Fenway and Hattie in the Wild

by Victoria J. Coe

  * * *

  We ride for a Long, Long Time. Finally, we are driving through a place that smells like pine and wild animals. And we’re surrounded by tall trees. Are we in the woods?

  I shudder. I’m not sure we belong here. Are we lost?

  We cruise along slowly. The car jostles around curves and climbs up slopes. I sniff traces of smoke and burnt marshmallows.

  Hattie’s breathing quickens. She’s worried again.

  I’m about to reassure her that I’ve got this. But do I? Squirrels are bad enough. The woods are probably full of other wild animals. Can I handle them, too?

  Soon the car pulls into a gravelly area and stops. When it goes quiet, Fetch Man turns around and grins at Hattie. “Ready?” he says.

  She smiles back and flings the door open. I’m right behind her.

  As I tend to business in the pine needles, I sniff in every direction. We are in the woods, all right. Tall pine trees are everywhere. There are a few cars besides ours, each just as loaded down. Fetch Man and Food Lady head toward a building with a sharp, pointy roof. Its walls look like a bunch of trees stacked on top of each other. It even smells like wood.

  As soon as me and Hattie romp through the door, I check the place out. We’re in a huge open space. In front of me, glass cases are cold and full of ice. Shelves are lined with bottles and boxes and cans. T-shirts and lotions and stacks of wood, too. Is this a store?

  On the far wall, I see a stone-covered fireplace that goes up to the ceiling. Comfy chairs sit on a rug that smells like millions of human feet. Are we in somebody’s Lounging Room?

  Fetch Man starts talking to a man behind a counter. He’s unfolding a big sheet of paper and pointing. Food Lady peers over Fetch Man’s shoulder and nods a lot. Whatever’s on that paper must be awfully interesting. Even Hattie’s staring at it.

  Fetch Man folds the paper back up and goes over to the stacks of wood. Hattie lets me go, and as I scamper after him, my ears perk. Footsteps thud through the door. So do jingling dog tags.

  “Hattie!” a familiar voice shouts.

  I whip around as Angel rushes over with Tool Man and Muffin Lady. A Golden Retriever and a white dog with black patches trot up to us, their leashes dragging behind them. My tail goes nuts. “Ladies!” I bark. “I missed you so much!”

  “Hey, Fenway,” Patches calls, not sounding the least bit surprised to see me. Did she know I would be here in the woods?

  “You just saw us this morning,” Goldie says after we exchange bum-sniffs.

  The humans don’t seem surprised to see each other, either. They stand around chatting excitedly. Angel leads Hattie around the huge space, showing her everything like she’s right at home. Has she been here before?

  “I’m glad you didn’t go away on that trip.” I nuzzle Patches’s fur. It would’ve been terrible if my best friends were really gone. “Did your humans decide to come on our picnic with us? We have tons of food. Trust me!”

  Goldie cocks her head. “Picnic?”

  “This is no picnic, Fenway,” Patches says in her lovely voice. “We’re going to live here.”

  “Not forever,” Goldie corrects. “For three days.”

  “We do it every year at this time,” Patches says.

  Now I’m the one cocking my head. Did I hear them right? Do they realize we’re in the woods? “But why?”

  “It’s tradition!” Patches announces proudly. “Just a few families at first, but once our sweet Angel started school, the group got bigger.”

  School. Skool? An image swirls in my mind. That place where short humans with backpacks went back in the city. But we never came to the woods. What are the ladies talking about? Are there two different schools? Is Hattie going to this other school?

  No wonder she’s been worried. She must’ve known about this whole woods and wild animals tradition. Talk about something worth worrying about!

  “Precious Angel loves to be with her school friends,” Patches says. “They call themselves ‘the crew.’”

  “Well, some of them act like friends,” Goldie grumbles. “And some of them don’t.”

  Patches shoots her a scolding look. “Now, Goldie . . .”

  “Um, ladies, did you say we’re going to live here?” I glance around the big space. “Me and my humans can curl up on the comfy furniture, but what about everybody else?”

  “Not in here,” Goldie says. “Outside!”

  My fur stands on end. “With the trees? And the wild—woods?”

