Vernon’s eye twitched. “That’s why we have a plan.” He snapped his claws again, and the weasel unrolled a blueprint of Granny’s cottage. “Phase one: The weasel creates a diversion—fake squirrel attack, very dramatic. Phase two: Raccoons cut the power line to the security jam-cam. Phase three: I go in through the window disguised as a health inspector. Phase four: We walk out with the strudel before Red even laces up her boots.”
Flick raised a tiny paw. “Um. Question. Have you met Red? She’s like… a ninja in a hoodie. She outran a pack of wolves last spring. On roller skates.” be prepared hoodwinked song
From the mossy bank of the creek, the wolf in a cheap newsboy cap—the one the cops called “The Big Bad”—was pacing. His name was Vernon, and he was tired. Tired of being the fall guy. Tired of running from the pig detective with the badge. Tired of the way the forest whispered his name like a curse. Vernon’s eye twitched
Vernon grinned, and it wasn’t a nice grin. “Red Puckett. That little girl with the basket. She delivers the grand prize entry to the judges every year. And this year, her granny’s recipe is the one to beat. So we intercept the basket. Swap the real strudel with a fake. Then we claim the prize.” Phase two: Raccoons cut the power line to
The raccoons started clapping. The weasel sniffled with pride. Even the chipmunks stopped giggling and started chanting, “Be pre-pared! Be pre-pared!”