Fenway and Hattie and the Evil Bunny Gang

by Victoria J. Coe

  How can the ladies lounge around when there’s an Evil Bunny Gang on the loose? Are they not aware of the stench?

  Nose back to the ground, I follow a winding scent trail to the tangly vines next to the house. Aha!

  Those vines are reeking with bunny smells! My tail going nuts, I thrust my snout into the web of jumbly twists. Furiously, I burrow and thrash. I push through snaky vines.

  But the vines are empty. Where did the bunnies go?

  I track the stench along the back of the house. When I reach the side of the porch, there’s just enough space for me to crawl underneath.

  And as my eyes adjust to the blackness, two glowing eyes beam back at me.

  My nose picks it up first. That stench of fear and aggression and rotten carrots is unmistakable! I’m staring into the face of my rival—

  The Evil Bunny!

  He’s huddled in the corner, glowering at me. His body is poised and ready to strike.

  My hackles shoot up with rage and loathing. Our eyes lock and horrible memories come back to me. The menacing taunts. The horrific rustling and scratching. The annoying carrot munching and chomping. The ear-splitting squeals and shrieks.

  The fact that he stole my short human away from me.

  I bare my teeth. “You’re out of chances, bunny!” I bark.

  He growls. He flinches. He’s about to pounce!

  I start to lunge—but I immediately pull back, my heart flooded with confusion and panic. I want to chase him away. But that’s not why I tracked him down.

  The Evil Bunny twitches, his wicked eyes darting one way, then the other. His whole body is trembling. He’s obviously terrified—hey, what’s that horrible smell?

  My head swivels, and I leap back in horror. Through the darkness, more eyes are glowing with evil. Furry heads, twitching noses, great big teeth!

  It’s another nasty fur ball . . . and another . . . and another. Wowee, they are everywhere! It’s the Evil Bunny Gang!

  Is this their lair?

  Every one of them is staring at me with looks of pure intimidation. And they clearly mean business! I take a step back, shivering with courage, trying to summon a growl, when . . .

  Squeeeee!

  I turn back to the Evil Bunny—Thumper. He is cowering in the corner, obviously terrified of the Evil Bunny Gang.

  My eyes refocus. This little quivering fur ball isn’t trouble. He’s IN trouble.

  And that’s when I know I was wrong.

  “Thumper” doesn’t mean Leader of the Bunny Gang. Goldie was right—Thumper is his name. And it means alone and afraid. He needs help.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  Yikes! One of the bunnies stomps his chubby hind leg so loudly, so defiantly, my ears fight like crazy to stay upright. I can’t move. I can’t think. All I can do is shudder.

  Another bunny opens his mouth. Eeeeeeeeeeee! Some are shrieking and growling at Thumper. The rest are getting ready to pounce in my direction.

  My ears fall in defeat. Who knew bunnies could be so loud? The gang is ganging up on me.

  I creep backward, trying to stare them all down at the same time. I have a job to do, but this is not a fair fight. I can’t conquer a whole Gang of Evil Bunnies on my own. I need reinforcements.

  I back all the way out from under the porch and into the wind. Whoooooooooo . . . whoooooooooo . . . it howls.

  My eyes squint into the rushing gust. My ears blown flat, my fur rippling, I sprint across the ladies’ Dog Park.

  Goldie’s slumped down in the grass, her face in her paws. She barely looks up as I approach.

  “Goldie! I need help! It’s urgent!” I shout, nudging her until she meets my gaze.

  She sneers. “Go away.”

  She’s obviously mad that I blamed her for the mess I’m in. Somehow I have to convince her to forgive me before it’s too late. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. But everything’s changed!” I dart back and forth, my tail going nuts. “I found Thumper! He’s under the porch.”

  “Good for you,” she gruffs. “So get rid of him. Get your short human back. Have a nice life.”

  More darkness blankets the sky. Another gust of wind hits my face. Whoooooooooo . . . whoooooooooo . . . it moans.

  “No—listen!” I plead. “He’s in danger. I need help! And there’s not much time!”

  Patches trots over, her sleek fur even sleeker in the wind. “What is it, Fenway?” she asks, her face serious and concerned. “How can we help?”

