Fenway and Hattie in the Wild

by Victoria J. Coe

  “It wasn’t much of a surprise,” Goldie says. “The whole operation smacked of raccoons from the beginning.”

  I thrust out my chest. “I would’ve run them off sooner if somebody had let me near the evidence . . .”

  “Well, thanks to you, Fenway, those mischief makers won’t be back anytime soon,” Patches says.

  “Those wild animals wouldn’t dare show their faces—or masks—as long as I’m around.” I glance over at Lucky, sighing contentedly in June’s arms. Then I see Coco, wandering back to the campsite. Alone.

  Late at night, me and Hattie are zipped up in the padded blankets. I nestle against her cheek, her short hair tickling my nose. Me and my beloved short human are together, safe, and cozy. Sighing with happiness, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

  * * *

  And suddenly, voices are chattering. “Help! Help!”

  Uh-oh! Somebody’s in trouble! I spring up and head outside, my fur standing on end. “Don’t worry, whoever you are!” I bark, gazing around. “I’ll save you!”

  Even though it’s totally dark, I can tell the campsite is empty. No tall humans. No short humans. No dogs. Where did everybody go?

  I raise my snout and sniff the air for clues. But there’s nothing. Not even a bit of smoky bacon. And no tasty hot dogs, either.

  Hey, wait a minute. Where’s all the food?

  I race over to our Food Box, my eyes widening in horror. It’s totally empty!

  I sprint over to the ladies’ Food Box. Same thing!

  Coco’s Food Box, Lucky’s Food Box. Not one speck of food anywhere! Oh no! What happened?

  “Help! Help!” Those voices again! Where are they coming from?

  “Hold on!” I bark. “The hero is coming!” I search the whole campsite, but I can’t find anybody or anything. There’s only one thing left to do—explore the woods.

  As soon as I charge into the brush, the voices are louder. “Help! Help!” More of them. “Help! Help! Help! Help!”

  My head swivels. A pair of dots glows up ahead. A long way ahead. “Fenway, help!” a voice calls. I start to bound down the path.

  “Over here, Fenway!” another voice calls. I pull to a stop. Two more eyes shine down from the way-up-high treetops. How am I supposed to get up there?

  “This way, Fenway! I need you!” cry other voices far off in the distance. “Come quick, Fenway!” “Hurry, Fenway!”

  “Help! Help! Help!”

  I dart one way, then the other. I don’t want to be in charge. I only want some friends! I just want to—!

  * * *

  “Fenway?” I hear Hattie’s voice. I feel her fingers rubbing my neck.

  Morning light seeps into the tent. I gaze into my short human’s sleepy eyes. I crawl into Hattie’s arms, and she hugs me tight. Why am I panting?

  Hattie grabs the nearest shirt and shorts and pulls them on. She tucks her notebook and some pencils under her arm. Running her fingers through her short hair, she unzips the door—vwoop!—and we step into the scents of fresh air mingled with smoke, coffee, and sweet sausage.

  Mmmmm!

  Fetch Man and Food Lady hover over the wooden table. Food Lady offers Hattie a cup of juice, but she shakes her head. She smells determined. And she walks with purpose, like she’s on a mission.

  I follow Hattie across the clearing to the tall pine tree. June’s seated on the bench, munching a plate of scrambled eggs while Waddling Lady paints her face.

  “Hey,” Hattie says, smiling. She slides onto the bench beside June.

  When June’s cheek is full of stripe-y curves, she turns to show Hattie. “Cool-rain-boh,” Hattie says, her voice full of admiration.

  “Thanks,” June says in a small voice.

  Waddling Lady points her paintbrush at Hattie. “Yoo-too?” she asks.

  Hattie nods, her face busting into a grin. When Waddling Lady is finished, Hattie’s cheek has a pair of delicate-looking wings on it.

  “Cool-fair-ee,” June says. She and Hattie giggle.

  When Waddling Lady puts the brush down, Hattie places the notebook on the table and lays it open. She hands June one of her pencils.

  Whoopee! I know what’s coming next.

  June looks up, excited.

  I paw Hattie’s leg. “Don’t forget me!” I bark.

  Hattie lifts me onto the bench. I leap up, my front paws gripping the table. Hattie and June get busy talking and drawing and making marks on the pages. Lines and curves, too. Pretty soon, the paper is covered with images and boxes. They’re both focused but also full of energy.

  When they’re finished, June grins.

  Hattie’s grin is even wider. If it makes her this happy, I guess it’s okay that she shared our special comm-ix with somebody else.

  * * *

  After breakfast, Hattie clips my leash and leads me to the big oak tree. Hooray! Hooray! We’re going to the Dog Park! June and Lucky are waiting for us on the path.

  “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!” Lucky says, his tail swinging wildly. He pretty much repeats this over and over until we reach the maple tree and the chain-link fence. Besides me, he might be the most enthusiastic dog I know.

  The Dog Park is bustling with action. Big dogs, little dogs, wide dogs, thin dogs. Apparently, everybody decided to play all at the same time. Can’t argue with that!

