by Nancy Krulik
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Penguin Young Readers Group
An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Text copyright © 2016 by Nancy Krulik. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Sebastien Braun. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-0-399-54281-7
Version_1
For Ian and Mandy, native New Yorkers no matter where they may roam—NK
For Oscar—SB
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
Fun Facts about Sparky’s Adventures in New York City New York City
Central Park
American Museum of Natural History
The Rink at Rockefeller Center
Times Square
The Empire State Building
About the Author
About the Illustrator
CHAPTER 1
“Sparky, sit.”
I don’t know many two-leg words, but I do know that one. So I push my bottom down onto the cold snow.
“Good dog,” Josh says.
I smile. Those are two of my favorite two-leg words.
Josh lowers his paw. “Lie down.”
I drop down onto my belly.
Josh flips his paw over. “Roll over.”
I start to roll . . .
Plunk! Something hard lands on my head.
“Ow!” I bark.
Plink.
There’s another.
Plunk.
And another. Those hard things hurt.
I look up.
Two squirrels are sitting on a tree branch. They are staring down at me.
Hee, hee, hee. And laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I bark.
Plink. Plunk. Plink. Plunk.
The squirrels drop a whole bunch of hard round things on my head.
Hee, hee, hee.
“Stop throwing the hard round things!” I bark. “Stop laughing!”
Plink. Plunk. Plink.
“Ow!”
Grrr. The squirrels are all the way up in the tree. I could stop them if I could reach them. So I jump high. My paws claw at the tree.
“Sparky, DOWN!”
Suddenly, I hear Josh. I know what down means.
I stop jumping.
“Good dog,” Josh says.
Plink. Plunk.
“OW!” I bark.
I am so mad, I forget what Josh said. I jump up and scratch the tree again.
“Sparky. Stay!” Josh says.
I know what stay means. I stand very, very still.
The squirrels get quiet. I think they are staying, too.
Josh twirls his paw around in a circle. “Twirl,” he says.
I stand on my hind legs and turn in a circle. The squirrels don’t. They don’t know what twirl means.
Dogs are smarter than squirrels.
“Good dog.” Josh pets me on the head.
“You want to do more tricks, Josh?” I bark. I love doing tricks. They make Josh smile.
But Josh doesn’t want to do more tricks. He walks across the yard and opens the gate. I start to follow him.
“Sparky, stay!” Josh says.
I stay.
Now I can hear Josh’s big metal machine with the four round paws. At first the sound is loud. Then it gets softer and softer, until it sounds far away.
Josh is gone. I’m all alone.
Plink. Plunk.
“Ouch!”
Well, not all alone. Those squirrels are still in the tree.
“Come down!” I say. “Play fair!”
I think the squirrels might understand, because they slide down the tree!
Then they start to run.
The squirrels want to play chase!
“Ready or not, here I come!” I start to chase them through my snowy yard.
The squirrels are fast. They climb onto the top of my fence. Then they leap over to the other side.
I can’t get them there. Our game is over.
Now I’m really alone in my yard, with nothing to do.
Wait! There is something I can do. I can dig. I love digging.
I run over to where Josh’s flowers are when there isn’t snow in our yard. And I begin to dig.
Diggety, dig, dig. Lots of snow flies everywhere.
Diggety, dig, dig. The dirt under the snow flies all around, too. I am digging a really big hole.
Diggety, dig . . . WOW! What’s this?
I found something buried deep in the dirt. It’s a bone! A bright, sparkly, beautiful bone.
“Hello, bone!” I bark.
The bone doesn’t answer. Bones can’t bark.
Sniffety, sniff, sniff. The bone smells so meaty. I just have to take a bite.
Chomp.
Wiggle, waggle, whew. I feel dizzy—like my insides are spinning all around—but my outsides are standing still. Stars are twinkling in front of my eyes—even though it’s daytime! All around me I smell food—fried chicken, salmon, roast beef. But there isn’t any food in sight.
Kaboom! Kaboom! Kaboom!
CHAPTER 2
Where am I?
There’s snow on the ground. Just like at my house.
There are trees here. Lots of trees. But none of them are my tree.
There are also a lot of two-legs walking around. But none of them are my two-leg.
I’m not in my yard anymore. I’m somewhere else. How did I get here?
Then I remember the yummy, meaty bone in my mouth. It’s not just any bone. It’s a magic bone. And it kabooms me places!
The first time I took a bite of my magic bone, it took me all the way to London, England. London was fun—and yummy, yum, yum. You wouldn’t believe the snacks the two-legs there leave on the floor for dogs like me. Sausages, cheese, fish, and chips. That’s what the dogs in London call fries.