  Her voice is so lovely. Her eyes are so kind. Even though I was mean to her, she still wants to help. What a true friend. “Oh, Patches!” I cry, nuzzling her neck.

  “He asked me, not you,” Goldie snaps at her. “What help could you possibly be anyway? You’re a total softy.”

  I turn to face Goldie, whose expression is even tougher and more growly than usual. “I have a plan. And I need you both.”

  Goldie snarls at Patches, clearly unconvinced. “Well, if she’s helping, I have something better to do.”

  “Goldie, please!” I cry. “You’re my friend. I need you.”

  She turns back to me. “That’s my point. You need me, not her.”

  “We have to work together. As a pack! And we have to hurry.”

  Patches offers Goldie a look full of hope.

  Goldie sighs.

  Whoooooooooo . . . whoooooooooo . . . the wind whistles in my ears. I sprint back to the house. “Come on, ladies!” I call. “Let’s go!”

  For a few moments, all I hear is the wind. But then . . . tags jingling?

  I look out into the Dog Park. The ladies are headed my way! I give a quick sniff under the porch. Eeeeew! “Good! They’re still in there,” I say.

  “They?” Patches asks.

  “The Evil Bunny Gang,” I explain. “We’re outnumbered.”

  Goldie cocks her head. “You don’t seriously expect us to fit under there.”

  “Hold on, Goldie,” Patches says. “What’s the plan, Fenway?”

  “All right, ladies. Listen up.” As I dole out assignments, their heads nod in agreement. When we’re all on board with the plan, we bump noses. “I owe you big-time,” I whisper. We take our positions.

  I crawl under the porch, my fur bristling with nerves—I mean, readiness. Through the empty black silence, the Evil Bunnies’ glowing eyes—and their stench—betray them. Teeth bared and ready, I zero in on the gang.

  Some rustling comes first, then Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee!

  I jump back in terror. Their shrieks are way louder than I expected! Quaking and trembling, I remind myself of the mission. I must prevail!

  My back to Thumper, I bear down and prepare to attack. “You cannot escape, bunnies!” I bark, snarling and snapping and lunging.

  Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee! The Evil Bunnies all squeal at once, each headed toward the dim light of the opening. Where the ladies are waiting.

  The gang rockets out, while Thumper huddles in the corner. I watch Patches get into position to block Thumper, then I head after the rest.

  “That’s it, cowards!” I bark. “Run for your lives!”

  The squealing bunnies scamper past a growling Goldie. We chase their fluffy white tails, driving them across the grass.

  Through the screaming, whining wind, I hear Patches’s lovely voice behind me. “Aw, you poor dear. It’s going to be okay now . . .”

  Thumper’s shrieks are getting quieter and quieter. I knew Patches could soothe him. The plan is working!

  “Goldie . . . to the gate!” I shout, beginning to pant as we gain ground on the gang.

  “Got it, boss!” Looking as tough as ever, she gallops toward the Friend Gate. It’s swinging and banging in the vicious wind.

  Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee! The bunnies scurry through the gras
s in a frenzied effort to escape.

  “Scram, you Evil Bunnies!” I bark, herding them toward Goldie.

  Whoooooooooo . . . whoooooooooo . . . cries the wind, whooshing in my ears. A fat raindrop splashes on my nose.

  “Go, Fenway, go!” Goldie calls, poised and ready to steady the gate.

  “I’m . . . coming!” I yell, my tongue lolling, my sides heaving. Those bunny tails are mere inches from my mouth. I can practically taste them!

  Through the fence, I hear the sound I’ve been waiting for. F-f-f-f-t!

  “It’s time! It’s time!” I shout.

  In one swift motion, Goldie springs up, her front paws pushing on the Friend Gate. With a squeaky creak, it swings wide. Goldie bolts through, her body leaning against the open gate.

  The Evil Bunny Gang rushes through the Friend Gate, my teeth snapping behind them.

  Goldie races after us, the gate banging shut behind her. “Not bad!” she cries.

  “Awesome!” I yell with a quick glance at the porch. Sure enough, Hattie is there! My snout motions toward the middle of the Dog Park. “Goldie . . . go that way!”

