleepy. And then before I even know how much time has gone by, I look down, and there’s no more Frisbee or ball or whatever left. It’s disappeared! Because I ate it! That’s why I think balls and Frisbees can truly be called food.”
Stripes nodded. She seemed to have come around to Mutt’s way of thinking.
Stick Dog, meanwhile, continued to observe the big worker in the hard hat. The man had just finished eating the pink circle and closed the lid to the box. Most important, Stick Dog suspected there might be more of those edible objects in the box. And the box itself sat on the back bumper of the truck.
The man then lifted an enormous Styrofoam cup and removed its lid. The cup said “Dizzy’s Big GULP Coffee” on it. When he took the lid off, a cloud of steam escaped from inside the cup. The worker blew into the cup and took a long, slow sip.
His face showed great satisfaction after this—as if that drink was something he had waited for all morning. His lips tightened. He smiled a bit and nodded his head at the cup like he was saying thank you to it or something.
Stick Dog watched him carefully.
Karen scratched her belly.
But Poo-Poo, after considering Mutt’s argument, still was not convinced that rubber things were food. “I don’t think you can call something like a Frisbee food. Food has to have flavor. I think that’s really important.”
“Hey,” Mutt said. He seemed slightly taken aback. “I’ve had a couple of delicious Frisbees, Poo-Poo. It’s an acquired taste, I’ll grant you that. But they do have flavor.”
Poo-Poo said, “I just don’t think it’s food. It’s not food food. It’s just something you eat.”
Upon hearing this, Mutt defended his position. “No, no. If you eat it, it’s food. The eating part is the deciding factor.”
This made Stripes rejoin the conversation. “So when it’s a ball at Picasso Park, then it’s just a ball. But when you retrieve the ball and begin chewing on it, that’s when it becomes food? Is that what you’re saying?”
Mutt shook his head. “Not quite,” he explained. “I think during the delightful biting-and-chewing experience, it’s still a ball. Only when actual swallowing takes place does it become food.”
“So when the chewed-up piece of ball moves from your mouth to your stomach, it mutates into food?” asked Stripes.
“Something like that,” Mutt answered. He seemed to appreciate that Stripes was trying to understand. “I think it’s more like a transformation. It’s a little more magical—a little more mystical.”
Stripes seemed to buy into this concept. She nodded along as Mutt spoke.
Karen now stood up. She had scratched her belly itch away successfully. The dry twigs on the ground had helped.
Stick Dog watched as the man put the huge cup down. He reached into his toolbox again. He removed a large pair of pliers and an abnormally big pair of scissors.
“Okay, then,” Poo-Poo said. He wanted to make one last point. There was an air of confidence about him. He looked suddenly satisfied at coming up with a foolproof argument. “What about when you’re chewing and swallowing at the same time? Sometimes you’re swallowing one bunch of food while there’s still another bunch in your mouth. It can’t be a ball and food at the same time! That’s impossible. I think I’ve proven my point. So there!”
Mutt seemed surprised at this turn of the conversation. It was a good point—and he knew it. He was puzzled by it—but only for a few seconds. Then he simply said, “That’s the mystical part.”
This would have likely gone on for some time, but just then a sudden loud noise rang out.
CLANG!
The man had tossed a ball-peen hammer into his box.
This grabbed all of their attention at once—well, all of their attention except Stick Dog’s. He was already watching while the others debated the definition of “food” and Karen scratched her belly.
The man picked up his toolbox and climbed into the narrow compartment at the end of the long, mechanical crane. Using his fingers to manipulate the joystick and control the crane, he rose high in the air. When he got to the top of the telephone pole, the man stepped out of the basket and onto the platform.
Stick Dog couldn’t believe it.
They had been here for only a short while and had found food. More miraculously, the human eating the food had just left—and left the food behind. Stick Dog could see the box sitting on the back of the truck right next to the big Styrofoam cup.
