Fenway and Hattie in the Wild

by Victoria J. Coe

  Lucky joins in, too. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!” he yaps. He smells as excited as I feel.

  “Good thing you all showed up!” I say. “We’re going to have a picnic!”

  “Are you sure about that?” Goldie says, nodding at the humans who are gathering around the table without us.

  Well, not for long! I bound over to the table where the hot dogs sit glistening on a paper plate. I leap up and up, my nose going nuts. “Let me at ’em!” I bark.

  “Fenway, down!” Hattie scolds, as rustling sounds come from behind us.

  I shiver. I don’t smell a wild animal, but my nose tells me to be cautious, anyway. When I turn around, I’m snout to snout with . . .

  “Coco?” I say, taking a step back. “Where did you come from?”

  She responds with a glare, her sparkly collar glinting in the evening sun. The flaps of the boxy tent make a frame around her body. Inside, front and center, I spot a plush dog bed with lots of frills. I guess I have my answer.

  “Why were you in there when the food is out here?”

  The Pomeranian growls. “Trust me, Fenway, I have better things to do.”

  “What could be better than a picnic?”

  “Give her some space,” Patches says, gently nosing me away. We watch Coco give herself a shake, her fur poofing out more than ever.

  Lucky sniffs the air. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh—hot dogs!”

  “Finally, somebody has the right idea,” I say, nosing his side. “Let’s go beg for scraps!”

  “Um, I don’t think so.” Coco’s tone stops me in my tracks. I watch her strut over to a woolen blanket in front of a big metal bin that smells like garbage. “I’ll decide when it’s time to eat,” she mutters, sinking onto the blanket.

  Lucky looks at Coco, then back at me and the ladies. “I guess we should just hang out,” he says, excitement visibly draining from him. He saunters to the blanket and flops down at the edge.

  “All right, let’s join the others,” Patches murmurs.

  Before I can open my mouth to argue, she and Goldie are already on their way to the blanket. They lie down with the other dogs, away from the table. And the yummy food.

  Huh? Because Coco likes waiting, suddenly we all do? Well, not me! I hate waiting!

  I scamper around the table, sizing things up. The humans are crowded up and down both sides, tall humans at one end, the short ones at the other. They’re all totally busy chatting and munching. Or almost all.

  June seems more interested in the open book on her lap than Hattie beside her. Or the food on her plate. I park myself at Hattie’s sneakers, just like at home. As she takes a bite of food, I gaze up eagerly. Sooner or later, tasty crumbs or a yummy drip will fall. I slurp my chops.

  Across from Hattie, Marcus is speaking nonstop. Every now and then, I hear Angel say, “Uh-huh.”

  Hattie turns to June. “Cool-yoon-ih-corn,” she says, focusing on June’s white-smudged cheek. It really does look like a horse.

  “Thanks,” June murmurs without looking up.

  Marcus kicks Angel under the table, and I hear him snicker. Hattie smells uncomfortable. June does, too. For the rest of suppertime, June’s eyes stay fixed on that book in her lap, while Hattie’s are on her plate.

  When the tall humans begin clearing the table or heading to the garbage bin, Marcus grabs a bag of marshmallows. “June-ih-corn!” he snickers, as the short humans—except for June—follow him to the Fire Space. At first, I wonder if I should warn Hattie about the fire, but one sniff tells me it’s nearly died out. And besides, I smell a higher priority right here.

  Swirly-Arm Lady heads over to a Food Box carrying a flimsy paper plate, one hot dog rolling back and forth with her every step. This can only mean one thing: opportunity!

  I leap on her legs, my tongue panting and drooling.

  “What the—?” she says, glancing down, just as . . .

  Plop! The hot dog lands on the ground. I’m on it in a flash. CHOMP! Mmmmm! My mouth explodes with the juicy, spicy flavors. And a bit of dirt, too. I chomp and chomp, lost in magical wonder until, sadly, the wonderful hot dog is gone.

  I feel Swirly-Arm Lady pat my head. And when I gaze up, she’s laughing. “Smart-boy!”

  Clearly, she wanted to share all along. But apparently not everyone approves of my tactics. Coco scuttles over from the blanket, her ears and tail high. “That hot dog was mine!” she shouts at me.

