Free Hot Dog and Bob: Adventure 1 by L. Bob Rovetch Page A

I looked inside, the hot dog was still there.
    “Who are you?” I whispered. “How come you’re in my lunch box?”
    The strange little guy stood up on my pizza. “Hot Dog’s my name, fightin’ bad stuff’s my game!” he said, with his tiny little hot-dog hands on his tiny little hot-dog hips.
    “Ohhh-kaaay,” I said.
    “Whenever there’s big alien trouble on another planet, the Big Bun sends one of us superhero hot dogs from Dogzalot to help out,” he said proudly.
    “The Big Bun?” I laughed.

    “Hey, buster!” the little guy said, shaking his finger at me. “If the Big Bun says you got big trouble, then believe you me, you got big trouble!”
    “All right, I believe you! I believe you!” I said. “But how come you’re in
my
lunch box?”
    “Well, kid, it’s like this,” he said, sitting down on my bag of peanuts. “I kinda got this, well, this … what is it they call it again? Oh, yeah! This little, uh, memory problem.”

    “Memory problem?” I repeated.
    Hot Dog sighed. “Seems on my last mission I kind of bumped my head on Rocky the Rock Monster’s fists. Hey, how was I supposed to know the guy’s hands were made out of granite?”
    Hot Dog sighed again.
    “Anyway, the Big Bun says from now on I need backup,” Hot Dog explained. “She doesn’t trust me to handle the job alone. Says I gotta have a partner with a good memory. You know, just until mine gets back to normal.”
    “Um, excuse me, Mr. Hot Dog, sir,” I said. “Are you saying this, uh, Big Bun picked me to be your partner just because I have a good memory?”
    That was pretty hard for me to believe. You’d think if an alien ruler was going to pick a human to save the planet, she’d pick some extra special kid, like my buddy Marco. Marco won the spelling bee for our entire county. Plus, he’s the best skateboarder at Lugenheimer Elementary.
    But me? Well, I’m just Bob—pretty much your normal, average guy. Bob, who does fine in school, but doesn’t take home any awards. Who plays sports, but doesn’t score thewinning point. Who tries to be nice and stuff, but doesn’t
save the world
or anything! And now a superhero hot dog was saying I got picked to be his partner because I have a good memory? Talk about weird!
    But unless I was dreaming, weird or not, it was true!
    “Listen, kid,” Hot Dog said, leaning in close. “You don’t have to call me mister. Call me Hot Dog. After all, from now on it’s me and you stickin’ like glue. Partners till the very end!”
    “The very end of w-what?” I asked rather nervously.
    “The very end of my mission on your planet, of course,” said Hot Dog.
    “Oh!
That
very end!” I said. “So, er—what exactly
is
your mission on my planet?”
    Just then, the bell rang.

    I was dying to find out what Hot Dog’s mission was, but I’d have to wait. My teacher, Miss Lamphead, hated it when we were late. “Come on,” I said. “I gotta get to class. I can’t wait to show you to my friends.”
    “No sirree, Bob!” Hot Dog said, hiding under my pizza. “This mission is top secret. I’ll hide out here until the time is right.”

    “Right,” I said, making sure to leave my lunch box open a crack for air.
    I took a deep breath and walked down the hall, trying my best to look like someone who didn’t have a talking hot dog in his lunch box.

Chapter 3

The Big Cheese
    I made it to class just as the late bell rang.
    “Is everything all right, Bob?” Miss Lamphead asked nicely.
    “Yes, Miss Lamphead,” I said, sliding my lunch box under my desk.
    “Are you sure, dear?” she asked. “You don’t look very well.”
    “Maybe it was that little trip Bob took to the trash can!” Barfalot yelled out.
    “Ha, ha, that’s a good one!” Pigburt and Slugburt snorted. “‘Little trip to the trash can!’ Ha, ha!”
    “Please wait your turn to talk, boys,” Miss Lamphead said. “I’ll call on you just as soon as I can.”
    Miss Lamphead was always nice and thoughtful,