Restaurants are being destroyed. The authorities are clueless and New Yorkers are panicked. Moon-lighting as a baseball team, four talking dogs form a secret agancy called M.I.S.N.Y. (The Most Important Sniffers of New York) and take on the challenge of capturing the "Restaurant Marauder." They choose a special 12-year-old boy they name "D-Boy" (Dog-Boy) as their assistant, umpire and link to the human world. On their mission, they are befriended by a worldly, neighborhood butcher, a delusional man who believes he has a sixth sense and a savvy 12-year-old-girl whose curiosity lands her smack in the middle of it all. Their antics and adventures take them through a food ravaged New York as they attempt to put an end to the madness.
Dog Days of Summer was inspired by the trauma and tragedy of September 11th. I wrote this book with the desire to find a way to address some very difficult issues in a form that would be accessible and appealing to a Young Adult audience. It is a mystery/ adventure story that explores the relationships of a boy and the dogs that befriend him, as they try to deal with a world gone mad. It is about New York, baseball, family and food. At its best it is hopefully both comic and dramatic. And finally, it is about the scary world we live in and the impact it has on us all.
Rufus went into his windup, cocked back his arm and let go. The ball exploded into Bo's mitt. Nikki didn't have a chance.
"Strike two," I barked, with increased confidence.
"Good pitch Rufus. But you know what Yogi says: "it ain't over till it's over."
"Oh, it's over Nikki. Maybe in your dreams you can hit me. And please, no gobbledygook about how dreams mean something if you know how to solve their riddles."
"I wouldn't think of it. But now we're going to find out who's dreaming!"
Rufus reeled and fired.
"Ball one."
"What!" screamed Rufus. "Boy, if that ain't no strike, then I ain't no dog. Do I look like a cat?"
"No Rufus," I said sheepishly.
"Do I look like a duck, a rat or a pigeon for heaven's sake?"
"No Rufus. You definitely look like a dog."
"Good! Now that we got that straight-that I am a dog- then that last pitch was a strike, heh boy?"
Nikki and Bo were enjoying Rufus's antics at my expense. Nikki tapped me with the bat in a vote of confidence. Bo tapped my helmet as if to say "don't back down."
"Rufus, there is no arguing balls and strikes with the ump. It was a Ball! Ball! Ball!"
Just as I was about to have my moment of triumph the sounds of fire engines blared. A caravan of emergency and police vehicles whizzed by at a dizzying pace. Flashing, whirling lights and the moan of sirens filled the streets. Taxi drivers, who had pulled over to let the fire trucks pass, stretched their necks out of windows like ostriches as they tried to witness the scene. From underneath the 59th Street Bridge we could see little. The girders of the bridge surrounded us like the bars of a prison cell. All we could see was a gray plume of smoke.
"Boy, test is over. Call the game, will ya?" hollered Bo, who was ripping off his catcher's equipment like someone had lit a match under him. "My sniffer tells me we have another emergency."
Everyone was focused on Bo as he emerged from beneath the catcher's equipment. When Bo smelled something foul everyone listened. He had distinguished himself many times. His sense of smell was supreme. He took a deep breath. The worried look in his eyes unsettled us all. He sniffed again.
"Yep, I was afraid of that," he said dejectedly. "That's no ordinary fire. It's smoke all right: smoked mozzarella and Olive Oil. Guess what, the nut is up to it again: This time it's Italian food."
Bo turned to his fellow members of M.I.S.N.Y and said, "We need to get down there immediately."
"But what am I supposed to do?" I asked. "What about the test?"
Bo huddled with the other dogs. He turned toward me with a smile and said, "You've passed with flying colors. From now on you'll be known as D-Boy."
"D-Boy?"
"Yep, short for Dog Boy. You can't be hanging out with us and not be one of us, can you? Nope. Starting right now you are working for M.I.S.N.Y. Your first assignment is to take the equipment back to Gansevoort Street. We'll be there as soon as we can, okay D-boy?"
In a flash, the Fab Four were a blur. The Restaurant Marauder had struck again.
I had the feeling it was going to be a long night.