  “Relax, Fenway. It’ll be fun,” Patches says, nosing my neck. “Picture families and dogs romping around, being together. Making new friends. Doesn’t that sound great?”

  “It sure does.” My hopes soar. “Yippee! I love making new friends!”

  “We noticed,” Goldie mutters.

  “Most everyone’s friendly,” Patches says. “You’ll be a big hit.”

  “Hopefully,” Goldie says, her snout scrunching. “Let’s not forget what happened last year.”

  I shrink back. “What are you ladies talking about?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Just some troublemakers,” Patches explains. “I’m sure everything will be fine this time.”

  If the ladies slept outside in the woods for three whole nights, it’s no shock that troublemakers showed up. Obviously, that means wild animals, and Goldie and Patches were caught off guard. They are not professionals.

  But now they have me.

  Then something very confusing happens. Just when I thought we were going to stay here—isn’t that what the ladies said?—we pile back in the cars. Did the humans suddenly smell the wild animals and decide to head back home?

  Maybe not. Instead of turning toward the paved road, we travel deeper into the woods. And instead of zooming, the car seems to be creeping. Food Lady unfolds the big sheet of paper and appears to be studying it. I stick my head out the window, but there’s barely enough breeze to blow my ears back. The woods are alive with tantalizing scents—pancakes and bacon. My tongue drips with excitement.

  They’re alive with sounds, too. I don’t hear any wild animals except some birds singing. Humans are chattering and shouting, too. I get the birds, but how many humans are in these woods, anyway?

  “Here,” Food Lady says, pointing out the window.

  The car makes a turn, and we bump along into a clearing. The human sounds are louder. We pass stopped cars and tents like ours except they’re boxy or pointy instead of rounded. Beside each tent is a wooden table with benches like the ones at the pond or the park. Humans are busy unloading cars. And there’s something else I see . . .

  Dogs!

  My tail starts wagging. A small dog races around in circles, clutching a Frisbee. A Chocolate Lab with a bandanna lopes after her. Wowee, dogs are playing keep-away in the woods! How can I get in on the action?

  When the road ends, the car pulls onto the grass and shudders to a stop. I leap out of the car, and my tail goes wild again. Because up ahead near a big oak tree, the ladies are bounding out of their car! I don’t know why we are all stopping at this clearing, but it sure seems like a good idea. I can hardly wait to play!

  I start to romp over to my friends when a yank on the leash pulls me back. “Fenway!” Hattie cries.

  We halt in the matted-down dirt in front of an empty wooden table. Behind it, I smell ashes and . . . sniff, sniff . . . the lingering aroma of hot dogs?

  I bounce, my tongue ready to drip. Hot dogs?! I love hot dogs!

  Hattie hangs back while Food Lady and Fetch Man shake hands with other tall humans. She shifts her weight like she’s uncomfortable. Or bashful.

  Up ahead, I see a short human with dark curly hair waving at us. It’s Angel! Hattie must spy her at the exact same time, because we hurry toward her and the ladies under the big oak tree.

  My tail sways happily. “Yippee!” I s
ay to them. “Now that we’re back together, let’s play! That Frisbee chase looks like fun.”

  As the short humans chat, Goldie scowls in the direction of the other dogs. “Plenty of time for that,” she says.

  “What do you mean?” I say, looking around. “I’m so excited to make new friends, like you said. And some of them are already having fun without us.”

  Patches looks like she’s thinking for a second. “Yes, but we don’t want to get off on the wrong paw.”

  “Let’s just relax for a bit,” Goldie says.

  The ladies sure picked a bad time to finally agree on something. Well, if they don’t want to play, I know somebody who does. I leap on Hattie’s legs, giving her that face she can’t resist. “We were in the car for such a Long, Long Time!” I bark. “How about a game of fetch?”

  “Aw, Fenway.” She pats my head, but she’s looking at Fetch Man. He’s unloading the big case on top of the car.

  “Hattie,” he calls.

  Hattie leads me to the wooden table, then stoops down like she’s tying her sneaker. She rushes up to take a bag from Fetch Man.

