Dad, Stop! You're Messing It Up!
Inspired by playtime with my son.
In the sleepy town of Barkville, where fire hydrants gleamed brighter than a new squeaky toy, the Growl Gang™ keep the streets safe from chaos, or at least from stray tennis balls. Led by ten-year-old Timmy Tater-Tot, a kid with a juice-box obsession and a walkie-talkie he found in a cereal box, the Growl Gang are Barkville’s go-to squad for any crisis, big or small.
One sunny afternoon, Timmy’s walkie-talkie crackles. “Growl Gang, emergency!” he shouts, spilling apple juice on his sneakers. “Mayor Mutt’s prize kibble stash is gone from the Barkville Community Center! We’ve got a kibble crisis!”
“Bingo on the zingo!” cries Bingo, the police-themed pup.
“Wait, is ‘zingo’ even a word?” Dad says.
In a cluttered living room, Dad and his five-year-old son, Jake, sit cross-legged on a carpet littered with Growl Gang™ toys. Dad held a bulldog figure in a red firetruck, narrating in a dramatic voice. Jake clutches a juice box, eyes narrowing.
“Dad, stop!” Jake interrupts, waving a Nibble toy. “Bingo doesn’t drive the red truck! That’s Nibble’s fire truck! You’re messing it all up!”
Dad blinks. “Why can’t Bingo drive the fire truck?”
“Nooo! Bingo is yellow, so his truck is yellow! Gimme that!” Jake swapped the toys, shoving Bingo into a yellow dump truck. “Now keep going, but do it right.”
Dad sighs.
The Growl Gang zooms to their treehouse HQ, a rickety fort with a slide that works more often in the TV show than the officially licensed playset does. Timmy, in his official Growl Gang™ bucket hat, lays out the plan.
“This is serious, pups! Without that kibble, Mayor Mutt’s canceling the Bark-Off, and my puppy pun trophy dreams are toast!”
“Ruh-roh,” Zoomer barks. “No Bark-Off? That’s a pawsitively awful tragedy!”
“Let’s sniff out the thief!” Bingo yips.
The pups pile into their vehicles and roll to the community center. Kibble bags were shredded, paw prints scattered, and a trail of glitter sparkled out the back door.
“Glitter? That’s a clue!” Timmy says. “Only one villain loves glitter this much…”
“CATastrophe!” the pups growled.
“Dad! Why’s Fluffy on the ground? She’s the pilot! She’s supposed to be in the helicopter!”
Dad holds up the poodle toy perched in what is clearly the wrong vehicle. “This isn’t the helicopter?”
“That’s a hovercraft not a helicopter! And you put Nibbles in the green recycling truck, but he’s supposed to be in the orange one!” Jake swapped the toys, glaring. “Also, Zoomer doesn’t say, ‘Ruh-roh!’ You’re not even trying!”
Dad rubs his temples. “Jake, it’s our story. We can make up whatever we want. The colors don’t matter.”
“They do too matter!” Jake huffs, crossing his arms. “Fix it or I’m telling Mom you ate a cookie from her secret hiding stash she thinks nobody knows about but everyone knows about.”
“You wouldn’t!”
Catastrophe, a glitter-obsessed tabby with a banned-from-Barkville rap sheet, was the prime suspect. The glitter trail led to her lair—a cardboard box fort behind the pet store, lit up like a disco ball with a “No Dogs Allowed” sign.
“Catastrophe, surrender the kibble!” Timmy yells into his walkie-talkie.
A cackle echoes. Catastrophe pokes her head out, glitter in her whiskers. “Too late, Tater-Tot! Soon, the kibble will be dispersed in my Glitter Kibble Bombs! One bite, and Barkville will be sneezing sparkles for weeks! Mwhahahahahaha!”
“Not if we stop you first!” Zoomer barks, but trips and face-plants into glitter.
Fluffy flies overhead in her helicopter, shouting, “I’ll scout from above!” then finds herself in a glitter cloud over Catastrophe’s base. “Too sparkly! I can’t see a thing! Abort! Abort!”
Snooze snores in his unaffiliated Pixie Princess™ sleepy-time bed, dreaming of puppy treats.
Nibbles aims his hose at the fort but soaks Timmy instead. “Oops,” he yips. “Uhm, hydration’s important, right?”
“Dad, no!” Jake yanks the firetruck from Dad’s hand. “Bingo’s hose is yellow, not blue! And why’s Snooze in a princess bed? He’s got a bulldozer!”
Dad throws his hands up. “Jake, it’s a story! Princess beds, bulldozers, it’s the same thing. Besides, it’s funny.”
“It’s not funny, and it’s not the same! And you made Fluffy scared of sparkly clouds? She’s brave!” Jake snatches the poodle toy from Dad. “Do it right or I’m playing with Uncle Mike next time!”
Dad muttered, “Uncle Mike doesn’t know the difference between a Dalmatian and a donut…” He sighed. “Okay, bulldozer for Snooze. Keep going?”
Jake nodded, sipping his juice box like a tiny dictator.
Nibbles approaches the fort and yells, “Hey, Catastrophe, bet you can’t resist this!” He rolls a squeaky toy inside.
Catastrophe pounces, knocking over her glitter cannon, which exploded in a sparkly tsunami. The kibble bags tumbled out, unsparkled somehow.
Bingo slaps some paw-cuffs on Catastrophe. “You’re under arrest for kibble-napping and glitter crimes!” he declares.
Back at the community center, Mayor Mutt awards the Growl Gang chew toys. The Bark-Off went as scheduled. Timmy sips his juice box. “You’ve done it again, Growl Gang. Who’s up for a pup nap?”
Jake grins, holding up the Timmy Tater-Tot action figure. “That was awesome, Dad! But next time, don’t mess up the vehicles. And definitely don’t include Ella’s toys next time, okay?”
Dad leans back, exhausted. “Deal. But can we let the dogs use different vehicles next time?”
Jake squints. “I’m demoting you to assistant storyteller.”
“Yes, sir. Wanna save Barkville again tomorrow?”
“Only if you learn your colors.”
Awwe, Eric. That's adorable. Thanks for the intro to Timmy and toys. Ima share this one.