And if that’s not strange enough, everything reeks of that thieving chipmunk. I shiver.
I limp over to investigate, but I’m not even halfway to the abracadabra stick when I stop. My eyes bulge.
That stick has been chewed.
Little teeth marks run up and down the stick. Tiny chunks are missing at one end.
I hobble up to the rumpled cape. I nose through the folds, my fur standing up in horror. The fabric is torn! It’s been chewed just like the abracadabra stick!
And if that’s not bad enough, everything’s covered with bits of stinky dark rice—no, not rice! Chipmunk droppings! They’re everywhere!
I search through the rest of the Nana-toys. The brim of the tall hat is gnawed and frayed. The wooden ball has tiny teeth marks and gashes in it. The clear plastic box has a crack in it. And the fake flowers are in tatters.
And there’s more! The peanut bag is ripped, shreds littered around. Peanut shells are all over. And slimy bits of chewed peanuts speckle the porch like pebbles.
It’s clear what’s happened here—that villain didn’t only rob us, he had a chipmunk party!
I shudder at the images of thieving chipmunks romping and munching right under my nose. Partying on the porch, like they own the place!
It’s too scary to even picture. It’s scarier than the Nana-box—Hey, wait a minute!
The Nana-box is the Best Hiding Place Ever.
I’ve told Hattie a million times how I feel about that box. She’d never look for me in there.
Gulp. Before I can talk myself out of it, I spring onto the chair. I peer down into the Nana-box. It’s empty all right.
And with the lid up, it might not be so scary inside. Probably not anyway.
Trembling with courage, I drop down and land splat! inside the Nana-box.
And just in time.
I hear Hattie’s footsteps padding out onto the porch.
“Fenway?” she calls, sounding puzzled.
I curl up tight. The Nana-box smells old and musty. It’s full of scary memories. But at least it’s open and bright. Overhead, the sky is clear. Sunlight pours in and warms my back.
But there’s still plenty to worry about. This box is a great place to hide as long as Hattie doesn’t get too close to peek in.
“Fenway!” she calls again. Her feet scuffle across the porch and into the Dog Park. “Fenn-waay! Oh, Fenn-waay!”
I shiver. Clearly, she’s searching for me. This cannot be good.
She’s probably got more evil on her mind. Like pebbly morsels or yucky cream or—gulp!—the pool-bath! I’ve put up with her tricks long enough. I can’t stand it anymore!
The sounds of her footsteps are getting fainter and fainter. I picture her at the back of the Dog Park and circling the giant tree, then roaming up the side fence and looking under the bushes. I hear her cross to the other side fence and imagine her scanning the vegetable patch. “Fenway?” she cries, rattling the Friend Gate. It sounds like it’s shut tight.
I resist the urge to stretch up and peek out of the Nana-box. I can’t risk her finding me. The stakes are too high!
Especially now . . . because I’m pretty sure I hear her rushing in this direction. “Fenway! Fenway!” she calls more urgently. She’s starting to sound worried. She must be awfully desperate to return to her dastardly deeds!
I make myself as small and quiet as possible. One accidental noise and she could discover my hiding spot.
She pads up the porch steps, probably about to head into the house. Maybe she thinks I snuck back in there while she was distracted.
Her footsteps thud onto the porch and suddenly stop. She gasps.
Oh no! I shake with terror. Has she realized I’m hiding inside the Nana-box? Is she about to nab me?
I don’t dare breathe. I expect to see her grabby hands at any moment. I can’t bear to look.
But her hands do not appear. Instead, I hear more horrified gasps. “No! No!” she wails. She sprints around the porch, sounding panicked, crying, “No!” over and over, as if she’s making one terrible discovery after another. Is she noticing the pooped-on cape and hat and chewed abracadabra stick? The stolen peanuts? The rest of the ruined Nana-toys?
Hattie stops, and I hear different noises. Little sobs. And sniffles.
F-f-f-f-t! The door slides open again. “Hattie?” Food Lady says.
“Look!” Hattie cries.
“What?!” Food Lady says in a surprised voice. She hurries across the porch, right toward me.
“How—?” Hattie begins, but right then another noise drowns out everything else.
BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
Out in the driveway, a car door slams. A trunk pops open. Is Fetch Man returning? Was he gone? I cock my head and listen, my hackles up. Are intruders coming?
In unison, Food Lady and Hattie gasp. “Nana!” they both cry.
Nana? I don’t hear Nana. Could Nana be here?
“Quick!” Food Lady says, rushing around. Whoosh! Clatter! Plunk! What is she doing—
Hey! Suddenly, I’m buried under silky cloths. Soft toys pile on top of me. For an instant, I consider pulling them off. And then—
THUNK!
The lid clunks down. The Nana-box goes dark. Uh-oh! I’m trapped! I wiggle and kick. I have to get out of here!
Outside, I hear the muffled sounds of the screen door sliding open . . . Food Lady’s and Hattie’s footsteps racing through . . . thud! The door slams shut.
How can they leave at a time like this?
I must find a way to escape. I’m clearly on my own. If only it weren’t so cramped and crowded in here!
I rustle through folds of cloth, wriggling and climbing. My nose tells me I’m wrapped in Hattie’s cape. I paw and squirm and wiggle until finally my head pokes out—but I’m not free.
I’m buried!
Whoa. There’s a lot more stuff in here than I thought! More sniffs confirm that the tall hat, the abracadabra stick, and most of the other Nana-toys are all around me. They shift and fall whenever I move. And they all reek of rodent and sniff . . . sniff . . . something else . . .
Ewwwww! Stinky chipmunk droppings! A horrendous reminder of how I’ve failed.
I couldn’t keep the Dog Park safe, and now I’m paying the price.
I bend and kick and swipe. Toys tumble and drop, some falling on either side of me while others hover overhead. I’m surrounded by obstacles. There’s barely enough room in here to move. Or breathe!
My hind paw skids on something hard and round—the wooden ball! My front paw catches in something—a metal ring!
No matter how I twist or where I turn, Nana-toys are in my way. I can’t make any progress at all!
And everywhere I look, it’s so DARK!
I sniff every corner, searching for a way out. But I don’t find one. There’s absolutely no hope!
But I can’t give up. I claw the fake flowers out of my face. I swat the tall hat to one side. I bite a silky scarf that’s wound around my paw. R-r-r-rip!
I climb on toy after toy. At last, I can stretch up high enough to reach the lid. I push against it with my snout. “Open up, you scary Nana-box!” I growl.
I shove and shove with all my might. But the lid doesn’t budge one single bit. It is shut tight.
I sink back down with a horrifying realization—I might be trapped in here forever.
I collapse into a heap of surrender. There’s no escape from the Nana-box.
Unless I can come up with an idea. A really good idea.
I can’t open this lid. And I’m pretty sure it won’t open all by itself. When I was trapped before, I barked and yelped and made lots of noise until Hattie came and let me out. It was a lot of hard work. But it got the job done.
When it comes to hard work, I’m a professional. But what would happen
this time? If Hattie opened the Nana-box right now, would I leap into her loving arms? Or would she leave me where I am?
I tremble. Do I want to get out of this scary Nana-box enough to risk being tortured again? Is it too much to hope that Hattie would change back to the loving and fun self that she was before?
I’m shaking and fidgeting and thinking so hard, I’m barely aware of noises outside. Humans chattering. Hattie . . . Food Lady and Fetch Man . . . and somebody else . . . Nana?
They all sound alarmed. What’s that about?
Plop! Somebody sinks into the chair right beside me. Hattie? She sniffles. She sobs. She’s obviously sad and miserable.
Gulp.
Clearly, she feels bad that the thieving chipmunk stole her peanuts and ruined her toys. She spent so much time playing with them. And now they are wrecked. I knew that rodent was trouble. If only I could’ve stopped him. If only I could’ve protected Hattie’s things from danger.
Gulp. Gulp.
Hattie tries to speak, her voice catching. She sounds more upset than ever. “Fenway,” she croaks over and over. She knows I’m to blame. She knows I’ve let her down. If only I could’ve prevented this senseless attack.
My heart is breaking. Maybe my paw was sore and I couldn’t run. Maybe Hattie turned against me. But there’s still no excuse for not doing my job. And now she’s crushed, and it’s all my fault.
