“What the—?” Angel cries.
I leap to my feet. Angel’s standing near the Fire Space on the far side of their boxy tent, holding out a bag and showing it to Tool Man. I’m too far away to investigate, but even from here I pick up smoky, meaty aromas. A strong, musky odor, too. Is that the bag of bacon from this morning?
It’s ripped and torn. Uh-oh. What happened?
Muffin Lady rushes over. She looks concerned. So does Tool Man.
The ladies trot toward me, and I whip around. “Oh my!” Patches cries. “Somebody got into that bacon!”
“This is what happens when our Angel leaves food out,” Goldie scowls.
I can’t believe my ears. Or my eyes. The ladies sound like Coco. And they’re heading in the wrong direction. “Aren’t you going to sniff for clues?” I say. Maybe the strong, musky odor I picked up was coming from somewhere else.
“Fenway,” Patches says gently. “What’s done is done.”
“Yeah, but don’t you want to know who did it? Whoever it was could come back!”
“Not if the food’s put away,” Goldie says. Now she really sounds like Coco!
Patches gives me a gentle nuzzle. “Try not to worry, Fenway. Not everything is a dangerous threat.”
How can she say that? We’re in the middle of the woods!
Angel and Tool Man and Muffin Lady all talk at once. Fetch Man strolls over. “Oh no,” he says, shaking his head.
Hattie’s right behind him. She’s wearing different clothes, but her hair is tussled and damp. “Please untie me, Hattie,” I bark, straining on the leash. “I need to go over there and investigate.”
She turns back, and my tail wags with hope. Until I notice one eyebrow’s raised. “Fenway, stay,” she says in a growly voice before catching up to Fetch Man.
Coco must’ve been watching as her humans returned from hiking, because she charges up at that very moment. “When will you learn to mind your own business, Fenway?” Her voice is mean and ominous.
I leap back. What does she know? Protecting Hattie is my business. Even if Hattie won’t let me. “You don’t know what you’re yapping about,” I say to Coco.
“I know what I saw,” she says. “Even your short human doesn’t want you sniffing all over. That’s why you’re on that leash while the rest of us aren’t.” Thrusting out her chest, she spins around and swaggers off.
My tail droops. What a show-off. I’m vaguely aware of humans and dogs making noise and moving around the campsite, but I can’t focus on anything. Except what just happened.
Coco was gone. Could Lucky have done it? He seemed guilty before. Maybe he stole that bacon.
But even if I can’t sniff that package as much as I’d like, I don’t know if Lucky had the chance to get at it. Smelling is believing. I wish I could be sure.
Across the clearing—vwoop!—a tent zipper opens. Hammock Man comes out, minus the bandanna, Lucky bounding after him, full of playful energy. Not acting suspicious at all.
Or is he? Suddenly, he reverses direction and hurries back to the tent. I watch his tail thump heavily as June comes out, her arms wrapped around a book. She strides over to her usual pine tree and plops down. He follows her over and curls up at her feet.
I keep focused on him. What if he goes straight for one of the Food Boxes the moment I glance away? I have to know if there’s any way he was the thief.
I study June for clues, but she only has eyes for that open book in her lap. Other than turning the pages every now and then, she is perfectly still.
After a while, Hattie strolls over to her. Her hair is still damp, but it’s much neater than it was before. She drops down beside June, smiling and pointing at the book.
At first, I think she and June are going to chatter again or maybe put paint on their cheeks. But even from here, I can see June’s face scrunch up, her eyes narrowing. She gets to her feet and looks down at Hattie. Her long braid falls over her shoulder.
Lucky’s eyes gaze up at June, but the rest of him doesn’t move.
Hattie’s face is surprised. “What?” I hear her say. She swats at a fly.
June reaches into her pocket. She holds out her closed fist. When she opens her hand, a ball of crumpled paper falls out and floats to the ground. June folds her arms across her chest. She’s not loud, but I can tell she is mad. Her voice sounds sad and hurt.
Hattie is quiet, her expression blank. Her eyes start to shine.
