Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog

“It’s a bandit!” yelled Stripes.

“Shh!” said Stick Dog.

In rapid succession, the others guessed at the identity of the thing in the tree.

“It’s a burglar!” said Poo-Poo. “It’s wearing a mask!”

“It’s a masked madman!” Mutt guessed.

Then Karen said, “It’s an inchworm!”

At this, they all turned to their dachshund comrade.

“It’s not an inchworm, Karen,” sighed Poo-Poo. “It’s way too big. It’s black and white and grey, not green. And it’s wearing a mask – an evil mask of some sort.”

“No, not in the tree!” Karen giggled. “Here on the ground on this rock. I love these little guys. The way they move cracks me up. Look! Up and down, up and down, up and down. Just to go the tiniest distance. I mean, grow some legs, little fellah! You know what I mean?!”

Stick Dog stared at Karen only for a moment. She was certainly going to be occupied with that inchworm for a while. He turned to the others.

“It’s not a masked madman or a burglar or a bandit,” he said.

“What is it?” Mutt, Stripes, and Poo-Poo asked in unison.

Off to the side, Karen dropped her head lower towards the rock. The others could hear her. “Up and down, up and down.” She giggled. “You’re really moving now, little inchie!”

“It’s a raccoon,” Stick Dog answered. “And it has its eyes on those frankfurters just like we do.”

Poo-Poo was surprised. “I thought raccoons only came out at night.”