  I shirk away. “Weren’t you watching? She dropped it. It was up for grabs!”

  “She was bringing it to me.” Her nose in the air, she whirls around in all her poofy-ness. As I watch her strut back to the blanket, I have a feeling what I did is going to come back and bite me.

  Way after the kibble’s eaten and the sky goes dark, Hattie carries me inside our tent. We curl up together, zipped between a couple of padded blankets. She gives each of my paws a quick kiss, then nuzzles my neck. No notebook of comm-ix. No fur brushing. No singing “best buddies.”

  Instead, she whispers at me for a Long, Long Time. She mutters that upsetting word, “new-kid,” again. Clearly, she is afraid of something—maybe the wild animals. They’re mere pawsteps away!

  I snuggle against her cheek. She has to know that I’m always here to protect her.

  “Aw, Fenway,” she replies with a yawn.

  My mouth opens for my own big yawn, even though I’m not the least bit sleepy. I give my head a vigorous shake and try to settle down. Crickets are chirping. Owls are hooting. And rustling sounds drift in from the forest. My fur prickles. Wild animals are outside, roaming free. I have to stay on guard.

  A moment later, Hattie’s asleep, her breathing calm and peaceful. Good thing she feels safe and protected with her ferocious dog at her side. But there’s only so much I can do from inside this tent. My ears and nose will have to work overtime!

  My jaws stretch open for another yawn. I’ve never been more alert. Nothing can distract me from protecting Hattie. Not even my droopy eyelids. Not even my heavy, heavy eyelids.

  I let them flutter shut—just for a second. I hear Food Lady and Fetch Man crawling in and settling down on the other side of the tent.

  * * *

  I feel my body relax. And suddenly, I’m not in the tent with my humans anymore. I’m tramping through the dark, noisy forest, my body tingling with bravery. I have a job to do. I have to keep Hattie safe.

  But it’s so dark, I can’t see anything. Good thing I can smell. And hear. Though I almost wish I couldn’t.

  Because the smells are alarming, like smoke and creatures I can’t identify. Lots and lots of them. Some smell like birds. Some smell like rodents. But others smell strange, mysterious. Like grape jelly. And dirt.

  Way up high, branches rustle and crack. Peeps and squeals echo through the woods. Throaty hooting, too: The-crew! The-crew!

  Yikes! That voice sounds awfully menacing. “Go away!” I whimper, my tail wilting. I crawl under the pine needles, which feel strangely like Hattie’s pillow. And smell oddly like mint and vanilla.

  “Fenway?” Hattie’s soft voice mumbles.

  “Hattie?” I bark, turning toward her sleepy face. “What are you doing here in the scary woods?”

  Instead of answering, she runs her hand through her short hair. She reaches for her backpack, pulling out shirts and shorts and socks and jackets, one after another after another. She strokes each one like it’s a treasured friend, even though they smell brand-new and never worn before. Why is she interested in clothes at a time like this?

  “Hattie,” I bark. “This forest is full of danger. We have to scram. Like, RIGHT NOW!”

  But she doesn’t understand the huge problem. Now she’s focused on a group of short humans. Where did they come from?

  I recognize Angel and that loud boy Marcus. “The-crew! The-crew!” they chant. Other short humans—boys and girls of d
ifferent sizes—swoop in and join the chanting.

  Hattie laughs. “The-crew! The-crew!” She slaps their palms.

  The short humans zip around a tree, hop over a rock, and—

  Oh no! Hattie’s rushing straight toward an open mouth with giant fangs ready to chomp!

  I shake with courage. There’s no time to lose! It’s up to me to save her. I have to make her listen. “Hattie, stop! Please!” I bark. “Or this will end in disaster!”

  Hattie keeps going. She must not hear me. I race as fast as I can, trying to head her off, before she—

  THUD! Crash!

  * * *

  My eyes pop open. Dim morning light seeps into the tent. I climb out from the zipped-up blanket and give myself a good stretch.

  “Fenway,” Hattie murmurs, patting my head.

  “I’m so happy to see you!” I bark, romping up to her pillow. I lick Hattie’s sleepy face. I’m almost surprised that she tastes the same as always. For some reason, I can’t shake a strange feeling that something horrible almost happened . . .