June’s eyes start shining, too. She sniffs a few times. She plops back down and begins patting Lucky like she just remembered he was there. She rests her head against his back and wipes her nose.
Clearly, the short humans are both upset by that rumpled paper. But why? It seems pretty harmless to me.
Hattie snatches the crumpled ball and turns away, like she can’t bear to look at June. She starts to rush off toward our campsite.
Just then, I hear footsteps and noisy chatter arriving from the dirt road. Marcus storms in with another boy. They’re both wearing those pointy, papery hats, growling “AARGH!” and singing “Yo-ho-ho!”
Hattie swerves out of their path, cowering like she’s hoping they won’t notice her. Her gaze is fixed on the ground. Apparently, she can’t bear to look at them, either. She slinks quickly toward the domed tent as if she can’t wait to escape.
They point and snicker. I hear “AARGH!” a few more times and “land-lub-ber!” followed by more laughing.
As Hattie gets closer to me, I see wet tears streaming down her face. She unzips the tent and disappears inside.
Big feet come up to the bench. Tool Man’s voice is chattering with Fetch Man. I creep out for a peek.
They’re studying the ripped package of bacon—specifically the bite marks. Which are awfully tiny.
I have a terrible feeling about whose teeth did the damage. I shoot a look at Lucky, sprawled out under the tree across the clearing. He opens his mouth for a yawn. A big, wide yawn.
His teeth are huge.
My fur bristles. There’s no way he bit into that bacon.
And if he didn’t do it, and Coco didn’t do it, my worst nightmare has come true!
I want to melt into the ground. My body sinks, my ears flattened against my head. But I can’t relax. My muscles feel as tight as a tug-of-war rope. And hard as rocks.
How did everything get so messed up? A wild animal must have snuck into our campsite—three times!—and stolen food. Hattie’s obviously not safe.
I was fooling myself by suspecting Coco and Lucky. And if only I could’ve found a way to sniff any of the evidence, I would have realized that sooner. Now my short human is in danger, and she’s anything but happy. I’ve failed at my two most important jobs.
Poor Hattie. Ever since June got mad and Marcus teased her, Hattie’s been inside that tent all by herself. My heart aches as I listen to her staggered breathing and sniffles.
This is not how it’s supposed to be. The ladies said short humans and their families come to the woods every year. For tradition. To be with a big group of friends. Not to be alone. Or sad.
If I weren’t tied to this bench, I’d race to her side and snuggle against her until she’s happy again. Except I think of how she didn’t appreciate that I saved her in the water, and I get the feeling that anything I do won’t be enough.
I lie here doing nothing for a Long, Long Time. Food Lady sits at the table with Muffin Lady and Waddling Lady. Every now and then, one of them says, “rum-my,” followed by the clattering and fluttering sound of cards. The other humans are quiet. The other dogs are either lounging or out of sight. I’m about to wonder if this horrible, lonely afternoon will ever end when out of the corner of my eye Angel appears from around a tree.
I lift my head. She’s coming this way. Are things about to get better?
After chatting with Food Lady for a moment, she dash
es toward the tent. “Hattie?” she calls.
My ears rise, hoping to hear my beloved Hattie’s voice. But all I hear is a fly buzzing overhead.
“Hattie?” Angel calls again. Her voice is a bit more forceful this time.
I tilt my head toward the tent. Hattie’s got to be in there.
I start to wonder if maybe she snuck out and somehow I didn’t notice. But then I hear vwoop! and my hopes soar. Hattie’s coming out!
Or maybe not. Angel hesitates for a second, then steps inside the tent. Rizzzzz! She closes the zipper behind her. “Hey,” she says.
As the short humans chat in low voices, I strain to listen. It sounds like Angel is asking Hattie some questions. Or trying to coax her into something.
Hattie mutters, her tone gloomy and doubtful. She must not want to go along. I pick up “the crew” a couple of times.
“Come on.” Angel almost sounds like she’s begging.
Hattie goes quiet. I begin to think she’s through with chatting, but then she speaks in an even gloomier voice. I catch her say, “Marcus” and “no way.”
But Angel doesn’t sound like she’s giving up. Now she’s pleading.
