Kitabı oku: «Stick Dog»

Dedicated to Mary

(SDLMM)

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1: I Can’t Draw, Okay?

Chapter 2: Poo-Poo, Stripes, Karen + Mutt

Chapter 3: A Pleasant Aroma Is Detected

Chapter 4: An Acorn Drops in the Forest

Chapter 5: A Warrior-Human Attacks

Chapter 6: Karen Is Missing

Chapter 7: Bite, Drive, Dive, and Fly

Chapter 8: D-I-Z-T-R-A-K-S-H-U-N

Chapter 9: Spin, Howl, Bounce, and Thump

Chapter 10: Praise and Attention

Acknowledgments

Copyright

About the Publisher

This is Stick Dog.

He is not called Stick Dog because he likes sticks. Although, now that I think about it, he does like sticks. All dogs like sticks, don’t they? I mean, what kind of dog doesn’t like sticks? If I came across an animal that looked like a dog and I offered it a stick and it refused to take it, then I might conclude that it’s not a dog at all. Wouldn’t you?

I would think it’s a furry chair or something.

Anyway, Stick Dog is not called Stick Dog because he likes sticks. He’s called Stick Dog because I don’t know how to draw. I mean, I do know how to draw – I just don’t know how to draw very well. You know how to draw stick people, right? A circle for a head, add a couple of lines for arms and legs, and – SHAZAM! – you’ve got a stick person. I do the same thing for dogs. And that’s how our main character got his name.

So, this is Stick Dog.

When I showed this picture of a dog to my art teacher, she scrunched up her face. I don’t know about your art teacher, but when my art teacher scrunches up her face, it’s not a compliment.

Then she regained her composure, unscrunched her face, and said, “Dogs don’t have right angles, Tom.”

And I said, “Stick dogs do.”

Then she said, “But if you draw stick dogs, all your dog drawings will look the same.”

After she left my desk and walked over to congratulate Jack Krulewitch on drawing a far superior and lovely dog with lots of realistic curves, I decided to prove her wrong. I like proving people wrong. It comes naturally to me.

So these are some other drawings of dogs. As you can no doubt see, they do NOT all look the same. They do look slightly similar, but with certain distinct features to tell them apart from Stick Dog himself. There’s a Dalmatian, a poodle, and a dachshund.

There’s also a mutt. Now, I couldn’t figure out how to draw a mutt, which is a dog made up of many different breeds of dogs all mixed together. So he’s that wavy dude up there. Because, really, a mutt can be just about anything, right? Big, small, long fur, short fur, curly – whatever. So wavy lines in the fur mean mutt. Got it?

I’m glad you get it. My art teacher didn’t. When she came over to look at my drawings again, she scrunched up her face a second time.

She didn’t unscrunch it. And that’s just fine and dandy with me.

Okay, now before we start with the story, you and I need to agree on a few things.

First, you should know that it’s not just dogs that I can’t draw very well. I pretty much can’t draw anything very well. I can’t draw flowers, houses, candy bars, asparagus, donkeys, caterpillars, aeroplanes, elbows, or French fries very well either. In fact, my asparagus stalks look a lot like my French fries. You should get the idea just from this example.

So, the first thing we have to agree on is this: I can’t draw much of anything. Okay?

The second thing we have to agree on is: you’re not going to give me any trouble about my drawing abilities. For instance, you’re not allowed to say something like, “Dude, that drawing of a tree looks like a big thingy of broccoli.”

Actually, trees and broccoli look a lot alike when you really think about it.

But, anyway, you get the point: I admit to you that I can’t draw so well. And you promise that you won’t hassle me about it.

Next, we need to talk about something my English teacher and I don’t agree on. All of a sudden I’m realising I often disagree with many of my teachers. I’m just like that, I guess.

He likes to stand in front of class and say “Good writers follow good rules.” He has lots of rules when it comes to writing. There have to be introductions and conclusions to everything, for instance. Sentences need to have proper structure. He says telling funny stories is for the campfire, not the classroom. He says starting sentences with the word “And” is unacceptable. He says never use sounds for words.

