Fenway and Hattie (5 page)

When it's morning time, Hattie rubs her
eyes. Yippee, she's awake!

I crawl up to her face and lick her cheek, my whole backside wagging with excitement. “Get up, Hattie!” I bark. “It's time to play.”

She laughs and strokes my back. Then she rolls over, her gaze drifting to the top of the dresser. Where her backpack is.

She gets out of bed and reaches for it. My tail goes crazy with a wonderful memory. That backpack is full of treats!

I fly off the bed, running around her bare feet. Hooray! Hooray! Treats are coming.

Hattie grabs a few treats and bounces on her toes. “Sit, Fenway!” she says.

Oh boy! I can't wait for those treats. I jump and jump, sniffing wildly at her fist.
Ouch!
I collide with the chair, and a stack of clean clothes tumbles to the floor.

As Hattie bends down to scoop them up, I'm ready.

Chomp!
Mmmmm.
That was awfully easy. And tasty.

“FEN-way!” Hattie scolds, her voice annoyed.

What's up with that? Didn't she want me to have the treat?

Hattie sighs and starts refolding the clothes. Apparently, playtime is over. Or maybe not . . .

A bacon-y smell wafts in from the hallway. Wowee, I love bacon! I speed out the door. “Great news, Hattie!” I bark. “Bacon!”

I bound down the stairs, straight toward that bacon-y aroma. And sounds of popping and sizzling. Until I get to the Eating Place doorway and skid to a stop. My tummy sinks. Curse you, Wicked Floor!

Food Lady and Fetch Man are sitting at the table, holding steaming cups that smell like coffee. I inhale the smoky, salty scent of bacon.
Mmmmm!
My tongue can already taste it.

Hattie trots right on in, her energy full of purpose. She snatches a strip of glistening bacon and turns to me. “Fenway, come!” she says.

Fetch Man pats Food Lady's arm. His face is beaming with pride.

Hattie stretches out her hand, as if I didn't notice she was holding a piece of ripply, gorgeous bacon. “Fenway, come!” she says again.

My belly roars with desire. Saliva drips onto my whiskers. The Wicked Floor is standing between me and that—
gulp!
—wondrously yummy bacon.

Hattie gazes at me sweetly. She wants to give it to me. She edges closer. “Fenway, come!”

Why is she doing this to me? I jump up and up, scratching my claws against the wall. “Give me that bacon!” I whine.

Food Lady's eyes widen. Fetch Man shoots up from his seat.

“FEN-way, no!” Hattie shouts. She rushes over, shooing my paws off the wall. With that bacon still in her hand . . .

Chomp!
Mmmmm!
Wow, that was easy. I lick my chops.

Food Lady goes to the front closet and grabs my leash. “Hattie,” she says, her face full of encouragement.

Hattie looks defeated. She trudges over to Food Lady, who rubs her shoulders.

Hooray! Hooray! We're finally going to the Dog Park.
The real one. With big water dishes to splash in. Benches to climb on. And dogs! Lots of romping dogs! I dash to Hattie's side, leaping and twirling.

She clips on the leash, and we head to the front door. We walk right past the jump rope coiled on the floor. Its scent of familiar short humans and gritty pavement has grown so faint, it's almost unrecognizable.

It's a mystery, but there's no time to investigate. There's playing to be played!

I pull Hattie down the steps and into the hot, blazing sun. After stopping to pee on a patch of grass—me, not her—we head down the walkway and onto the actual street. Where cars and trucks and buses go. I try to let Hattie know that this is a bad idea by pulling her onto the sidewalk.

But—whoa, the sidewalk is gone! Where will I find yummy crumbs to eat or sticky wrappers to lick?

Apparently, it doesn't matter, because Hattie is determined to walk in the street. Good thing there are no cars or trucks or buses coming.

In fact, it's strangely quiet. No human voices yelling or sirens screaming. And not even one car door slamming. The only noises I hear are buzzing bees and fluty, chirpy birds up in the leafy trees. It's all so wrong. Where did everything go?

And those aren't the only problems. Hattie's heading up the street . . . without Fetch Man. Or Food Lady. They're supposed to come on walks. Where are they? Why is Hattie leaving without them?

