Fenway and Hattie Up to New Tricks

by Victoria J. Coe

  “Fenway!” Hattie cries, reaching for me.

  But I’m too quick. I leap onto the lid of the deep, gurgling bowl. My paws skid, and I nearly crash into the wall.

  Hattie lunges as I land on the mat. I’m almost to the door when a higher priority calls.

  I pause to give myself a good shake. It starts at my nose, twists through my body, and ends at my tail. Water sprays all over the cabinet, the mat, and Hattie’s legs.

  “Fenway!” she calls. “Stop!” She goes to grab me, but I’m already out the door. I hear her slip and stumble on the wet floor before she heads into the hallway after me.

  I hop and hobble down the hall, making a wide turn at the Eating Place. It’s clear that Hattie wants to catch me and put me back in that sink. There’s no way that’s going to happen.

  I dive under a chair and curl into a ball. Maybe she won’t spot me.

  “Fenway!” I hear footsteps race in. With a loud sigh, Hattie goes to the counter. Has she given up? Did she realize the water was a big mistake and now we’re going to have buttery vanilla cookies?

  My tail thumps with hope. But in the meantime, I’ve got a sore paw to lick. Slurp . . . slurp . . . slurp . . .

  Aaaaah! Sweet relief! It’s a bit salty, but the good news is it doesn’t taste yucky or bitter. Slurp . . . slurp—ouch!

  Hattie’s on the floor next to me, my white paw in her hands. And no trace of vanilla cookies. Or snacks of any kind.

  “Give me my paw back!” I bark, tugging and tugging. “I wasn’t finished licking yet!”

  Hattie squeezes the tube, and creamy goo squirts onto my paw. She smears it around.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I whine. “Cut that out!”

  Ha! She gets the message and lets go. Did she decide to quit? Or was I that persuasive?

  Whatever the reason, I have to get back to work. Slurp . . . slurp . . . slurp . . . eeeeewwwww! Paaaaatooey!

  That horrible taste is back—bitter, bitter, bitter! Paaaaatooey! Paaaaatooey! Paaaaatooey!

  As I gag, Hattie wags her finger at me. Her face looks strangely satisfied.

  I recoil in sadness. It makes no sense. Hattie spread that goo on my paw, and now it tastes terrible. And she seems pleased that I can’t lick it. Doesn’t she want my paw to get better?

  “Hattie?” Angel’s voice floats through the back door.

  “Hey.” Hattie springs up and rushes over.

  I creep out from under the chair and crane my neck.

  The short humans chatter through the screen. Angel taps the side of the door with a stick. The abracadabra stick? “C’mon,” she says.

  While Angel is talking, Hattie sneaks a few glances at me. Like she can’t decide which one of us to pay attention to.

  I have a feeling she’s going to choose me. And for once, I’m not sure if that’s good news.

  Hattie raises a finger at Angel and then turns around. She crouches low and slaps her knee. “Fenn-waay,” she calls, all cheery, like we’re going out to play, same as always. Could it be true?

  I burrow farther back.

  She strides over, her grin impossibly wide. “Here, Fenway!”

  I let her swoop me up, even though every hair on my back is telling me not to.

  “Let’s go.” She slides the door open, and we step onto the porch. Angel is waiting with the abracadabra stick.

  I squint into the sunshine and survey the Dog Park. A butterfly flutters through the zucchini plants in the vegetable patch. A light breeze ripples the leaves in the giant tree. The bushes are quiet. But a rodent-y smell is everywhere.

  Clearly, that thieving chipmunk is hiding out nearby.

  What other crimes is he conjuring up? He appears and disappears when I least expect it. He stole those peanuts right under my nose. Who knows what else he’s capable of?

  I have to stay on guard. That villain could pop up at any moment.

  Hattie sets me down, staring at me like she’s afraid to look away. “Stay,” she says, pointing at me.

  My tail droops. Staying still on the porch is not what I expected we’d be doing. But maybe it’s better than the sink and all that splashing water.

  Angel goes to the Nana-box. She fishes out the black cape, the tall hat, and a couple of toys. She lays them out on the table the way Food Lady sets out supper.