  As we rush through the gate, I spy the ladies near the front bench. After I do the bum-sniffing circle dance with them, Angel comes over and pats my head. I lick her hand. She tastes like pancakes. When she stands up, she gestures toward Hattie’s face.

  Hattie beams. “Like it?” she says proudly. She takes her notebook out from under her arm and plops down on the bench. She flips through the pages, showing them to Angel.

  Angel peers over the notebook. “You made these?” she asks them both. She sounds impressed.

  June swings her long braid over her shoulder. She watches Hattie show the rest of the notebook to Angel, her whole face grinning.

  “Hey, is that Fenway?” I hear one of the dogs call.

  “Did you hear about last night?” cries another. “He saved the crew from a pack of bears!”

  “You mean a moose!” another dog cries.

  “That Fenway is one tough dog!” a couple of others say.

  “Looks like you’re the big dog now,” Goldie says in a teasing voice.

  “You’ve earned it, Fenway,” Patches says, nuzzling my neck.

  Before I know it, a huge group of dogs stampedes over to us. One of them goes up to Lucky. “You were there, right? Did Fenway really fight off a pack of wolves?”

  Lucky stands taller. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!” he yips. “Fenway was amaaaaazing! You should’ve seen him!”

  Before I can correct him, the Boston Terrier pipes up. “Hey, Fenway, wanna play chase?”

  “I got here before you,” says the Border Collie, nosing the Boston out of the way. “Play keep-away with me, Fenway. You can go first.”

  Hugo drops onto his forepaws. “How about showing us those moves on the climbing ramp, Fenway?” he asks, his bow tie flopping.

  “Whatever you want!” Kwanzaa hops excitedly. “You’re in charge, Fenway!” she says.

  “For sure!” cries Titan the German Shepherd. “You tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”

  Midnight thumps her black, curly tail in agreement. Chorizo wags his tail, too.

  I take a step back. “Whoa! Hang on, everybody.” My head swivels around the Dog Park, from the giant water dish to the ramp to the crawling tube, but I don’t see anyone with a sparkly collar. “Where’s Coco?” I ask.

  “Oh, that bossy little Pomeranian?” says one of the dogs. “I thought I saw her digging near the back fence.”

  “You don’t have to worry about her,” says another. “You’re the leader now.”

  �
��That’s just it,” I say, before tearing out across the Dog Park. I don’t slow down until I get to the back fence. Sure enough, Coco is sunk down in a small hole. As I stand over her, her dirty face pops up.

  “What do you want now, Fenway?” she says in a disgusted voice. “Here to gloat?”

  I cock my head. “I’m not even sure what that means. I came to ask you to help lead the games.”

  She looks surprised. “What did you say?”

  “I’m all about having fun,” I say, nudging her out of the hole. “And it’s not fun being the leader all the time. At least not for me.”

  “Really?” she says. “You’re not pulling my tail?”

  “Definitely,” I say. “As long as everybody gets to play. Even me.”

  Coco springs up on her paws. “Deal! Now, let’s see if you can catch me!”

  As she shoots out through the grass, I’m right behind her. The other dogs race over, and before I know it, we’re all part of the Best Game of Chase Ever.

  When most of the dogs have left the Dog Park, Hattie and Angel call me and the ladies over. Lucky and Coco trot along ahead of us. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! Wasn’t that fun, Coco?” Lucky says, panting.

  “Sure was,” Coco says, her collar glittering through her poofy fur.

  Marcus and a couple of other boys are hanging by the gate. One of them is holding a fat ball. As the short humans clip on our leashes, Marcus comes up to Hattie, chattering. “Kick-ball?” I hear him say.

  “Nah,” Hattie says, exchanging a glance with June. Then she turns her painted cheek toward Marcus. “Like it?” she asks.

  “Fair-ee??” When he grimaces, Hattie laughs. So does June. So does Angel. Hattie tucks her book under her arm, and we head out the gate.

  * * *

  Back at the clearing, all that’s left of the campsite are the wooden tables, the Fire Spaces, and the cars. Which are as overloaded as they were when we first came here to the woods. “Ready, Fenway?” Hattie asks as we pile into the back seat. “See you in school!” she calls to the short humans, waving out the window.

  There’s that word again—“school.” The place where short humans with backpacks go. And suddenly I get it—this is what all the changes are about. Hattie is going there again.

  But she’s excited. She’s ready. And I know it will be okay.

  As we drive away, I crawl onto Hattie’s lap. I give her cheek a sloppy lick. She smells like paint and pine, but mostly like happiness.

  I nuzzle into her shirt. Some changes might be scary. Some changes are all right. But loving Hattie is one thing that will stay the same. For always.

  Acknowledgments

  Every book has a story-behind-the-story. This book has three.

  1) In January 2017, then nine-year-old Olivia Van Ledtje invited me to record a “LivBit” with her at the launch party for Fenway and Hattie and the Evil Bunny Gang. Of course I agreed (even though I had yet to learn what a “LivBit” was). On camera, she suggested that I write a book where Fenway meets a Pomeranian named Coco. An idea was planted.