And, umm, yeah, he says a lot of other stuff.

When it comes to my English teacher’s rules for writing, I’m reminded of a word my little sister made up when she found a worm in the yard: “barf-a-lucci.”

While I have a feeling I’m not going to get very good grades for my Stick Dog stories, that doesn’t matter when it comes to you and me and our agreement.

So the final thing we need to agree on is that this Stick Dog story (with the bad pictures that my art teacher doesn’t like) will also be told in a way that I like (but my English teacher doesn’t).

Good deal?

Excellent. Let’s move on.

This is going to be fun.

Stick Dog lives in the suburbs somewhere between Big City and the Forest. There are houses around, but there are also parks and playgrounds, swimming pools, streets, telephone poles, fire hydrants, and grassy lawns. He lives in a big, empty pipe that runs under Highway 16.

For as long as he can remember, this big pipe has been Stick Dog’s home. And for as long as he can remember, he’s always been alone. He’s never lived with any other dogs. He’s certainly never had a human family that he can remember.

This does not make Stick Dog sad at all. Maybe if he once had a human family or a brother or a sister and then suddenly found himself alone – well, then maybe he would feel sad living by himself in a big pipe out in the suburbs.

But he didn’t – so he doesn’t.

It is, after all, hard to miss something you’ve never had. For instance, I don’t miss waking up on the moon and going for a gravity-defying morning stroll. Why?

Because I’ve never done it. But I bet astronauts who have actually walked on the moon probably miss bouncing around from crater to crater all the time.

See what I mean?

Besides, Stick Dog isn’t really alone. He has some very good friends. We’ll meet them in a couple of minutes.

There’s no water in Stick Dog’s pipe. It’s nice and dry. And Stick Dog has decorated it with some of his favourite things. He sleeps on a comfy old couch cushion. He found it by a Dumpster behind a furniture store and dragged it home at night when nobody was watching. Stick Dog finds a lot of things this way.

Stick Dog also has a big assortment of things to chew on – mostly tennis balls and Frisbees that he’s brought home from Picasso Park.

All in all, his pipe is a pretty good place to live.

He can hear crickets and toads at night. And when the sky is clear, Stick Dog leans his head out of the end of his pipe and stares at the stars and the moon. On nights like that, lying there on his cushion with a Frisbee in his mouth, Stick Dog knows that he’s got it pretty darn good.

So, Stick Dog has a nice place to live. And he’s also got friends. Good friends. And what’s better than a good friend? Well, maybe a good friend who happens to have some Doggie Snack-a-Roos in his pocket is a little better, but that’s about it.

When I introduce Stick Dog’s four friends, I know what you are going to say. You’re going to say, “Hey. These four friends look remarkably similar to the four types of other dogs in the last chapter.” You’re absolutely right about that. But they’re the only kinds of dogs I can draw. And please remember our deal.

Stick Dog has four friends who stop by his empty pipe on a regular basis. There’s a poodle named Poo-Poo. Now, it’s important to know that Poo-Poo is not named after, you know, going to the bathroom. He’s named after his own name. Get it? POO-dle.

There’s also a Dalmatian named Stripes. Stripes likes to be a little oddballish. She’s covered in spots, but her name is Stripes. See what I mean? If she was, say, all black from nose to tail, then her name would probably be Snowball.

Stripes is the kind of dog who would look at a grey, rainy day and say something like “Let’s go on a picnic!” or “What a great day for a bike ride!” Of course, dogs don’t typically ride bikes – but you get what I mean.

Then there’s a dachshund. Her name is Karen. This is kind of a human name, but it’s her name, and there’s not much we can do about it. It’s kind of like if your uncle was named Snoopy. You wouldn’t call him Uncle Bob. You’d call him Uncle Snoopy.

Of course, if your buddies were around and you didn’t want them to know that your uncle’s name was Snoopy, you might just call him Uncle Man or Unc-Dude or Unc-a-Munc-a-Ding-Dong or something.

Anyway, this dachshund’s name is Karen.

There’s also a dog named Mutt. He’s a mutt. Enough said.