  Hattie steals a quick peek at the Nana-box, then back at me. For a second, I worry that she might stuff me in that scary box again. But she doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get over there. I’d almost feel relieved, except the way she keeps focusing on me is kind of bad, too. Is she considering an even scarier plan? I thought things were getting better.

  “Come on, Hattie,” Angel says, waving the abracadabra stick.

  Hattie puts her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrow at me. Her expression is stern, but at the same time her brow is scrunched up like she’s worried. “Stay,” she commands.

  Like I’ve moved!

  Hattie joins Angel at the Nana-box. She wraps herself in the black cape. She plops the tall hat on her head. She grabs the abracadabra stick. Pausing, she gazes over at me, a satisfied look spreading across her face. Is she glad that I haven’t disappeared?

  Angel munches on peanuts. Hattie takes the lid on and off the clear little box. She seems intent on playing with it, though she glances in my direction every now and then.

  I’m sprawled on my belly, forepaws out in front of me, trying not to worry. And keeping my eye out for that chipmunk.

  Hattie’s trying to pay attention to the toys, but she’s obviously distracted. Angel must notice because she taps Hattie’s shoulder a bunch of times. “C’mon,” she says, her voice impatient.

  Hattie plunks the ball into the clear box. She covers it with the cloth and gives it a tap. “Abracadabra,” she says.

  After pausing a moment, she pulls the cloth away, and the little ball falls on the floor.

  Angel’s face falls, like the ball was the last thing she wanted to see. Was she expecting it to be in Hattie’s pocket like it was the last time?

  Hattie whooshes out a breath and plucks the ball off the floor. She drops it inside the box and drapes the cloth over it. “Abracadabra!” she cries, smacking it with the stick. She takes a long time pulling the cloth away, and the ball falls onto the floor again. She slams the box down on the table, like she’s mad at it. What’d it ever do to her?

  “It’s okay,” Angel says in a soothing voice, picking up the ball. Hattie sinks into a chair. Her head hanging, she’s the picture of disappointment. And frustration.

  It’s pretty obvious that whatever she’s trying to do isn’t working. And from the way she’s looking over at me all the time, it’s also pretty obvious she’s more concerned about watching me than playing with those toys.

  A fly buzzes around my ear, and I swipe it away. My ear perks right back up. Is that a snapping sound coming from the bushes?

  Turning, all I see are bushy branches. I push myself up and glance at Hattie. She’s chattering away with Angel, her forehead in her hands. “Fenway,” she mutters.

  She’s saying my name, but she’s focused on Angel. I turn back toward the snapping sound.

  Over in the bushes, a low branch sways and pow! A stripe-y chipmunk shoots across the grass!

  My hackles stiffen. I have to chase him. I have to warn him to get lost. It’s my job to patrol the Dog Park.

  My paw hurts so much. But I can’t let that stop me. Duty calls!

  I’m about to limp to the steps when that thieving chipmunk makes a turn. He’s heading right for the porch.

  I creep back, my fur bristling with bravery. “Stop where you are, you scoundrel!” I bark. “This porch is off-limits!”

  He scurries as far as the bottom step, then abruptly halts. His tiny nose twitches. His head bobs from side to side like he�
�s searching for something.

  Probably more goods to steal!

  Assuming attack posture, I give him my best snarl. “Beat it!” I bark. “You don’t belong here!”

  The thieving chipmunk doesn’t come any closer. But he doesn’t flee, either. He just stays put, then starts rummaging in the grass.

  I open my mouth and am about to give him another warning when he pops back up. His paws are clutching a whole peanut shell. He stuffs it in one side of his face, then picks up another. He stuffs that one in, too, and his cheeks are bulging like balloons. What a weird trick!

  In a flash, he pivots and flies back toward the bushes. I hobble to the top step. “Drop that peanut!” I bark helplessly. He dives under the lowest branch and disappears. Again.

  There’s no sense chasing him now. But maybe I could inspect the bushes. Could there be something in there I haven’t noticed before?