What kind of dog am I?
Hattie turned on me. She handed me over to Spicy Breath. She tormented me with the pool-bath and the creamy goo. She forced pebbly morsels down my throat. I’m hiding because it hurt too much to be with her.
But it hurts way more to be without her.
She’s my short human. We mean everything to each other.
And now she’s miserable. She’s sobbing. She’s choke-breathing. “F-f-f-fen-waaaaay,” she wails, her voice broken.
Am I the kind of dog who throws in the towel when the going gets tough?
Not when it comes to loving my Hattie. Especially now when she’s sad and she needs me.
Maybe she’s up to no good. Maybe she played tricks. But she’s still Hattie, and it’s my job to make her happy again. Nothing has ever been more important!
I take a deep breath. I point my snout toward the top of the Nana-box. Giving it all I’ve got, I bark into the darkness. “I’m here! I’m here, Hattie! I’m right here!”
I pause and listen.
But Hattie keeps on crying. Either she doesn’t hear, or she can’t recognize the sound of her own loyal dog.
I paw and push and bump the Nana-box as hard as I can. I claw and thump. I have to show her that I’m here. I have to get her to rescue me.
Right then, I get the Best Idea Ever. I take another deep breath, and howl at the top of my lungs. “Best buddies, best buddies . . .”
I cock my head.
Has she stopped crying? Is that her voice murmuring?
I listen harder.
“F-f-f-fen-waaaaay?”
I’d know that sweet voice anywhere—it’s my Hattie!
“Best buddies, best buddies . . .” I howl some more.
I pause and listen again.
Rustling sounds. Fidgeting. Creaking. Is the Nana-box opening?
I squint into the light. Bright sky is overhead. Brilliant sun. And Hattie’s glowing face!
I shake and bounce. “Hattie! Hattie!”
Her hands reach in and lift me up. “Fenway! Fenway!” she cries.
I snuggle her wet, salty cheek. She strokes my back. My tail goes nuts. “I’m ready to make you happy again!” I bark.
Hattie smiles. She hugs me close. We sway back and forth.
I sigh with gladness. Wrapped in Hattie’s arms is the Best Place to Be.
She sets me down, and I romp in circles. I zip around the porch, over Food Lady’s sandals, in front of Fetch Man’s sneakers, because up ahead is . . . Nana!
Sniff . . . sniff . . . Oooooh, she smells just as wonderful as before! Licorice and coffee and mmmmm exactly the right amount of cherry. Nana! “I’m so happy to see you!” I leap on her legs, my tail on over-swish.
Nana scootches down. I gaze into her eyes that crinkle on the outside and sparkle on the inside. Her long hair hangs over one shoulder, dark and silvery. We rub noses. “Aw, Fenway,” she coos.
I lick her face. I love Nana!
“Aw . . .” Hattie giggles.
I race over to her. “I love you, too, Hattie!”
Fetch Man and Food Lady laugh and clap. I fly over to them, then gallop back to Hattie again. I’m so happy! I can’t control myself!
And neither can the humans. They are grinning and cheering and reaching out to pet me, like having me back is the greatest thing that’s ever happened.
What can I say?
It’s such a wonderful moment, all I can do is leap and spin. And jump on Hattie. And paw her legs . . . Hey! My white paw doesn’t hurt or itch anymore. And it’s not puffy, either.
Wowee! I zip across the porch. Hooray! I can prance and run and do whatever I want!
My paw is back to normal! And it’s perfectly obvious how it happened.
Hattie did it! I knew I could count on her when I needed her most. Maybe she tortured me. And played tricks on me. But she still loves me. When I was at my most desperate, she rescued me, and that made everything all better.
I throw myself at her. “Hooray! Hooray!” I bark, snuggling her ankles. “You’re a hero!”
She gathers me into her arms again. “Aw, Fenway,” she sings.
“I never doubted you for one single second,” I bark, twisting my head for more ear scratches. “Oh, yeah. That’s the spot. Right there.”
When she puts me down, I romp some more. Whoopee! It sure feels great to be able to use my white paw again.