And then another time my bone took me to Zermatt, Switzerland. That place has a lot more snow than here. And hot, yummy cheese called fondue.
But Zermatt was scary. I got caught in a big snowstorm. I didn’t know if I would ever get back to my house again!
I want to make sure I can get back to my house today. So I have to hide my magic bone. I can’t risk another dog finding it. Because my magic bone doesn’t just kaboom me to faraway places. It kabooms me back home again, too.
I look around to see if there are any other dogs a
round, watching me. I don’t see any. Just two-legs.
That’s great. Because if a dog knew where my bone was, he might diggety, dig, dig it up. But two-legs don’t really like digging.
I will bury my bone right next to this giant water bowl. There’s a two-leg standing in the middle of the water bowl. At least I think it’s a two-leg. It has wings on its back.
I have never seen a two-leg with wings before.
The two-leg isn’t moving. I wonder if this two-leg is a statue two-leg. I know all about statues. I saw them when my magic bone kaboomed me to Rome.
I don’t have time to figure out if this two-leg is real or a statue. I have to bury my bone before another dog sees me with it.
Diggety, dig, dig. Diggety, dig, dig.
I am making a huge hole in the cold, hard dirt. Quickly, I drop my bone in the big hole. Then I pushity, push, push the dirt back over my bone. No one will find it now.
Chitter-chatter.
I look over and see two squirrels by a tree. They look just like the squirrels from my yard.
I wonder if my bone has kaboomed the squirrels from my yard to this place with me.
No. My magic bone only kabooms me. These must be different squirrels.
The squirrels start to run. They want to play chase.
“Ready or not, here I come,” I bark. I start to chase after those squirrels. I run and run. Until . . .
Sniffety, sniff, sniff. My nose smells something yummy.
Grumble, rumble. That’s my tummy talking. I know what it’s saying. It wants to taste what my nose smells.
So I stop chasing the squirrels. Instead, I follow my nose. The good-smelling stuff is over by those stairs.
Sniffety, sniff, sniff. I’m getting closer.
Yum! There it is. A yummy smelling—
“Yo! That’s my hot pretzel!”
I hear a dog yelling to me. I turn around to look at him.
Wiggle, waggle . . . uh-oh. That’s a big dog. He’s some sort of mixed-breed—with huge teeth.
“But it was just lying h-here,” I tell him nervously.
“I was watching a little two-leg try and eat it. I knew he’d drop it. And he did. I was on my way over to pick up the scraps when you showed up.”
“I’m s-sorry,” I tell the big, scary dog. “If you want the pretzel, you can have it.”
“We can share it,” he suggests. “There’s plenty to go around.”
Maybe this dog isn’t so scary after all! “Thanks!” I take a bite. “Yum!”
The mixed-breed takes a bite, too. “You’re new around here, huh?” he says.
“Yes,” I say. “I just got here.”
“Where ya from?” he asks.
“Josh’s house,” I answer.
“You lived in a house? That must have been a sweet deal. Why did you leave?”
I don’t want to tell him about my magic bone. So I just say, “I want to explore for a while. I’ll go home later.”
“You’re gonna explore the Big Apple, huh?” the mixed-breed says.
“The Big Apple?” I look around. I don’t see apples anywhere. “Why would a place be called a big apple if there aren’t any apples?”
“That’s just a nickname for New York City,” he explains. He looks me up and down. “I don’t know. You look a little too wimpy to hang out on these streets alone.”
“I’m not wimpy,” I say. Then I pause. “What does wimpy mean?”
The mixed-breed laughs. “Good thing you met me,” he says. “I’ve spent my whole life in New York City. I’ll show ya around. My name’s Barney. What’s yours?”
“Sparky.”
“Well, Sparky, the first thing you should know is that not everybody in New York City is nice like me. This is the greatest city in the world. But there are some mean characters on the streets. They don’t like to share their scraps—or anything.”
“Speaking of scraps,” I say. “Can I have the rest of that pretzel?”
“Sure,” Barney says. “I already ate a hot dog anyhow.”
Gulp. “You ate a dog?” I back away nervously.
The big dog laughs. “Not a dog like us,” he explains. “A hot dog. It’s like a skinny sausage. It doesn’t have fur or a tail or anything.”
Phew.
“There are a lot of hot-dog carts here in Central Park,” he tells me. “So if you want to try a real New York hot dog—”
Coo . . . coo . . . coo.
“Look out,” Barney says. “Here comes trouble.”
CHAPTER 3
Coo . . . coo . . . coo.
A whole flock of gray birds surrounds us. A few of them start pecking at the pretzel on the ground.