  I go to follow, but—hey! My leash is tangled around the table leg. “Bad news, everybody!” I bark. “I’m stuck!”

  All around us, humans are focused and busy. A boxy tent rises up near the spot where we saw Angel and the ladies. Goldie and Patches are lying in the shade of the big oak tree like they have nothing else to do. The two romping dogs from before are nowhere in sight.

  Vwoop! Fetch Man unzips the long bag and hands Hattie pole after pole. Food Lady spreads out a large plastic mat as Fetch Man hammers metal stakes in the dirt, then takes them out as if he can’t decide where they should go. The humans’ faces are puzzled, and they’re chattering all at once—and not noticing me.

  “Um, hello!” I bark, lunging as far as I can. “I can’t reach you guys, and it’s really boring over here!”

  “FEN-way,” Fetch Man grumbles, barely looking up from hammering the last stake. He’s not making one move to come over here and set me free. Food Lady, either. She’s turning some big, floppy fabric one way, then another, then around and around, while Hattie starts handing Fetch Man the curved poles. Fetch Man sighs like he’s frustrated.

  I sure know the feeling. “Guys, I’m serious!” I bark even louder. “I can’t get away from this table leg. My leash got wrapped around it somehow!”

  Fetch Man shoots an annoyed look in my direction. Food Lady, too. Then they both turn to Hattie.

  At last, my hard work pays off. Hattie hurries over, and just like that, I’m free. Well, I’m still on the leash, but at least I’m not stuck to the table leg.

  We stroll past the ladies’ car. Tool Man and Muffin Lady are stuffing rolled-up blankets and pillows into the boxy tent. “Angel?” Hattie asks.

  Angel emerges from the tent, her eyes full and excited. Next thing I know, she’s grabbed the ladies’ leashes. Hooray! We’re going for a walk! I’m so excited!

  But as Angel leads us toward a path in the woods, my hackles shoot up. Because the woods are loaded with suspicious signs.

  Pine trees line the trail like tall, tall fences. When I look up, all I see are treetops. Where did the sky go? Is it still up there?

  There’s hardly any light, except for small bright spots on the ground. It’s noisy, too, with chirps and trills and buzzes I’ve never heard before. And scents of wood and leaves and pests like squirrels and chipmunks. Plus strange animals that smell even worse than bunnies. My paw just misses stepping on a tail that slithers away through the brush. At least I think it was a tail?

  The ladies’ ears flap back against their heads like they’re not concerned. Don’t they notice how scary the woods are?

  By the time I decide to ask them, I pick up different, stronger sounds and scents—humans. And dogs! Lots of dogs!

  The path ends, and we cross a road. Whew! We’re finally out of the woods. Ahead of us is a huge clearing. In the distance, I spy a small house and a pond. And right in front of us is a big maple tree and a grassy area with a chain-link fence around it. It smells fantastic, and it sounds even better! I know what this is!

  “Wowee!” I bark, jumping and spinning. “It’s a Dog Park!”

  “Now, remember what we said,” Goldie mutters. The short humans steer us to the gate, where it’s cool and shady.

  I’m leaping on it before Angel can get it open. “You said something?”

  “Fenway—” Patches starts to say as I burst inside. Whatever she wants to tell me can wait until later.

  Because my leash is unhooked, and I’m free! I zoom by a dark-haired short human on a bench near the giant water dish. I tear around the Dog Park, passing a climbing ramp, a crawling tube, and, best of all, frolicking dogs! As I make a wide arc and come around the other way, I realize the small dog clutching a Frisbee and the Chocolate Lab with a bandanna are probably the same two I saw earlier.

  Hattie and Angel linger near the gate. I spy Goldie and Patches chasing each other off to the side, not joining in the game. They must not know how things work at the Dog Park. I guess they have a lot to learn.

  Slowing, I prance up to the new dogs.

  “Fenway!” I hear Patches call.

  Clearly, the ladies want me to play with them. But we can do that any old time.

  “’Sup, guys?” I say, and the new dogs whip their heads around. “I’m Fenway. Do you come here a lot?”