  I look back at Hattie. She’s still chattering with Angel, who offers her a peanut. Hattie unpeels it, saying my name. She also says “in-feck-tid,” and “soke-it.” She sounds frustrated. What could it mean?

  Maybe it’s not important. What is important is that her head’s turned toward Angel. And away from me. She’s the very definition of preoccupied.

  I could pad over and check out the bushes before she even notices I’m gone.

  I inch to the edge of the porch and stumble down the steps. As soon as my paws hit the grass, I hear jingling in the Dog Park next door.

  I hobble over to the Friend Gate for a look. Through the slats, I see two black noses. “Is that you, ladies?”

  “Fenway?” Patches calls in her lovely voice.

  “I hardly recognized you without that cone,” Goldie says with genuine surprise.

  “Well, that’s the good news, I guess,” I say.

  Goldie cocks her head. “You guess?”

  I sigh. “It’s hard to see any good at all in what happened.”

  Patches gazes at me with kind eyes. “Oh, you poor dear. Do tell us. That’s what friends are for.”

  I barely know where to begin. But then I look into Patches’s sympathetic face, and the words begin flowing out of my mouth. “Remember when I asked about your humans standing by and letting you get tortured? When you went to that place with the—” I stop and shiver. “Clippers?”

  Goldie paws the ground as if to show off her short claws. “How could we forget?”

  “You didn’t go to the groomer’s!” Patches says, her face clearly horrified at the thought. Or maybe she’s just surprised because I look as ragged as always.

  “No! It was that awful place again with the grabbing and poking and the Spicy Breath lady,” I say, barely able to make eye contact. “And my Hattie—my beloved Hattie—she—she . . .” I can’t even speak.

  “Oh, Fenway,” Patches says. “Did she stand by while something terrible happened?”

  “Worse!” I practically spit. “She handed me over. Again!”

  Goldie startles. “You mean she did this before?”

  “No—yes—I don’t know,” I wail. “But she feels really bad about it. She promised everything will get better.”

  Patches blinks. “Are you sure?”

  Goldie shakes her head like she can’t believe her ears. “Seriously?”

  “Well, she sounded awfully sad. And sorry, too,” I say, slumping down in the grass. “But since then, she splashed me with water and she smeared yucky goo on my paw. It’s all so confusing.”

  The ladies exchange a worried glance.

  “So you thought things were improving, but then they got worse?” Patches says.

  “What are you going to do?” Goldie asks.

  I shake my head. “I wish I knew.”

  I glance over at the porch. Hattie springs up. Her face is excited, like she just got an idea. “Pool!” she cries.

  Goldie clears her throat. “Well, I think you’re about to find out.”

  I get out of the way just in time. Angel comes barreling by and disappears through the Friend Gate.

  “Fenway!” Hattie calls, clapping her hands.

  Through the fence, I see Angel streaking across the Dog Park next door. The ladies turn to follow. “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Patches looks over her shoulder. “We’ll let you know.”

  “Fenway!” Hattie calls again. She rushes up and whisks me into her arms. I guess I’ll have to find out later on.

  Hattie races to the porch and slides the door open. Food Lady and Fetch Man are in the Eating Place, standing at the counter. They are sipping steaming cups that smell like coffee even though morning was a Long Time Ago. Fetch Man’s shirt is splattered with paint. Food Lady fights back a yawn. Both of their faces look tired.

  Fetch Man glances up as we breeze by. “Howz-Fenway?” he asks.

  Hattie clutches me in her arms. “Okay,” she says, in a voice more confident than I’ve heard in a while. We rush upstairs past the horrible paint smell and fly into her room.

  She sets me on the bed and rips off her clothes. Oh no! Are we headed to the Bathtub Room for more splashing? I paw through the rumpled blankets, preparing to hide. And grab the used-to-be bear.

  But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a promising sign. Hattie is pulling on her swimsuit.

  My tail wags with curiosity. Is something wonderful about to happen? Are we going to the pond for a picnic?