  “Fenway? Goldie?” Hattie’s voice screams through the monstrous wind. When she spies the Evil Bunny Gang, her eyes nearly pop out of her head. She scrambles down the porch steps, obviously frantic.

  “Don’t worry, Hattie!” I bark. “I’ve got it all under control!” Or at least I hope I do.

  Me and Goldie cut across the grass. I come at the bunnies from one direction, and Goldie comes from the other. “Get lost or prepare for certain doom, bunnies!” I bark. Another fat raindrop hits me in the eye.

  Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee! Squeeeeeeeee! Shrieking with panic, they weave a crisscross path through the Dog Park, heading for the giant tree. They’re fast for bunnies, but they’re no match for a team like us.

  The Friend Gate screeches open again. Angel dashes in, her face full of alarm. “Stop, Goldie! Stop!” she screams.

  “Fenway!” Hattie cries. She rushes toward me and Goldie as we close ranks on the squealing bunnies.

  “Goldie!” I shout, cocking my head toward the giant tree. “Over there!”

  Goldie makes a wide arc around the frenzied bunnies as I chase them from the other side. We drive them through the Dog Park, past the giant tree, and over to the back fence. And the hole.

  Whooooop! The first bunny dives into the hole, his bobbing white tail disappearing under the back fence. He’s gone!

  “One down, the rest to go!” I cry. Goldie growls. I snarl and snap. One by one, the rest of the Evil Bunny Gang shoots through the hole. The last one vanishes just as Hattie races around the giant tree.

  “Fenway!” Hattie calls, her eyes wide and afraid. She drops to her knees and peers through the hole.

  “Come on, Goldie!” I cry.

  Goldie follows me back across the Dog Park and up to the Friend Gate.

  “Hurry!” I shout.

  Angel’s right behind us. “Goldie!” she yells.

  Goldie noses the gate open and swings it wide. I lead the way to the porch, where Patches is waiting, calm as can be. “How . . . is he?” I ask, panting. Me and the ladies sink onto our bellies and peer underneath the porch.

  “Poor little guy,” Patches says. “I did my best. But he’s still a bit frightened.”

  As heavy sheets of rain begin pouring down, Angel arrives, huffing and puffing. She squats down beside us, smelling curious.

  Squeeeeeeeee!

  “What the—?” Angel peeks under the porch. And her mouth drops open.

  Angel drops to her belly. She stretches an arm way under the porch. “Awww,” she coaxes. When she pulls her arm out, she’s clutching Thumper.

  Me and the ladies sit up tall, our tails thumping in approval.

  “You did it, Fenway,” Patches says.

  “You mean, we did it,” I correct. “But there’s still one thing left.”

  I rush to the Friend Gate just as—

  Cr-r-r-r-r-r-ack! BOOM-KABOOM! My eyes squint into a blanket of rain. I shiver with the rush of victory. As soon as I reach the gate—creak! Hattie barrels through, wind whipping through her bushy hair.

  “Great news, Hattie!” I bark, leading her to the porch.

  “Fenway—what?” she shouts, racing behind me. And then—“Oh!” she gasps.

  Even with wet hair blowing across her face, Angel’s gigantic smile shines through. She offers Thumper to Hattie like a present.

  “Oh! Oh!” Hattie cries again. She snatches the little fur ball and cuddles him under her chin. Her grin is as wide as her whole face. She is happy. Hattie is happy.

  Through the blustery wind, my heart swells with warmth. “Check it out,” I say to the ladies.

  “Nice job,” Patches says, visibly impressed.

  Goldie gazes at me, her fur soggy and matted down. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Hattie’s happiness is all that matters,” I say.

  Patches nuzzles my neck. “You’re some dog, Fenway.”

  Aw, shucks.

  Hattie strokes Thumper’s back as Angel speaks to her in an excited voice. My ears perk when she says “Fenway” over and over. She must be talking about me because she’s looking at me the entire time.

  Hattie’s face brightens with amazement. “Fenn-waay!” she cries, her voice full of gratitude. And devotion.

  I rush to her side, my whole body wagging with joy. Hattie bends down and curls an arm around me. “Oh, Fenway,” she coos, snuggling into my wet fur. “Good boy!”

  That night, me and Hattie cuddle in her rumpled blankets. I cozy up in her lap, luxuriating in the familiar scent of mint and vanilla. And Hattie’s love.

