Stick Dog watched the female human return to the patio. She carried a large cellophane bag in her hand.
Stick Dog whispered, “That must be the chips.”
“What a massive disappointment,” Karen commented as she and the others peered out from the edge of the woods.
“What’s the matter, Karen?” asked Mutt. “Didn’t you like the guacamole?”
“No, that’s not it,” Karen replied, and licked some of the remaining green goop from her lips. “It was quite good. It’s just that I thought she might be coming back with barbecue potato chips. And those don’t look like barbecue potato chips at all.”
The mom had torn the bag open, set it down on the table, and pulled a couple of chips out.
“How do you know they’re not barbecue potato chips?” asked Stripes. “Maybe they are.”
“They’re not,” Karen said, and shook her head. “Barbecue potato chips are a different color. And they’re all different shapes and sizes too. They’re kind of circular. They have curves and bends and wrinkles. Oh, and sometimes they’re folded over on themselves. Those foldy ones are the best! The absolute best!”
“Are you sure they aren’t barbecue potato chips?” asked Poo-Poo.
“Positive. Those chips are triangles. And they’re thick,” Karen pointed out. She seemed disappointed. “And none of them are folded.”
Stick Dog focused on the chip in the big female’s hand. Karen was right: it was shaped like a triangle. And it did look thicker than the potato chips they had often found in the past.
The mom took two steps toward the bowl. She eyed the aluminum foil for a couple of seconds, then shrugged and started to remove it.
Panic coursed instantly through Stick Dog’s body. And questions raced through his mind.
Had she noticed something peculiar or out of place about the shiny sheet covering the bowl? Could she tell the foil had been removed and replaced? Would there be too much guacamole missing? Would she see paw prints in the guacamole itself? Would this be the end of their mission?
Stick Dog certainly hoped not. He wanted some more guacamole for his friends—and for himself.
And he wanted to find out more about the “tacos” that were mentioned earlier. He had never heard that word before—but it intrigued him. He was pretty sure tacos could be food too. He had been so focused on the guacamole and keeping his friends safe that Stick Dog hadn’t even examined the bag full of tacos.
He watched nervously as the big female human’s fingertips gripped the edge of the foil and lifted it from the bowl.
Stick Dog watched.
And waited.
And hoped.
The woman lifted the foil.
And then a voice came calling from the side of the house.
“Mom!” It was the smaller human boy’s voice.
The woman snapped her head around and toward the sound. As she did, she dipped one corner of that triangular chip blindly into the bowl and pulled it out with a great green clump of guacamole on it.
“What?” she called back. Then she shoved the loaded chip into her mouth.
“We can’t get the birdie out of the tree!”
After taking a few seconds to chew and swallow, the mom yelled, “Coming!”
She then pushed the foil back onto the bowl so quickly that she didn’t even notice how much guacamole was missing. And she certainly didn’t have time to see the strange paw-shaped indentations in the guacamole itself.
“I can’t believe it,” Stick Dog whispered as he watched the big female human leave again.
“Me neither,” said Poo-Poo. He seemed surprised by something too. “You can’t combine foods that way. It’s totally bizarre.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Stick Dog said. “I can’t believe we have another chance to—”
“Why’s it so bizarre?” Karen asked Poo-Poo, not realizing that she interrupted Stick Dog.
“Every food should be enjoyed on its own merits, that’s why,” Poo-Poo answered authoritatively. He had earned his reputation as the leading food critic in the group and was all too happy to share his opinions. “Combining the guacamole with that weird triangle chip just doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not, Poo-Poo?” asked Mutt.
“Guys, we should probably—” Stick Dog tried to interject, but Poo-Poo was already answering Mutt’s inquiry in a proud, loud, and absolute voice.
“Food is meant to be enjoyed one flavor at a time, that’s why not,” Poo-Poo declared.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Mutt said. He wasn’t totally convinced. “Sometimes, when I shake something from my fur to eat, more than one thing pops out. Just yesterday I was feeling a little snack-ish—you know just needed something to chew on for a bit. So, I shook. And out popped half a mitten and a plastic water bottle.”
“What happened then, Mutt?” asked Stripes.
“We’re running out of—” Stick Dog tried to interject again, but nobody paid any attention to him at all.
“Well,” Mutt continued, “I realized that the soft, chewy texture of the mitten and the hard, crunchy traits of the bottle combined nicely. I went back and forth between the two items quite often. It was sort of like this: Crunch-crunch-chew. Chew-chew-crunch. And sometimes, when I felt really adventurous, it was more like this: Crunch-chew-crunch or chew-crunch-chew. I found the experience both lovely and satisfying.”
“That makes total sense,” said Karen.
Stripes agreed.
But Poo-Poo did not. He didn’t like to have his role as food expert questioned.
“Textures are not flavors,” he insisted. “That’s like comparing apples and oranges.”
“I bet those are good together,” said Mutt, sticking to his point.
Stick Dog had been as patient as he could be. He stepped closer to his friends and raised his physical stature a bit. He lifted his shoulders a little higher.
“It’s a very interesting discussion,” he said as soon as he got the chance. “And I have a great way to investigate it further.”
“How’s that?” asked Poo-Poo.
“Let’s try those triangle chips and guacamole together ourselves. Let’s dip the chips just like the human did,” Stick Dog suggested quickly. He calculated that the mom had likely arrived to join the rest of her family by now. They were bound to get that birdie out of the tree soon. Stick Dog knew there wasn’t much time left. “If you like the combination of flavors, you can continue to eat both things together. If you don’t, you can eat them separately.”
This seemed to satisfy everybody.
And Stick Dog said just one thing.
One simple thing.
“Let’s go!”