Fetch Man puts his arm around Food Lady. She looks relieved.
Nana heads for the Nana-box, like she’s just noticed it’s there.
Hattie beats her to it. She fishes out the ruined cape, the chewed hat, the gnawed abracadabra stick. She turns to Nana and frowns. “No-show,” she says, her voice dripping with disappointment.
Nana gazes at Hattie with her crinkly, sparkly eyes. She pulls Hattie into a hug. “It’s okay,” Nana soothes.
Hattie grumbles, “Hattie-the-Grrate . . .”
Nana turns toward me, gesturing dramatically. I feel their stares as I scamper around. Nana points at Hattie’s chest. “Hattie-the-Grrate!” she says.
Hattie buries her face in Nana’s shoulder. She smells happy. “Aw, Nana,” she murmurs.
Nana strokes Hattie’s bushy hair, full of approval. She must be really appreciating that hug because that’s all Hattie’s doing, and Nana’s acting totally impressed.
“Hey, I like hugs, too!” I bark, nudging my way between them.
Hattie scoops me up and rocks me from side to side. Me and Hattie are together and loving each other, and Nana is here. We’re having so much fun, I begin to think it can’t get any better. Until the Friend Gate swings open.
My tail thumps. Yippee! Our friends are coming.
I spring out of Hattie’s arms and rush into the Dog Park. Hattie’s right behind me.
Angel bursts through the gate. Hattie greets her with whoops of excitement. “Fenway!” she says to Angel. “Look!” She points at me, even though I’m leaping on Angel’s legs and there’s no way she could possibly not notice me.
Angel’s face lights up with surprise. And admiration. She reaches down and gently strokes my white paw. “Aw, Fenway,” she coos.
I’m not sure what she was expecting. But it’s sure nice to be appreciated for just being myself. I lick her hand. “Thanks!”
Hattie continues chattering, full of pride and happiness. Angel pulls the Friend Gate open again and calls for . . . the ladies!
>
Wowee! I jump and twirl. Goldie and Patches are loping through the gate. Hooray! Hooray! My friends are back!
“You were gone for such a long time, ladies,” I say, racing up for some long overdue sniff-greetings. “I’m so glad you’re back!”
Goldie noses me playfully. “We are, too.”
“Fenway!” Patches cries, her eyes wide and bright. “You’re back to your old self!”
I wave my white paw in the air, my tail swaying with pride. “It’s all better!” I say. “Hattie’s love for me healed it!”
Goldie and Patches exchange surprised looks. “Really?” Goldie says.
Patches gives her a nudge. “That’s wonderful, Fenway.”
“And guess what else?” I say, circling my friends. “Nana’s here!”
The ladies turn toward the porch. Hattie and Angel are smiling and chatting with Nana while Fetch Man and Food Lady look on proudly. Nana cups her hand over Angel’s ear and pulls out a shiny coin. The short humans gasp with delight, their faces beaming.
“Even from over here, I can tell Nana’s a lot of fun,” Goldie says.
Patches nods. “I have to agree. Nana appears downright lovable, like a member of the family.”
I gaze at Nana. Hattie and Angel can’t stop giggling. “Nana’s exactly like a member of the family.”
Goldie snatches a stick. She bows low on her forepaws, her bum up high. She wants to play!
Me and Patches tear after her, racing around the Dog Park. Our tongues are lolling. Our sides are heaving. We’re playing again like always, and it’s the Most Fun Ever!
Goldie rounds the giant tree. She turns to us, waggling the stick. It’s the very definition of irresistible!
“That stick is mine!” I call, sprinting up to Goldie. Patches is right on my tail.
Goldie taunts us with it, a devilish gleam in her eye. She takes off, and we chase her toward the bushes. We’re almost there when I hear a fur-tingling sound.
Chip-chip-chip!
I stop in my tracks, looking around.
Under the bushes, a chipmunk head pops out—No! Lots of chipmunk heads! Am I seeing things? Or has that thieving chipmunk multiplied?
One is bigger than the others. Chip-chip-chip! it chirps. The smaller ones are making noises, too. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!
Fenway and Hattie Up to New Tricks Page 10