As I scout around, I see even more signs of trouble. Where are the lampposts and parking meters? Or trash cans? What will I sniff? How will I know which dogs have passed by?

The more I protest, the more Hattie yanks the leash. Maybe I'm worrying for nothing . . .

Because up ahead, beyond the trees . . . there it is! The Dog Park! I'd know that fence anywhere! My tail starts wagging. My legs move faster.

But Hattie's pace does not quicken. Doesn't she realize how important it is to get to the Dog Park? “Hurry,” I bark. “The other dogs are probably already playing without us.”

I sniff like crazy, trying to pick up whiffs of who might be there. My ears try to catch sounds of jingling, panting, frolicking dogs. But all I smell are chipmunks. And all I hear are more bees and birds.

Which is weird, because we're almost there. I can hardly wait! I practically drag Hattie along the fence.

I'm searching for the gate when my ears droop. My tail stops wagging. It's a park all right. A plant-y,
shrubby sort of park. With a path that leads up to a porch and a house. Just like ours. No bench to climb on. No dogs to romp with.

Hattie does not smell concerned. Apparently, she knows the way.

We pass more houses, and I sense a pattern. Clusters of trees, grass, a driveway. More clusters of trees, more grass, another driveway. Where's the traffic light where we wait and sniff? Where's the fire hydrant covered with pigeon poop? We must have a lot farther to go.

We come to another plant-y, shrubby park when I do a double take. There's an animal about my size. A Perfectly Still Dog? He's got containers on either side of his back. With flowers sprouting out of them. I know every dog has his job, but let's just say I'm glad my job is not holding a bunch of flowers.

The Perfectly Still Dog is standing perfectly still, his ears spiked, his head focused forward. As if he does not even notice us. How rude!

Hattie must see him, too, but she refuses to stop. Probably for the best. We're searching for dogs to play with, and this guy doesn't seem like any fun at all.

We pause at a dense cluster of shrubs, and I take the opportunity to pee. We go past a couple more houses and driveways. Then, off in the distance, I hear a roaring, clanking sound. It grows louder and louder and louder.

Something is approaching. Hattie pulls me to the side of the road just as it appears.

I know this thing! It's the Big Brown Truck that prowls the streets and leaves packages in the lobby downstairs. But somehow it got bigger and browner. And it's truckier than I remember.

What's it doing here? Did it follow us all the way from our other neighborhood? In any case, there's no time for questions—I have a short human to protect.

I lunge at the monster, baring my teeth. “Go away, you beast! Or pay the consequences!”

Hattie gasps and yanks me out of the street. “FEN-way! Sit! Sit!
Sit!
” she yells, obviously upset by this menace.

I'm ready to attack the truck if it comes to that. I jump and growl, showing him just how serious I am. And my work pays off!

The Big Brown Truck rattles on by with a bang and a roar and a boom. Fumes linger as it cruises away—stinky, sinister fumes. “And don't come back!” I bark.

But instead of thanking me, Hattie looks annoyed. “Oh, Fenway,” she says with a frustrated sigh. She must be eager to get to the Dog Park.

Hey, I'm eager, too. It's not like I asked for the interruption.

As we continue on, all I smell are birds, squirrels, and
the occasional chipmunk. I spot nothing more interesting than a stone wall, a telephone pole, or a planter of roses. My tail sinks with a terrible thought—this is not the way to the Dog Park.

Where are we going?

I redouble my efforts. I sniff every tree, every shrub, every driveway. Wait a minute! We're on the same street as before. We are passing the same trees and grassy parks we've already gone by. We pass by the Perfectly Still Dog, who's in the exact same spot as last time.

Before I know it, we end up back at our own home. Hello! We didn't go to the Dog Park. Or the place where short humans with backpacks go. Or anywhere! And we didn't come back with bread or milk. Or doughnuts. What did we do? Just wander around?

But instead of smelling frustrated or ashamed or sad that we didn't get to play, Hattie skips up the front walkway, perfectly satisfied. What is that about?

We're almost to the porch when, off in the distance, I hear the rattling, the roaring, the booming . . . louder and louder. It's the Big Brown Truck again! It pulls right up to the walk, obviously following us. How dare it return!

I spring up and bare my teeth, pulling on the leash. “I warned you not to come back!” I bark.

