In the late afternoon, Stick Dog rested in his pipe under Highway 16. His eyelids hung halfway down. He was tired from an unsuccessful food search during the day.
He looked around at Mutt, Poo-Poo, and Stripes. They were on their bellies. Their eyes were closed.
Only Karen was missing.
But Stick Dog knew exactly where she was—and he was not concerned about her at all.
Karen was at Picasso Park. She had veered off as they all sulked back from behind the mall an hour ago. Karen craved barbecue potato chips—her favorite treat—and wanted to check for some at her lucky garbage can.
Stick Dog’s eyes drooped even farther. They were now just slits. He tried to stay awake to welcome Karen. He knew she would arrive soon.
But it was too difficult.
His eyes shut completely.
And Stick Dog fell instantly and deeply asleep.
But only for twenty-seven seconds.
That’s because after twenty-seven seconds, Karen sprinted into Stick Dog’s pipe—and Stick Dog heard her rapid approach.
She stopped the best she could, but her speed and momentum were too much. She slammed into Stick Dog’s side, waking him instantly from his twenty-seven-second slumber.
Stick Dog opened his eyes. Karen’s face was right in front of his.
She panted quickly. Her eyes stretched wide open.
Stick Dog smiled at Karen.
Karen smiled at Stick Dog.
She asked him, “Did you have a nice nap?”
“I did,” Stick Dog said kindly. There was no reason to tell Karen that he had been asleep for less than a minute. “Thank you for asking. What have you been up to?”
“Big stuff, Stick Dog, big stuff,” Karen said. “I made two super-important discoveries.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“Would you like to tell me about them?”
Karen nodded her head very quickly. She was eager to tell him.
What Stick Dog didn’t know at the time was that Karen’s two discoveries were two very different things.
One was amusing.
And the other was alarming.