  Before I have time to figure it out, Hattie scoops me back up and races downstairs. My fur bristles as we pop into the Washing Room, but luckily all she does is grab a towel and that same carton from before, then dash back down the hall.

  As we pass by the Eating Place, Fetch Man and Food Lady look up with arching eyebrows, like they have no idea what’s going on. I begin to worry. If we’re going to the pond, shouldn’t they be getting in the car?

  Hattie calls out, “soke-it!” and “pool,” then hurries to the back door. We step onto the porch right as Angel bursts through the Friend Gate again, carrying what looks like a giant supper dish. Except it’s bendy and has nothing in it. “Got-it!” she cries.

  Hattie pumps her fist. “Yes!” She sets me down and heads to the side gate, stopping at the coiled-up hose. She beckons Angel over.

  I follow along, my nose pulsing with wonder. And suspicion. The giant water dish smells like plastic and cobwebs and garage. But also a little bit like dog. Sniff . . . sniff . . . Goldie? And Patches? The scents are so faint, I can’t be sure.

  Is this their water dish? It’s awfully big. But then again, there are two of them. And they’re both a lot bigger than me. Do they really get that thirsty?

  Angel drops the dish in the grass while Hattie picks up the end of the hose. She lays it in the dish, and water starts rushing out.

  The short humans chatter, and I hear my name a couple of times. I get the feeling this giant water dish is for me. But why? I already have a water dish in the Eating Place. And besides that, this one is so big and its sides are so high, it’d be hard for me to take a drink without falling in . . .

  Uh-oh. I start to get a bad feeling. I hobble over to the Friend Gate and peer through the slats. The ladies’ noses greet me.

  “How lovely is this?” Patches says, her eyes bright and happy. “I haven’t seen that old thing in ages. It’s been tucked in the garage behind Angel’s sled and her rain boots for as long as I can remember.”

  “It would be lovely if we were using it.” Goldie’s face is scrunched. “Why’d Angel bring our wading pool over there?”

  “Wading pool?” I say, glancing back at Hattie and Angel. “Isn’t that your giant water dish?”

  “Well, we certainly did drink from it,” Patches says.

  “Maybe you did,” Goldie says. “But I mostly lounged around in it.”

  Patches sighs. “It was so refreshing. Especially on a hot
day like today.”

  “Ladies,” I say, the picture becoming clearer in my mind. “Are you saying your short human plopped you into the water? Like a . . . b-b-bath?”

  “Not exactly,” Patches says.

  Goldie drops down for a quick scratch as if she’s not concerned at all. “It was more like we climbed in.”

  My fur prickles. “You mean on purpose?”

  “Of course,” Patches says. “Splashing in the wading pool is fun, Fenway. You should give it a try.”

  I gaze over at the pool. Hattie is pouring the salty crystals into the water. She stirs it around with her hand. I shudder. It’s way too much like what happened in the sink.

  I turn back to the ladies. “Maybe you think the wading pool is fun, but I have a feeling something bad is going to happen.”

  “Normally I’d disagree,” Goldie says. “But given all the unpleasant things you’ve endured lately, you might be right.”

  “Goldie!” Patches says sharply. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

  Goldie sneers. “Haven’t you been listening? And watching?”

  “I know!” I say, bouncing and curling my white paw. “I have to be ready to protect myself.”

  “Well, get ready,” Patches says, and I turn around.

  Hattie is sprinting toward me. She’s smiling, but her eyes are all business. A suspicious combination.

  “Gotta go,” I say to the ladies, limping off. But there’s no way I can outrun her. I’m barely a few steps away when Hattie lifts me into her arms.

  I kick feverishly. “Put me down!”

  Full of determination, Hattie strides back to the wading pool where Angel is waiting. It’s halfway filled with water. I writhe and twist and do everything I can to convince Hattie to let me go.

  Except nothing works. The more I revolt, the more her grip tightens. I brace myself for what’s coming—she’s going to plunk me into that water! I squeeze my eyes shut . . .

  But I’m not plunking down. And I’m not in the water. Hattie’s still holding me tight. Did my protests finally get through to her? Is that too much to hope for?