An Evil Human hops down from the truck, carrying a package. He heads right toward us, as if he can't even hear me.

I leap wildly. “Prepare for certain doom!”

“FEN-way! Sit! Sit! Sit!” Hattie yells, tugging on the leash. Does she have no faith in me?

As I lunge, ready to strike, the Evil Human tosses the package at Hattie. Then, he pivots and hurries back to the Big Brown Truck.

What can I say? Clearly, he was freaked out by the ferocious barking. After a horribly sinister
ROAR!
the Big Brown Truck rattles away.

“And don't even think about coming back!” I bark, swaggering up the steps after a job well done.

Hattie whisks me through the door, full of glee. She's obviously thrilled I scared away that nasty beast.

She unclips the leash, and we burst into the Lounging Place. Fetch Man stops loading books onto a shelf. Squealing, Hattie rips open the package. She pulls out something soft. A cap!

She tucks it onto her head and pulls her bushy hair through a hole in the back like a fluffy tail. She smells awfully excited about it. So does Fetch Man.

And that's not all. Hattie reaches back into the package and produces a fat glove that smells like new
leather. She slides her hand into it, then starts punching it. Fetch Man grins, like he's been waiting his whole life for this very moment.

It's so disturbing. My Hattie doesn't wear a cap or a fat leathery glove. What's going on?

As I sink into the carpet, Hattie runs back and opens the front door. She calls to Fetch Man one single word: “Angel!”

Later I'm out in our Dog Park, scratching
my ear, when I spy a despicable squirrel. And then another, even bigger than the first!

The two odious rodents are chasing each other through the grass. Where they know they don't belong!

I spring to my feet. Their fluffy tails are waving and taunting. I race after them, watching them disappear into a nearby shrub. Do they actually think they can hide from me? Well, they're about to learn a Very Big Lesson.

“No squirrels allowed!” I bark, thrusting my snout into the shrubby foliage. “Do you hear me?”

But obviously, they don't. They're tumbling and battling, spitting and screeching at each other.
“Chipper, chatter, squawk!”

“I've got you now!” I bark, plunging in deeper.

The shrub crackles and rustles. The squirrels scamper out the back and scoot across the Dog Park. Do they think they can escape? “Ha! You can't outsmart me!” I bark. I back out of the shrub, shaking leaves off my coat.

The two nasty vermin chase each other through the grass. I'm hot on their tails. They're making for the giant tree. They fly up the trunk, clacking and squawking.

I leap against the bark, panting and straining as they scurry up into the leafy branches. No doubt headed for the squirrel house to continue their fight. “Good riddance!” I bark.

Whew. That was tiring work. I curl up along one of the tree's big roots in the cool, refreshing shade. I'm about to doze off when I hear a wonderful creaking sound. I lift my head. The side gate is opening!

Whoopee! Finally, dogs are coming to play! I jump up and bolt over.

But what I see are not dogs. It's way more exciting—Hattie! And Angel! They're wearing matching caps. With long tails of hair swinging in the back. And they each have a fat glove on one hand.

Hooray! Hooray! I dash through the grass, my tail wagging out of control. “I'm so happy to see you!” I bark, jumping and pawing their legs. “I knew you'd come back!”

Hattie and Angel exchange quick glances.

“Get off, Fenway,” Hattie snaps, her voice wavery and hesitant. She must be wondering if Angel will threaten our fun.

I fling myself at her knees. “Don't worry, Hattie,” I bark. “We can all play together. It'll be awesome.”

She sneaks another knowing look at Angel, who raises an eyebrow. What could that be about?

“Fenway, sit. Stay!” Hattie says, pointing at the fence.

What does she want to show me? I zip over there and root around in the dirt. Could there be a stick she wants me to snag?

Whatever it is, I don't have time to find out. Angel is loping through the grass. Hattie's charging in the opposite direction, punching her glove. This can only mean one thing—playtime!

Yippee! I sprint over to Hattie. Angel flips a white ball high up into the air. It falls back down into her glove with a
thump
. She looks over at us. “Ready?”

“I'm so ready! I'm so ready!” I bark. I leap. I twist. I have never been more ready.

