A car horn honked from the front of the house.
And Stick Dog heard what the mom said next.
“That must be the taco man from Las Asadas,” she said loudly. “I’ll be right back.”
“Shoot,” Stick Dog said. There was disappointment in his voice.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mutt.
“The big female human is coming back,” Stick Dog said, and turned around to race back to the safety and cover of the forest. “We have to leave! Now!”
By the time all the dogs dove and tumbled into the woods, the mom had bought and paid for a big sack of tacos from the delivery man.
Stick Dog stared at the back door as he crouched behind the branches and brambles of a blackberry bush. And in just a moment, the mom came out holding that sack. She placed it on the picnic table next to the guacamole bowl.
“Sorry, you guys. I don’t think we can get that guacamole,” Stick Dog said. “I think they’re going to be eating soon.”
“What’s guacamole again?” asked Karen. She, Mutt, Stripes, and Poo-Poo all watched from beneath a huge pine tree. It was shady and cool there. Several big brown pinecones were scattered about on the ground.
“It’s in the bowl with the shiny silver covering,” answered Stick Dog. He pointed toward the picnic table. “It’s green—”
He was interrupted by Stripes.
“It’s made out of cooked green birds,” she reminded Karen wrongly. “Remember?”
“Oh, right.”
Stick Dog decided not to correct Stripes and instead turned back toward the patio. The mom did just what the dad did earlier. She lifted the edge of the aluminum foil, dipped her forefinger into the bowl, and licked a big dollop of guacamole from it. She kept looking toward the corner of the house to ensure that nobody from her family was coming. She dipped her finger a second and third time—and with each lick she smiled a satisfied smile.
“That’s what guacamole is,” Stick Dog said. “She’s eating some right now.”
“She likes it,” observed Poo-Poo. “She really likes it.”
“What’s she doing now, Stick Dog?” asked Mutt.
“I don’t know. Let’s watch.”
The woman moved away from the guacamole bowl and began searching for something else on the table.
“The chips. Where are the chips?” the mom asked, and snapped her fingers. Then she called out loudly enough for the rest of her family to hear. “Did you guys remember to pick up tortilla chips at the store?”
The dad answered from around the corner of the house. “Yes,” he called. “They’re in one of the bags in the kitchen.”
“Okay. I’ll get them,” the mom answered.
“Any luck getting the birdie out of the tree?”
“Still working on it!”
The mom nodded and smiled. She went back inside the house.
“Are you kidding me?” Stick Dog said.
“What?” asked Poo-Poo.
“She’s leaving. I can’t believe it,” he answered. Stick Dog was genuinely surprised. “The big female went inside again. The rest of the family is trying to get that birdie out of the tree. They’re all gone!”
“What’s so great about that?” asked Stripes.
“They’re all gone!” repeated Stick Dog.
“What’s your point?” asked Mutt.
Stick Dog pointed to the patio where there were, you know, no humans at all. He said, “Gone!”
Poo-Poo said, “You need to explain yourself more clearly, Stick Dog.”
“Yeah,” Karen added. “We can’t read your mind, you know.”
“Umm,” said Stick Dog slowly. Then he picked up the pace of his speech a lot. Stick Dog knew the mom would likely only be inside for a moment or two. It didn’t take long to retrieve a bag of chips, after all. But Stick Dog also knew this: he and his friends were fast. They could run fast—and they could eat even faster. He thought there might be—there just might be—enough time to get that guacamole. But they needed to get moving. Right now. He said, “It means we can go get that guacamole and not get caught!”
“Why didn’t you just say so?” asked Poo-Poo as they hurtled out of the woods and sprinted across the backyard to the patio.
Stripes got there first. She was the fastest.
With her back legs on the bench, Stripes propped herself up to the table. She clenched a loose edge of the shiny aluminum foil and began to lift it from the bowl with her mouth.
But she paused.
She began to shiver. She held perfectly still—except for her own slight trembling. The aluminum foil rattled and clattered a bit.
“What’s wrong, Stripes?” Stick Dog asked quickly. He could tell she was startled—even frightened—by something.
“There’s a d-dog in the b-bowl.”
“What?”
“Th-th-there’s a d-dog in the b-bowl,” Stripes whispered. “It’s staring r-right up at m-me.”
Poo-Poo, Mutt, and Karen took two steps backward. The idea of a dog in that bowl was strange enough to scare them too.
Stick Dog knew what had happened. He asked, “Does the dog in that bowl look familiar, Stripes?”
She nodded.
“Does the dog in the bowl have white fur and awesome black spots?”
She nodded again.
“Have you ever seen that dog when you looked in a puddle or in a window?”
Stripes nodded a third time.
“It’s you, Stripes,” Stick Dog explained. “It’s your own reflection.”
Stripes smiled and observed herself for a few seconds, tilting her head slightly this way and that way as she did.
“My spots are truly magnificent, aren’t they?” she asked, and lifted the aluminum foil off the bowl and dropped it to the patio.
The bowl was full of thick, chunky, green guacamole.
There was no hesitation.
All five dogs dipped their paws into the bowl one time. And each of them got a great green clump of the food on their paw pads.
Stick Dog licked his paw quickly.
The guacamole was delicious.
Super-delicious.
“Get some more as fast as you can!” Stick Dog urged his companions. “We don’t have much time!”
With that message delivered, Stick Dog hurried to an open window at the back of the house, propped himself up on the sill, and peeked inside. The big female human was digging through grocery bags in the kitchen. She hadn’t found the chips yet.
Stick Dog knew they might have one more minute.
At the most.
As he raced to his friends, he could see Karen, Stripes, and Mutt turn to Poo-Poo. Stick Dog knew exactly what was happening. Whenever they discovered something new to eat, Poo-Poo provided an expert analysis.
“You’ll be happy to hear that this so-called ‘guacamole’ has no moles in it at all,” Poo-Poo began. His head was elevated slightly above the others. His eyelids were one-quarter closed. He spoke in a clear, authoritative tone. “And no green birds either. No parakeets or finches here. No, indeed. Rather, this chunky green goo seems to be entirely vegetable-based. I taste hints of onion and cilantro, but it’s the texture that truly defines the dish. There’s a creaminess here that pulls the whole thing together. It spreads evenly in my mouth and then lingers longer because of it. It’s this texture that really lifts this newfangled food from pedestrian sustenance to culinary delight.”
Mutt, Stripes, and Karen tilted their heads and stared at Poo-Poo then. They didn’t quite understand everything he had just said. The truth was they weren’t even sure if Poo-Poo himself understood what he had just said.
Karen asked, “You mean it tastes good?”
“It tastes great!” replied Poo-Poo. With that confirmation, all four dogs plunged their paws into the bowl for another helping.
Half the guacamole was gone when Stick Dog got back to his friends. He was just about to reach his paw in for a second taste.
But he never got it.
Right then he heard the big female human inside the house. Her voice carried out of the open kitchen window.
“There they are!” the mom exclaimed inside the house. “In the very last bag, of course.”
“She found the chips,” Stick Dog whispered to himself. And then to his friends, he said, “Back to the forest!”