  She kisses my brown paw, then my white paw. She showers my neck with kisses. “Best buddies, best buddies,” she sings. She grabs the bedtime hairbrush and starts stroking my fur.

  Ahhhh, that’s the spot. I melt into a puddle of pure bliss. Until—

  Scri-i-itch . . . scri-i-itch . . .

  My ears cringe at the irritating sound. I gaze at the cage on top of the dresser. Thumper scrapes his teeth against the metal bars.

  I actually feel sorry for him. Even though Fetch Man and Food Lady let Hattie bring him upstairs, he’s trapped in that boring old cage while I get to snuggle with her all night. He’s still alone. But at least he’s safe. He must be awfully grateful I rescued him from the Evil Bunny Gang. Those bunnies were definitely trouble. If I hadn’t showed up, who knows what could’ve happened?

  “Best buddies, best buddies,” Hattie sings. She smells like the happiest short human in the world. All because of her loyal dog.

  As she brushes my belly, I sigh contentedly. My hind leg kicks with delight. Me and Hattie are together, and nobody—not even an Evil Bunny—will ever come between us again.

  When the window is just starting to get light, we hear scri-i-itch . . . scri-i-itch . . . scri-i-itch . . .

  My ears spike. One eye pops open. Doesn’t that bunny ever sleep?

  Scri-i-itch . . . scri-i-itch . . .

  Hattie groans and pulls the blanket over our heads. I cuddle against her shoulder.

  When we finally get up, Hattie peeks quickly into the cage. She tugs her clothes on and whispers to him in a voice that’s both sincere and hopeful.

  Thumper doesn’t even look at her. He’s munching the hay, obviously not listening. Even though I saved him, he’s probably still upset about what happened.

  I paw the dresser, looking up at the cage. “It’s okay, buddy,” I bark. And somehow I know it will be.

  After breakfast, me and Hattie bolt back upstairs. She grabs the cage and carefully carries it through the hall and down the stairs. She’s all business, like she’s got a destination in mind. I can hardly wait to see where we’re going.

  Fetch Man’s putting
on his shoes by the front door. Food Lady joins him, smelling awfully excited.

  “Hooray! Hooray!” I bark, leaping and spinning. “We’re going for a walk!”

  Fetch Man opens the door, but Hattie stops him. “Fenway?” she says, nodding at my leash.

  With a halfhearted shrug at Food Lady, he clips it onto my collar.

  We head through sloshy puddles down the walkway and across the street. And right away, I notice something new. Above Whisker Face and Round Lady’s mailbox, a shiny balloon is swaying in the warm breeze. When did that get here?

  We wait impatiently until the door opens and Whisker Face appears. His dark, furry cheeks are wide and grinning. He brings a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he says.

  Grinning right back, Fetch Man slaps his shoulder, while Food Lady wraps him in a hug. Surging with pride, Hattie lifts the cage into Whisker Face’s welcoming hands. “Thanks,” he says, his grateful eyes smiling.

  “Hey, I’m here, too!” I bark, nuzzling Whisker Face’s bare feet.

  Hattie must be jealous, because she scoops me into her arms. “Shhh,” she whispers.

  Whisker Face sets the cage on a table. While the rest of the humans chat in low voices, Food Lady tiptoes off. When she returns, her face is full and smiling. I catch the sweet aroma of tiny baby human.

  Whisker Face pulls a flimsy strip of paper from his pocket and offers it to Hattie.

  She shakes her head. It must be really rotten, like a piece of fruit, because the more he keeps thrusting it at her, the more she refuses to take it.

  Fetch Man and Food Lady look on, impressed.

  And then, another amazing thing happens. We go back out the door, but Thumper stays behind. He’s really gone this time. I’m a little sad. Almost.

  But Hattie doesn’t smell sad at all. Fetch Man pats her back as we waltz down the driveway toward the floaty balloon. Hattie is different. Tall and proud. I puff myself up, my tail swinging joyfully.

  As we walk/sniff our way back across the street, Hattie chatters at Food Lady and Fetch Man for a Long, Long Time. I hear her say two words that I know: “Angel” and “Zahra.” Her tone is a mixture of surrender and shame.