“Get away from that pretzel, you flying rats,” Barney barks angrily.
“Rats?” I ask. I don’t understand. “Do New York rats have wings?”
Barney laughs. “Nah. But rats are a pain in the neck, just like pigeons.”
I guess these gray birds are called pigeons.
“I said get away,” Barney growls to the pigeons. He bares his big teeth. “And I meant it.”
The birds stop pecking at the pretzel. They fly away.
Wow. Barney is one tough dog!
“That was awesome,” I tell him. I start to take a bite of the pretzel.
Coo . . . coo . . . COOOOOO.
Uh-oh. The pigeons are back. And now there are more of them. Lots more.
“Looks like they brought a whole pigeon army,” Barney grumbles as he starts to walk away. “No point arguing with the Ferocious Flyers over a pretzel scrap.”
“Ferocious Flyers?” I ask.
“That’s just what I call those pigeons,” Barney says. “They’ll do anything to get what they want. Squawk at you. Peck at you. Or worse.”
“Worse?” I repeat nervously.
“Anyway, come on,” Barney says. “I know a great place to get scraps.”
Wiggle, waggle, whoopee! I love scraps!
“Is it fun living in a house?” Barney asks me as we walk out of the park.
“Sure. Josh plays with me. And feeds me. And pets me.” I stop for a minute. “Did you ever live in a house?”
“Nah,” Barney says. “I’m a street dog. I don’t want to live in a house. I have a bigger dream. I want to be an actor on Broadway.”
“A what on where?” I ask him.
“I want to act,” Barney says. “In a Broadway theater.”
I still have no idea what he’s talking about.
“I want to do tricks in front of two-legs every night,” Barney explains. “That’s what Broadway show dogs do.”
“Is it fun?” I ask.
“Oh yeah,” Barney says. “I know this dog, Sandy, who acts in a show. He makes hundreds of two-legs happy every night. He’s got a warm bed and lots of yummy snacks, too. That’s how they treat stars in New York.”
Now I understand why Barney wants to act. I love making Josh happy. And I love eating treats in bed.
Barney stops. “Here’s one of those hot dogs I was telling you about,” he says. “This one’s still wrapped in its bun!”
Sniffety, sniff, sniff. That smells good. I open my mouth to take a bite and . . . OUCH!
I feel something peck me on the rear end.
The Ferocious Flyers are back. Now they want our hot dog.
Suddenly I feel something wet and gooey drop on my back. I turn my head as far as I can, but I can’t see what it is.
“What’s on my back?” I ask Barney.
“I told you pigeons fight dirty,” Barney says. “One of them just pooped on you.”
“That is dirty,” I say. I flip over on the sidewalk and try to scratch off the bird poop.
“One of them got me, too,” Barney says. “I need to go somewhere they can�
��t go for a while.”
“How are you going to do that?” I ask. “There are pigeons everywhere.”
“Pigeons aren’t allowed in any building in New York City,” Barney says. “So I’m going in there.” He uses his snout to point to a building straight ahead.
Barney starts climbing a big flight of stairs.
I don’t want to be left alone with dirty-fighting birds.
“Wait up!” I shout to Barney. “I’m right behind you!”
CHAPTER 4
Barney zooms through an open door. He zigzags between a big crowd of two-legs who are all going through the door at once.
I follow right behind him. Zig. Zag.
There are lots of two-legs inside here. But they don’t notice me. That’s because they’re all looking up.
I wonder what they’re looking at.
I look up, too. Wiggle, waggle, wow! Those are the biggest bones I’ve ever seen!
“I’d like to take one of those home,” I tell Barney.
Barney shakes his head. “You can’t swipe a dinosaur bone,” he says. “Those bones belong to the Museum of Natural History. If you took one, you’d be as bad as those Ferocious Flyers that are always stealing my scraps.”
I didn’t think of it like that.
“Uh-oh,” Barney says suddenly.
“The Ferocious Flyers followed us?” I look around.
“Worse,” Barney says. “It’s the museum guards. We were able to sneak in with that crowd. But now they’ve spotted us.”
“So what?” I say. “We’re not pigeons. We can be inside here.”
“Not exactly,” Barney says slowly.
Uh-oh.
“You lied to me?” I ask.
“No,” Barney says. “Pigeons aren’t allowed inside anywhere. Dogs are allowed in some buildings. Just not this one.”
The museum guards are getting closer. They look mad enough to throw Barney and me in a pound. If they can catch us.
“Let’s make a run for it,” I suggest.
“We can’t,” Barney says. “There’s a guard at the door. And look at all these two-legs. Any one of them could catch us.”