  2) Later that year, my wise editor, Susan Kochan, suggested that Fenway and Hattie’s family might go on a trip. The idea sprouted.

  3) I thought of my own family’s experiences with our dog, Kipper. The time he capsized our boat and lost our gear in the river. The time he drank so much seawater that he threw up on the beach. The time he “defended” our tent from anyone who walked by and nearly got us kicked out of the campground. These not-so-fond memories mashed up with the group camping tradition at my kids’ elementary school. The idea bloomed. And the book practically wrote itself.

  But writing is only the first step in a book’s life, just as buying a tent is only the beginning of a camping trip. Fenway and Hattie in the Wild came about thanks to the help and support of many extraordinary professionals and friends.

  A forest full of thanks to my agent, Marietta Zacker, for showing me the ropes. I cannot imagine this adventure without her as my trusted guide. And s’more thanks to the rest of the team at Gallt & Zacker. I feel so lucky to have these ladies in my camp.

  Endless gratitude to my brilliant editor, Susan Kochan. Her kindness, wisdom, and professionalism are as big as the great outdoors.

  A chorus of birdcalls for the rest of the team, especially Jamaica Ponder, for a fresh reading and fresh perspective; Wendy Dopkin, for cleaning up my messes; Trevor Ingerson, for making a splash with social media and the One School, One Book promotion; Susie Albert, for navigating trails to New England booksellers; Andrea Cruise, for planning and coordinating my classroom WRAD connections & beyond; Dave Kopka, for another tail-wagging cover and jacket; David Kreutz, for yet one more drool-worthy dog photo; and illustrator Kristine Lombardi, for the paw-some sketches at the head of each chapter.

  Enormous thanks to my home base, the trusted readers of this story who kept me on the right path (and helped me find my way when I strayed): Bridget Hodder, Cheryl Lawton Malone, Theresa Milstein, Lisa J. Rogers, Elly Swartz, and Donna Woelki.

  A bonfire of appreciation for librarian luminary Shannon Miller and her extremely enthusiastic students. Unveiling this book’s fiery red cover with them was an experience I’ll never forget.

  Ranger hats off to all the dedicated educators and book nerds whose blogs and posts and real-life book talks have enabled the Fenway and Hattie series to trek into so many libraries, classrooms, and homes. I wish I could list everyone, but I want to give extra-special thanks to Margie Myers-Culver, Cynthia Merrill, Jason Lewis, John Schumacher, Donalyn Miller, Pernille Ripp, Michele Knott, Lesley Burnap, Rayna Freedman, Melanie Roy, Nikki Mancini, Becky Calzada, and Bobbi Hopkins. Their incredible guidance and generosity, particularly over this past year, was more than I could have ever imagined.

  A round of campfire cheers for teacher Tracy Mitchell and her third graders of 2017–18 at East Clayton Elementary in Clayton, North Carolina, and Amanda Bonjour and her library full of students from Cody Elementary in Le Claire, Iowa, who named Titan the three-legged German Shepherd and Midnight the black Poodle, respectively. I can’t wait for readers to meet these two aptly named characters!

  If I could camp out anywhere in the world, it would be inside an independent bookstore. I’m so thankful for all the passionate booksellers who have helped get my books into the hands of readers. Special shout-outs to Peter H. Reynolds and Margie Leonard at The Blue Bunny, Kathy Detweiler and Bill Grace at Buttonwood Books, Lynnette at Henry Bear’s Park, and Lisa Fabiano at An Unlikely Story, who regularly go the extra mile and beyond.

  Mountains of thanks to the teachers, parents, and administrators of every elementary school I’ve visited this past year. Connecting with kids, particularly in a school setting, is an absolute honor and joy. To everyone who made those opportunities possible, you are the brightest stars in the night sky.

  To my most cherished author buddies—Elly Swartz, Bridget Hodder, Cheryl Lawton Malone, and Lygia Day Penaflor—I would be truly lost without your love and friendship. You ladies are everything.

  Kudos to my family, who are always ready to pitch in whenever I need anything. My amazing uncle Walter Swartz designed the Fenway cutout and the Books in the Kitchen logo, my brother Matthew Coe created two of the book trailers, and my son James Baker-Coe composed, performed, and recorded the music for all three trailers and also developed the Fenway and Hattie interactive game (victoriajcoe.com/play).

  Lastly, love forever to my husband, Ralph, and my sons, Philip and James, who showed me the fun of camping—even if they say it’s not real camping until someone complains!

  Victoria J. Coe has survived exactly one camping trip with her dog, Kipper. In addition to writing books for children, she teaches creative writing to adults in Boston, where she and her family are always on the lookout for intruders.

  www.victoriajcoe.com

  Instagram.com/victoriajcoe

 
Twitter: @victoriajcoe

  Find Fenway and Hattie activities for home and classroom on Victoria J. Coe’s Padlet:

  padlet.com/victoriajcoe/FenwayAndHattieResources

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