  The small dog drops the Frisbee. She gives me a once-over, then wanders up to smell my bum. After the Quickest Sniff Ever, she turns away before I can return the greeting. What’s up with that? Could she possibly make up her mind about me that fast?

  I check her out as best I can. Smells like a Pomeranian. She’s almost my size, but her fur is tan-colored. And it’s so puffed out, she’s practically round. The other dog hangs back, his tail sagging. I can’t tell if he’s shy or lazy.

  “Fenway, huh?” she says cautiously, her black eyes and nose popping out from all that fur. “I don’t remember you from last year. Or any other year.”

  I drop onto my forepaws. “Newsflash! I’m here now!” I snatch the Frisbee and take off.

  “Hey!” she calls from behind me.

  Ha! Now the fun can begin! I run halfway around the Dog Park before I realize she’s not following me. Nobody is. I gaze back toward the front of the park. The Pomeranian is standing her ground, yawning. The Chocolate Lab is sunk down into the grass, halfheartedly licking a paw.

  Maybe they’re tired. I trot over to the ladies, who have stopped chasing each other and are now just snapping at flies. I let the Frisbee fall. “Wanna play?”

  The ladies exchange an uncomfortable look.

  “What?”

  Patches glances over at the Pomeranian, who’s in the exact same spot, her fur raised in anger. Though she’s so fluffy, it’s kind of hard to tell. “I’m afraid you stepped on Coco’s paws,” she says in her lovely voice.

  “I did not!” I say. “The only thing my paws stepped on was grass.”

  “It’s an expression,” Goldie gruffs. “Coco’s the boss. If you don’t do things her way, your name is mud.”

  “My name is—”

  “That’s an expression, too,” Goldie cuts in.

  Patches looks pained. “It means she won’t like you.”

  My ears droop, and I take a step back. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

  Patches comes up and noses my neck. “We know.”

  “And you took her Frisbee,” Goldie says. She plucks it from the grass and lopes over to the Pomeranian—Coco—who turns away like she’s lost interest.

  “Seriously?” I say, gazing at Coco sideways. “What’s her deal?”

  Patches starts to say something, but right then a branch creaks. Leaves rustle. And Hattie lets out a hair-raising shriek.

  A boy p
lops out of the sky and lands inside the Dog Park right in front of Hattie and Angel. “Yahoo!” he yells, laughing. He smells like grape jelly. And dirt.

  I didn’t hear the gate open. How did this boy get into the Dog Park? And why is his scent so familiar?

  Angel grimaces at the boy, her arms folded. “MAR-cus,” she says. Her voice sounds scolding.

  Before heading over to check him out, I gaze at Hattie. She’s gasping like she’s trying to catch her breath, her face pale. She’s clearly anxious. She glances up at the big maple tree, where a fat branch is hanging over the Dog Park fence.

  The boy keeps on laughing. When he comes up for air, he squints at Hattie. “Hey,” he says. “Yoo-new?”

  Breathing quickly, Hattie forces a smile. “Hattie,” she says in a low voice. Even from here, I can smell how nervous she is. Clearly, she needs her loyal dog. I pivot and sprint toward her.

  “Don’t worry, Hattie!” I nuzzle her leg. “I’m here now!”

  “Scared-ya!” Marcus says, laughing again.

  “Nuh-uh,” she says, rubbing my head a couple of times. Suddenly, she springs up like she just got an idea.

  As Angel keeps speaking to Marcus in that scolding voice, Hattie rushes out of the gate. Before I can even wonder if she’s abandoning me, she grabs onto a low branch and skitters up the trunk of the big maple tree.

  I scamper to the fence and leap up, my claws clutching the chain links of the fence. “Hattie, what are you doing?”

  When she reaches the fat branch that hangs over the Dog Park, she crawls out into the rustling leaves. She crouches low as if she’s hiding. But we can all see her.

  Marcus gazes up, a huge smile on his face. “Jump!” he yells.

  “Don’t!” Angel shouts at the same time.

  But Hattie’s already let go of the branch. She free-falls into the Dog Park and lands—plop!—one knee up and one smacking the ground.

  “Ta-da!” she cries, springing up. She’s wearing a grin, but that doesn’t always mean she’s happy.