Hattie holds out her glove. The ball goes soaring through the air. It bounces on the ground behind her and rolls into the bushes.

Wowee! Fetch is one of my favorite games! I take off after it.

“FEN-way!” Hattie shouts. And the chase is on!

I squeeze under the bush with Hattie's arm right behind me. Ha! This is too easy. I'm about to snatch it, but Hattie's hand gets there first. “Hey, I'm supposed to fetch the ball!” I bark, hurrying after her as she jogs back with the prize.

Hattie winds up and throws the ball. I'm after it like a shot. Nothing can stop me from snagging it this time, even though Angel is standing right where the ball is headed. Talk about an unfair advantage.

Angel jumps up, waving her glove. The ball sails over her head and lands with a
plunk!
in a cluster of flowers near the back fence. She tears after it. I'm close behind.

“FEN-way, stop!” Hattie yells.

Panting wildly, I arrive at the flowers just as Angel plucks the ball off the ground. Foiled again! She charges past me, clutching it in her fat glove.

I sprint after her, lunging for her arm. “No fair! No fair!” I bark.

Without breaking stride, Angel hurls the ball toward
the porch. Hattie is already there, bouncing on her toes. Another huge head start!

I bolt through the grass, my sides heaving. I've got to beat Hattie to that ball.

She swipes her glove at it, but the ball whizzes right on by. It plops near the porch and rolls under the bottom step. Hattie's shoulders deflate. With a loud sigh, she jogs after it.

Ha! I'm there first. “You won't win this time,” I bark. It's the Most Fun Ever!

“FEN-way, no!” she cries as my teeth sink into the ball. She lunges for me.

But I wiggle out of her grasp. I tear around the Dog Park.

“Fen-way!” Hattie calls again, racing after me. “Drop that ball!”

I streak past the bushes and round the corner. I spot Angel rushing at me from the opposite direction. “Fenway,” she yells, waving her hands.

Clenching the hard leather ball in my jaws, I whiz around her. Hattie's hustling toward me from the other side, her arms outstretched. “Fenway!” she shouts.

I dart one way, then the other. Whoopee! Playing chase with Hattie is my favorite game, but playing with two short humans is even more fun.

Every time one of them gets too close, I swerve the other way. I rocket past Hattie. I race away from Angel. But they keep trying to catch me. They love this game as much as I do!

I'm exhausted, but there's no way I'll give up. I circle the entire Dog Park a couple more times, then realize the short humans are slowing down. Hattie is breathing hard. She glances at Angel, who is frowning.

I slacken my pace, my whole body shaking with fatigue. I drop down in the cool grass and let the slobbery ball fall out of my mouth.

Hattie folds her arms, her face gloomy. Angel is chattering, but my own panting is all I can hear.

Soon I recover enough to catch exciting sounds—
Clink! Tink! Clink!
—from over the fence. I hop up and saunter over. I peer through the slats. Goldie is scratching. Patches is sniffing the ground.

“'Sup, ladies?” I say.

They look up. “Fenway?” Patches says.

“I'm not sure if you noticed,” I say. “But that was me playing with those two short humans, mine and yours. They can't get enough of me.”

“Playing?” Goldie's eyes are skeptical. “Is that what you call it?”

“Yep,” I say. “I got My Hattie back, just like I said I would.”

Patches looks curious. “How did you do that?”

“It was nothing, really.” I scratch a couple of times under my collar. “All I did was save Hattie from the Big Brown Truck. Twice!”

“And you think that turned everything around?” Goldie says with a huff.

“Of course.” I hold my snout high. “What can I say? She appreciates me.”

Right then, the side gate bangs shut, and we all turn. Hattie is hanging her head. Angel is gone.

“So, Fenway,” Patches says gently. “I don't want to burst your bubble, but . . .”

“What? Angel must've gotten tired,” I say. “Hattie's still here, and we're going to play chase again. Maybe you ladies would like to watch.”

Patches makes a pained face. “Um, Fenway?” she says, jutting her nose up in the direction of the giant tree.

When I turn, I see Hattie climbing up the trunk. My head droops.

“I hate to say I told you so,” mutters Goldie.

I drop down into the grass and lick my paw, like that's the part of me that hurts. I hear Patches's lovely voice say, “So sad, so
sad.”