  Vwoop! Hattie unzips the blankets and takes forever pulling on her clothes. She grabs a small paddle and gazes into it, grimacing and raking her fingers through her short hair like it’s annoyed her. Clearly, she’s perfectly safe, even if she’s not happy at the moment.

  But that’s about to change. Because my nose detects the most wondrous aroma! And I hear the sounds of breakfast sizzling. “Great news, Hattie!” I bark, leaping and spinning. “I smell bacon!”

  She clips on my leash, and we burst outside to the songs of cheerful birds. I spy Food Lady at the table pouring steaming coffee. Fetch Man stands by the Fire Space where the smoky bacon smell is coming from. After I water the big oak tree, we pause near the path, and I pick up an odor I can’t identify—something sinister. My fur prickles.

  As we get going again, I gaze around the clearing. On the other side of the tree, Muffin Lady and Tool Man are sipping from mugs while the ladies slurp from water dishes. Angel lopes toward us, munching an apple.

  Across the clearing, Lucky is gobbling what sounds like crunchy kibble. Hammock Man stands over the wooden table stirring something in a large bowl. Beside him, Waddling Lady is painting June’s cheek with a thin stick.

  By the time I’m finished with my morning business, that horrible feeling of danger is long gone . . .

  Until we hear a shriek from across the dirt road near the garbage bin. “Oh no!”

  Everybody turns. Swirly-Arm Lady and Marcus are looking down at the ground, their faces shocked. Hot Dog Man appears behind them. “What the—?” he cries.

  Clearly, something is wrong! Me and Hattie follow Food Lady as she rushes over. But before we even cross the road, I see the problem.

  Their Food Box is on its side, food strewn on the ground. Everything’s ripped apart or partially chewed—a torn bag of rolls, a ripped box of crumbly crackers, oozy smashed eggshells.

  Angel and the ladies join us. “Looks like their food’s been ransacked,” Goldie mutters.

  “Horrors!” Patches exclaims.

  More humans rush over to the Food Box, gasping like they’ve never seen a mess before. Even Fetch Man and Food Lady, who’ve definitely seen plenty.

  I have to find out who did this! But Hattie won’t let me get closer. Stretching the full length of the leash, my nose begins sniffing. I’ve barely gotten started when a furious growl nearly freaks me out of my fur.

  Coco is staring me down, hackles up, teeth bared. “Get away from here, Fenway!” She spits my name like it’s a yucky taste in her mouth. “Right now!”

  Yikes! That dog can be pretty vicious when she wants to be. I jump back, my tail drooped.

  Coco gets in my snout, her muzzle scrunched. “I’m in charge here,” she snarls. “Not you.”

  I take another step back. “I’m only trying to help. I can sniff out who did this.”

  “I don’t need any help from you.” Coco whips around to face the ladies and Lucky, her eyes glowering. “Or anybody.”

  Lucky glances at the partially eaten food. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!” he says. “Looks like somebody really chowed down! What’re you gonna do, Coco? Huh? Huh?”

  “Simple,” she says, her tail perked. “I’m not going to do anything.”

  Are my ears playing tricks on me? Did she really say she’s going to do nothing?

  Whoever attacked this Food Box will probably strike again. We’re clearly all in danger. I turn to the other dogs. Goldie’s pawing at the ground. Patches is snapping at a fly. Lucky’s gazing at Coco with huge eyes. They can’t be okay with this, can they? Why aren’t they questioning her?

  “Not that I owe any of you an explanation,” Coco says. “But I know my humans. Trust me, they’re not going to leave food out again.”

  As if on cue, Swirly-Arm Lady lets out a loud sigh. Hot Dog Man squats beside the spilled food and starts tossing it into a black bag like the kind Fetch Man stuffs into the tall can in the garage.

  Hey, wait a minute! Is Hot Dog Man throwing out perfectly good food? I spring up, my tail going nuts. It’s bad enough that Coco isn’t concerned about the wild animals, but now this?

  “FEN-way,” Hattie scolds, pulling me back.

  I drop down in frustration. This is so unfair! In more ways than one!

  Marcus comes up next to us, and Hattie pats him on the back. Angel does the same thing.