Stick Dog stared up at the man at the top of the pole. His back was turned as he worked. He looked pretty busy. Stick Dog thought there was a pretty good chance the man would remain turned that way. And even if he did look around and discover them, by the time he came down with that long crane, the dogs would have plenty of time to escape into the forest.
“Come on!” Stick Dog whispered urgently. “Now’s our chance!”
“Chance to what?” Poo-Poo asked.
“Our chance to get some of those things the human was eating!”
“Oh, that,” said Poo-Poo. “Don’t you think we should first decide if they’re food or not? We’ve had quite a spirited discussion about the subject while you dillydallyed about with whatever you were doing. Shouldn’t we settle the debate first?”
“We can talk more about it later if you’d like,” Stick Dog said kindly. “Right now, let’s just go have a look. It looked like that human thought those things were really tasty.”
This was enough to get Poo-Poo and the others moving. They followed Stick Dog out from the edge of the woods—and carefully across the street to the truck. In just fourteen seconds, Stick Dog was up on his hind legs. He could reach the box easily. He folded the box flaps back. He read “Dizzy’s Donuts—A Baker’s Dozen in Every Box!” as he flipped the flaps open.
There were eleven more circular objects in the box. There were a couple of pink ones with speckles, some covered in white powder, and some light brown and dark brown circles as well. Some of them were shiny and some were not.
“There are a lot in here, but we’ll just take one for now. I don’t think he’ll notice if only one is missing,” Stick Dog whispered. He plucked a pink one out and held it carefully in his mouth.
Stick Dog pushed the box flaps closed with his nose and noticed a sticker that read, “2 for 1 special! Buy one box, get another free!” There was no time to think about what that meant. He wanted to get back to safety as fast as possible.
Stick Dog nodded toward the woods and ran that way. Mutt, Stripes, Poo-Poo, and Karen followed close behind.
Once they were well hidden among the apple trees and brush again, Stick Dog used his paws to tear the pink speckled circle into five roughly equal parts. He was careful to take the smallest portion for himself.
Poo-Poo finished his bite first and instantly declared, “That was no rubber ball! Or Frisbee.” He lifted his head in the air, closed his eyes, and moved his tongue around inside his mouth to both recapture and remember the flavors. Then he added, “It combines a sudden sugar rush with a light, airy texture. For being such a small thing, it’s packed with sweetness and power.”
“Just like me,” Karen said, and giggled.
Poo-Poo, who didn’t appreciate having his food descriptions interrupted, gave Karen a quick and curt glance, but she was already stepping away from the others for some reason. Maybe she had another itch.
“Like I was saying,” Poo-Poo continued. “This combination of sweetness and texture manages to both awaken my palate and satisfy—in a small way—my stomach. I don’t know what those things are, but I LOVE them!”
The other dogs all agreed. Well, Karen didn’t agree. She wasn’t there anymore.
“They’re called ‘donuts,’” Stick Dog said. He too savored the lingering flavor in his mouth. “It said so on the box.”
“‘Donuts,’ huh?” Poo-Poo said. He seemed to be testing out this word he had never heard before. “Well, I’m a big fan of these so-called ‘donuts.’”
“Me too!” said Mutt and Stripes simultaneously.
“Well, there are plenty more in the box. We just need to wait for the right time to go back and get them,” encouraged Stick Dog. Mutt, Stripes, and Poo-Poo gathered around him then. Their faces were eager and enthusiastic. They wanted more donuts, that was certain.
But something was wrong.
Someone was missing.
And it only took Stick Dog one-third of one second to notice. Quickly, he asked the others, “Where did Karen go?”
It didn’t take long to find her.
Stick Dog snapped his head around to look at the truck.
Karen was there. She had pulled herself up to the back bumper and was standing on it.
Stick Dog looked down at the ground, closed his eyes, and shook his head slowly back and forth. When he lifted his head to take another look, he could see Karen’s body—but not her head.
And he could see something else too.
The worker up on the platform was looking for something on his tool belt. He couldn’t seem to find whatever he needed. He climbed back into the basket and put his fingers on the joystick. He was coming down.
And headed right toward Karen.