I’m not sure what’s going on, except I can tell that Hattie is not feeling better. I’m actually afraid she might be worse.
“No-big-deel,” Angel keeps saying. And, “Come on.”
Hattie goes silent again. Then I hear her murmuring, followed by vwooop!
My tail lifts hopefully. Is she finally coming back?
Angel pops out of the tent. Without Hattie.
Rizzzzz! The zipper zips shut, and Angel heads across the clearing. I watch the back of her dark hair until she disappears through the pine trees.
I slump back on the ground. If Angel can’t coax Hattie out, she must really want to be alone.
“Rum-my,” Food Lady says. I wait for the sounds of clattering and fluttering cards, but this time the tall humans speak in hushed tones. I catch “Hattie” and “friends” once or twice and then “new-skool.” They sound concerned.
I know how they feel. I wish there were something I could do to help my short human. I rest my head on my brown paw. I can’t be with her. I can’t see her. I can barely smell her.
All I can do is listen.
Too bad the tent is completely quiet. Or is it?
Ignoring the tall humans, the cawing birds, and the rustle of the breeze in the branches, I pay attention as hard as I can for sounds of Hattie. My ears in total focus, at last I pick up swooosh-thsssss-thsssss.
Is that a pencil on paper? Is Hattie drawing?
I remember last night—the flashlight, the notebook, the horse’s head, the pole coming out of it. I concentrate on the sounds. Swooosh-thsssss-thsssss. I let out a sigh. It’s actually pretty relaxing. Is that what Hattie’s doing? Is she relaxing?
I sigh again, picturing her lying on her belly, propped up on her elbows. Her hand gripping a pencil, moving across a pad of paper.
Just when I start to get hopeful again, the sounds change. They’re suddenly louder, sharper, faster.
Thwusss-thwuss-thwuss. R-r-r-r-ip! R-r-r-r-ip!
Uh-oh. I don’t need to smell her to know she’s mad and frustrated again. I wait for a moment, my hopes smashed to bits, then all goes silent again.
I should’ve known.
The tall humans must hear it, too, because they stop murmuring. Food Lady gets up from the table and walks over to the tent. She leans in. “Hattie?”
When Hattie doesn’t answer—vwooop!—the zipper opens, and Food Lady ducks inside.
“Hattie,” I hear her say in a low tone.
I raise my head, my ears cocked and listening.
“Well,” Hattie starts. She speaks quickly, her voice gaining steam as she goes on. I can’t tell what she’s talking about, but I catch snippets—“the crew,” “Marcus,” “Angel,” and then finally, “June” and “yoon-ih-corns.” Then I hear the sounds of ripping paper again.
“Oh, bay-bee,” Food Lady says in a comforting voice.
Hattie chatters some more. This time the only name I hear is “June.” The longer she talks, the stronger her voice gets. Hattie sounds less sad and more sure. Determined.
My tail perks up. Is this good news? Is Hattie beginning to feel better?
Just then, I hear a snap! Like a human’s foot crunching on a twig. Fetch Man strides into the campsite. Hot Dog Man is right behind him, a small dog’s face peeking over his shoulder. I don’t need to smell her to know it’s Coco riding in the backpack again.
She must spot me, too, because she starts glowering.
My fur bristles, and I slink back under the bench. Is this how things are going to be from now on? Coco’s in charge, and we all have to do things her way? She wouldn’t stand up to the thieves who raided her family’s Food Box or Marcus’s backpack, and now the ladies aren’t bothering to guard their family’s food, either. It’s like they’re inviting a wild animal to take over our campsite!
All our humans are in danger. And nobody cares except me.
I make up my mind then and there. Maybe the rest of them are fine going along with Coco, but that doesn’t mean I have to.
Later, when mouthwatering chicken is sizzling on the Fire Space and Marcus and Angel are playing chase around the campsite, Hattie’s still in the tent by herself. I can hear her scribbling away, probably in that notebook again. Ever since we came back from the pond, it seems to be the only thing she’s really interested in. Every thwusss stabs at my heart. I’m supposed to be in there with her, listening to the comm-ix story. Not tied up outside by myself.