  Some tall humans chatter with Swirly-Arm Lady while others help Hot Dog Man fill the bag.

  “Why are you dogs still here?” Coco says with a sneer. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” She whips around and struts off.

  Lucky practically bounces after her. “Wait for me, Coco!” he yaps.

  Goldie begins to follow, but Patches noses her to a stop. “Don’t bother,” she says in her lovely voice.

  I leap up. Finally! “Ladies, we have to do something! We’re under attack!”

  “I hardly think so, Fenway.” Patches nuzzles my fur.

  “And besides,” Goldie says, her ears flattened, “if the humans are more careful with their food, animals won’t get into it.”

  They can’t know that. None of us had a chance to check it out, thanks to Coco. The thief could be vicious and threatening and terrifying—or not. The truth is we have no idea who we’re dealing with. How am I supposed to do my job?

  I’m about to keep arguing with the ladies, but right then, Hattie pulls me over to the table.

  Food Lady and Muffin Lady bring armfuls of food over to Marcus’s family, and everybody chows down on pancakes and bacon. Hattie slips me a slice or two under the table. That’s my girl!

  Afterward, everybody gets busy. Marcus and Angel kick a ball around. The ladies curl up in the shade of the big oak tree. Coco grabs a stick, and Lucky chases her. Normally, I’d join in the game. But all I can think about are wild animals. I smelled them by the big oak tree, so they could have been near the Food Box, too. I have to keep Hattie safe.

  She unties me from the table, and we wander across the clearing to the tall pine tree. June’s seated cross-legged against the trunk, a book open on her lap. Hattie plops down next to her, and I cuddle up beside my short human.

  She gazes at June’s cheek. It’s smudged again, but today it looks like a girl with wings. I’ve seen something like it before. “Nice-fair-ee,” Hattie says.

  June doesn’t look up. “Thanks.”

  Hattie chatters and chatters while June keeps her mouth shut. When she turns the page, Hattie points. “Yoon-ih-corn,” she says, her voice filled with admiration.

  June smiles and flips to another page. In the corner, I spy a girl with wings. And that’s when I realize where I’ve seen her before—in Hattie’s notebook!

  “Cool!” Hattie says.

  I snuggle against Hattie’s leg as the short humans chat. They’re awfully inte
rested in that book, even though it’s not anything fun like a ball or a chew toy.

  After a few minutes, Angel hurries over to us. She’s cradling a black-and-white ball in one arm, the ladies right behind her. “Hattie,” she cries, out of breath. “Wanna go to the Dog Park?”

  My ears shoot up. So does my tail. Of course we want to go to the Dog Park! “Yippee!” I bark, romping across Hattie’s lap. I don’t see Marcus—or Coco—anywhere, but a group of other short humans is waiting and watching near the big oak tree. And the woodsy path that leads to the Dog Park.

  Giggling, Hattie springs up. “You too?” she asks June.

  I start leading Hattie toward the ladies. “Hooray! Hooray! We’re going back to the Dog Park!”

  Right then, we hear, “Ready, boy?” Hammock Man grabs an excited Lucky by the leash. He’s got a bandanna around his head just like the one around Lucky’s neck. They must spot a squirrel because the two of them take off into another trail in the woods, as if they’ve done this very thing hundreds of times.

  Angel looks as impatient as I feel. “Hattie . . . the crew!”

  “Come on,” Hattie says, waving at June.

  June’s gaze falls back to the book. “Nah,” she mutters, shaking her head.

  Hattie glances at Angel, then over at the oak tree and the other short humans. Clearly, it’s time to play! What’s her hesitation? “See-ya,” she says to June with a shrug. Finally!

  The pine-y, mossy scents lead us down the same path as yesterday. Buzzes and chirps drift into my ears as they flap in the breeze. I see pawprints and hoofprints in the dirt, and I smell that strong, musky odor. It’s everywhere!

  Me and the ladies sprint most of the way. Turns out it’s a good strategy for ignoring the snaky shadows on the brush, the gnawed-off tree trunk, and the dim sky full of treetops.

  Hattie, Angel, and the rest of the short humans can barely keep up as we race to the gate. While we gasp for breath, we watch a single maple leaf drop off a low-hanging branch overhead and flutter to the ground.