Sock Boy and The Gliding Wiener

Chapter 1

Business meetings weren't usually considered fun, but at the same time, they weren't always business. Raccoons were notorious for scheduling non-business related meetings. Sitting around, conversing about ravioli or the perks of having hands. They're tricksters, collectors, treasurers, and can eat a cob of corn faster than a four-legged horse in a rainstorm. But as much as they hate to admit it, dogs have a sense of respect for any creature with hands. This was true for one labrador in particular.

You knew him as Linc, others called him Stinkin' Lincoln, Golden Boy, and Little Mama, but his owners called him Lincoln. A labrador with a coat of soft golden fur, eggshell-dipped paws, and a tail that never stopped wagging. The white stripe down his snout made the pugs go wild, at least he thought they did.

"Grover, check this out!" he barked.

Grover did a good job barking at incoming intruders, tearing the head's off of toys, and watering the ficus plant in the living room. The one thing he needed to work on was staying on his side of the bed. It was rare for Linc to wake up and Grover not be cuddled up against him.

His sausage-like body bolted off the couch and his nails tapped against the hardwood floor. Standing on his hind legs, the top of his head barely made it over the window pane.

They both stared out the glass with wide eyes and perky ears. Grover told Linc about the time he had seen two raccoons digging through trash cans next to one another, but never had they seen a spectacle like this.

Down the stairs they went, and over to the corner of the basement. Dachshunds were known for hiding treats, toys, or anything they deemed valuable, and Grover was no different. A blanket, two squeak toys, and half of a rawhide laid against the wall, but that camouflaged the real secret. Underneath lay a pile of white socks, along with two pieces of red silk and eye masks. Now, these weren't just old superhero costumes worn and left on the bathroom floor at a Halloween party a few years back, no. These were legendary costumes for two legendary heroes.

Lincoln's socks loosely covered his paws, but with help from Grover they were able to yank them on. The piece of red cloth dangled behind the labrador, tied at his neck.

The animals of the outside world knew him as Sock Boy. Master of the Mysterious, Captain of the Cool, and King of the Cats...he's still working on the name.

"Let's do this," said Grover.

Disguising his dreamy cheekbones, a black mask covered Grover's eyes. At first it had taken him roughly twenty minutes of scooting his face along the ground to get it on. But much practice had brought it down to just a few seconds. And he hardly ever got carpet burns anymore. To complete his look, twin socks were pulled up over his hocks.

The Gliding Wiener, or Glider, had fought coyotes, wrestled beavers, and even thumb-wrestled a slug. He had put his life on the line for the town of Treetop, his name had been chanted in the forest and down suburban streets, but he still lived in the shadows. He didn't consider himself as a sidekick, but the name was Sock Boy and The Gliding Wiener, and as much as it made Grover want to chew through the carpet, Sock Boy always came first.

The rubber stop to the doggy door flipped open as the masked heroes stepped out into their backyard. Their paws scratched against the concrete patio, and within seconds, they stood on the top stair, overlooking the backyard.

"Hey, you! Stop there!" Sock Boy growled.

Six round raccoons had the fox with crimson red fur surrounded. His back was pressed up against the shed, and on any other day, he would've been a goner. Sock Boy and Glider bounced across the grass, towards the intruders. A few raccoons shifted their gaze to the masked dogs.

"Look at these clowns!" one of them said.

"Get out of our yard, now!" Sock Boy yelled.

"Help me, please," the fox said.

The Gliding Wiener dug his claws through the mud, and snapped, piercing his teeth through one of the raccoon's tail. The animal launched off its back legs into the air, and Sock Boy sprinted forward. His paws punched the raccoon in the chest, and slammed them to the ground. The others hissed and clawed at the air. The raccoon squirmed, and with its butter-soaked fur, broke free from under Sock Boy's socks.

"Don't worry, you masked heroes are next," one of the raccoons hissed.

"What did you say?" Sock Boy asked.

"You heard me. But it's not your time yet. Soon enough, we'll come for you, along with every other stupid pet in this neighborhood."

"Not if we have anything to do with it. I said get out!" Sock Boy yelled.

The fox dropped to all fours, bolting off towards a patch of oak trees, and the group of raccoons trailed after him.

"Who did that ravioli-eating squirrel think they were talking to?" Sock Boy asked.

"Their eyes were bloodshot, fur was poorly groomed, and they smelt like burnt applesauce. But they're out of our yard, we've done our job. I do hope that blue fox makes it out alright," said Glider.

Sock Boy turned his head and raised his eyebrows, but then remembered how colors didn't work just right for his sidekick.

"I thought you hated foxes?" Sock Boy asked.

"Yeah, but I hate raccoons even more. That bunch was different though."

"Why do you say that?"

"I've never seen raccoons hunt an animal, especially one the same size," Glider said.

Sock Boy sniffed the air and felt something different that day. There was a crisp unnatural smell to the world, but after two straight years responding to every cry in the neighborhood it had made everything different. It wasn't until recent, the dogs had decided to strictly focus on their backyard, and help out on any big cases.

Grover bit the tip of Lincoln's socks, pulling them from his paws. Linc returned the favor, and afterwards left the pile of dirty socks by a stack of clothes near the noisy water machine. Both dogs agreed the shirts, shorts, and underwear smelt better than the cat poop by the shed. They then quickly took turns smelling a pair of boots in the corner. Johnny, one of their humans, had stepped in a pile of sidewalk poop the day before. Linc immediately knew it was from the Pomeranian, three houses down.

A few seconds later, the magic door started up, and the dogs crept back upstairs.