Hot Dog Man sets lots of plates on the table while Swirly-Arm Lady piles chicken high on a platter. The other humans start making their way over, and who can blame them? Barbecued chicken is irresistible.
My tongue starts dripping. That chicken won’t help me figure out what to do or make Hattie happy, but it sure couldn’t hurt.
Marcus catches up to Angel and lets out a loud “Whoop!” Laughing, they bound up to the table, where the human families are already seated. Except for one.
Fetch Man strolls over to the tent. “Hattie?” he calls.
Hattie stops scribbling, but I don’t hear her voice. Or the zipper opening up. Isn’t she coming out to eat supper?
Food Lady joins Fetch Man, her face concerned. “Let-er-bee,” she says to him in a soft voice.
I don’t know what that means, but Fetch Man shrugs and puts his arm around her. They head toward the next table and the food. Without Hattie.
Uh-oh. My hackles bristle. This is all kinds of wrong. How can Hattie miss out on supper? She loves barbecued chicken!
The others greet Fetch Man and Food Lady with questioning looks. “Hattie?” I hear one of the tall humans ask. Clearly, everybody is wondering why she’s the only one not eating. Well, the only human, that is.
Fetch Man and Food Lady exchange a quick glance, then slide into their seats. Whatever Fetch Man says seems to satisfy the rest of them because they dig in to the food as if somebody just not eating happens all the time.
I turn toward the tent, my heart aching. Poor Hattie! I sure wouldn’t want to miss out on supper.
I lower my head, trying to ignore my own rumbling tummy. If Hattie’s not here, that means no chicken scraps for me. I certainly wouldn’t steal it, unlike some creatures.
It’s ridiculous to think that wild animals can invade our campsite anytime they want. Coco and the other dogs act like it’s no big deal. I have to take matters into my own paws.
* * *
As the tall humans clean the table, I watch June wander across the clearing and plop down under that same pine tree. She picks up her book and flips it open. I remember what the ladies said when we first got here. She’s not in the crew anymore. That must be why she’s sitting by herself.
Shouts and squeals bring my attention back toward the garbage bin. Marcus and Angel are playing chase again. They weave in and out of the tables and tents, laughing. I hear a mysterious word, “bonn-fire,” a few times. Eventually, Angel slows to a stop not far from me. She hunches over, her hands on her knees, smiling and panting. I hear her say, “Hattie.”
Marcus scowls. “Whatever,” he mutters.
Angel lopes over to the tent. “Hattie?” she calls, leaning into the zipper. I hear “the crew” and “bonn-fire?”
I tilt my head in her direction. I can’t tell if Hattie mumbles a response, or if that’s just the breeze rustling a couple of fallen leaves.
Angel pauses. Waiting? But Hattie doesn’t come out. She must give up, because after a moment or two, she rushes back over to Marcus. They head out through the trees, chanting, “Bonn-fire! Bonn-fire!”
Fetch Man and Food Lady stroll back to our campsite. My tail comes to life. Because Food Lady grabs my bowl. I know what’s coming next!
“Hooray! Hooray!” I bark, leaping and twirling. “It’s sup-sup-suppertime! The very best time of the day!”
Sure enough, the familiar bag crinkles open. Fetch Man unleashes me as meaty, crunchy morsels clatter into the dish.
Ordinarily, nothing can distract me from suppertime. But the sound of the zipper opening—vwoop!—makes my heart soar. Hattie is coming!
I romp over to the tent. Hattie’s head of short hair appears, then the rest of her, the notebook tucked under her arm. Rizzzzz! The zipper closes.
“Hattie! Hattie!” I bark, pawing her legs. “I missed you so much.”
“Shhh, Fenway,” she murmurs. She barely looks at me. She must be very focused. And in a hurry?
I hardly notice Food Lady place my bowl on the ground. I follow Hattie across the clearing toward June. Her face bright and hopeful, she sinks down beside June. “Uh-bowt—um,” Hattie says, fidgeting.
Fenway and Hattie in the Wild Page 9
