Sniff out other books by Victoria J. Coe
Fenway and Hattie
Fenway and Hattie and the Evil Bunny Gang
Fenway and Hattie Up to New Tricks
Fenway and Hattie In the Wild
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York
Text copyright © 2019 by Victoria J. Coe.
Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Kristine Lombardi.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Coe, Victoria J., author.
Title: Fenway and Hattie in the wild / Victoria J. Coe.
Description: New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, [2019] | Series: [Fenway and Hattie; 4]
Summary: “Fenway gets a taste of the wild when he goes on a back-to-school camping trip with Hattie where they both feel nervous about being the new kid”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018052677 (print) | LCCN 2018057368 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984812513 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984812506 (hardback)
Subjects: | CYAC: Jack Russell terrier—Fiction. | Dogs—Fiction. | Camping—Fiction. | Human-animal relationships—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Dogs. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Sports & Recreation / Camping & Outdoor Activities.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.C635 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.C635 Fi 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018052677
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover photo © 2019 by David Kreutz
Version_1
To my husband and kids, who introduced me to camping (with and without a dog),
and to the Van Ledtjkins, my other family
Contents
Also by Victoria J. Coe
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Before we’re even out the door, I know something has changed. For starters, Fetch Man is coming with us on our walk. He hasn’t done that since we lived in the city. It’s always just me and my short human, Hattie.
And that’s not the only thing that’s different. At the end of our driveway, instead of heading in the usual direction, we go the other way. Once we pass the house where my friends Goldie and Patches live, my nose picks up scents of humans and dogs I haven’t met. And I never knew our neighborhood had so many cats!
My tail swishing, I pick up the pace. Maybe we’re going to the real Dog Park, where lots of dogs come to play. Or to the pond where our whole family went for a delicious picnic when Nana was visiting. Yippee! Wherever it is, I’m SO ready!
I look back at Hattie as she runs her hand through what’s left of her hair—add that to the list of changes. One day Hattie and Food Lady came home with shopping bags, and Hattie’s bushy hair was gone!
Things are changing so fast these days, my guard is totally up. Fetch Man and Food Lady keep saying a word I used to hear when we lived in the city—“skool.” I can’t remember what it means. Every time they say this, Hattie’s breathing speeds up and she smells worried. It’s almost as if another change is coming and we’re both afraid to find out what it is.
Changes have been happening outside, too. The plants in Food Lady’s vegetable patch started drooping and sagging. Every now and then, a leaf flutters off the giant tree. Is it just a coincidence that I’ve seen more squirrels lately, too? I may be a professional, but there are a lot of them and only one of me! How am I supposed to keep my family safe?!
As we walk along, Hattie and Fetch Man’s chatter is a curious mixture of business and excitement. Fetch Man pulls the slim box out of his pocket and taps it while he talks. Hattie nods a lot, walking faster than usual. Something is definitely up.
We turn at a noisy corner. At the next street, we turn again. More smells of humans and dogs I don’t know. Different trees and fences, too. How big is our neighborhood anyway?
We pass a chubby man at the end of his driveway spraying a hose. A lady in sleek clothing waves hello as she runs by on the other side of the street. A boy whizzes past on a bike. I catch a whiff of grape jelly. And dirt. “Yahoo!” he shouts in a loud voice, a cloud of dust flying up behind him. Hattie turns her head and coughs.
Right when I think I’ll never find out where we’re headed, we stop at a grassy yard, where a white-haired man is clipping a hedge. He looks up and smiles, like a couple of humans and a handsome Jack Russell Terrier are exactly who he was expecting to see walk up his driveway.
He comes over and greets us, shaking Fetch Man’s hand. His gait is relaxed and friendly, but a dog can never be too sure. My nose gets busy checking him out.
He squats down and scratches behind my ears. “Hey, pup,” he says as I give him a lick.
Mmmmm! His hand tastes like a glazed doughnut. My tail thumps with approval.
Doughnut Man rises and gestures toward his open garage. “Here,” he says.
As we follow him inside, Fetch Man’s eyes bulge. His head swivels like he can’t decide where to look. The garage is loaded with stuff stacked on shelves, hung on hooks, and piled in the back behind the pickup truck. “Wow!” he says, his voice full of admiration.
Sadly, the concrete floor is totally clean, as if no tasty wrappers or slobbery tennis balls have ever touched it. There are no toys, and no room to play, either.
What’s so great about this place?
Doughnut Man grabs a long bag and carries it out to the grass in front of the house. As we gather around, he pulls out poles that bend and curve, flappy fabric with zippers, and a large mat. Fetch Man listens with rapt attention while Doughnut Man sets up the poles, chatting the whole time. He drapes the fabric on top, and it becomes a dome about the size of our car, with zipper doors and windows that look like the screens I’m not allowed to scratch at home. Talk about curious!
Even more curious, the whole thing reeks of pine trees and burnt marshmallows. And much more alarming—the strong and musky odors of wild animals! Hattie, who apparently can’t smell these horrors, claps her hands and calls it a “tent.”<
br />
I have a terrible feeling about this. “Watch out, Hattie!” I bark, leaping on her legs. “This thing is probably dangerous.”
But she ignores me. The tall humans do, too. Doughnut Man ducks back into the garage and returns with an armful of what looks like great big umbrellas. Until he opens them up, and then they’re chairs. Whoa! They smell just as horrifying as the tent.
Happy as can be, Fetch Man sinks down into the closest chair. Hattie plops into another. Her face is beaming, too.
Oblivious to my warnings, Fetch Man stands and gives Doughnut Man a bunch of papery strips from his pocket. Next thing I know, they’ve folded everything up and we’re headed back down the driveway. Fetch Man carries the long bag. Two of the umbrella chairs are slung over his shoulder. Hattie’s got one hanging from hers, too. Neither one seems concerned about how bad this stuff smells, or how loaded down they are. Actually, they seem kind of glad.
We go back the way we came, and just like that, the walk is over. After dropping everything in the garage, Hattie hauls me up to her room and closes the door. She starts opening drawers, pulling out shirts, shorts, and pants that smell brand-new, and gazing at them happily. Since when does Hattie care about clothes? And why are we inside when we could be outside playing?
I climb onto the bed and press my snout against the window screen. Something—or someone—is rustling in the leafy branches of the giant tree. A nasty squirrel clatters down the trunk, another one hot on his tail. My ears perk at horrific sounds.
Chipper, chatter, squawk!
Those squirrels are running wild in our Dog Park while I’m stuck in the house. “Come on, Hattie!” I bark. “Let’s go outside!” I leap off the bed, romping at her heels. But all she does is dash around the room, ignoring me.
She tosses the clothes inside a big empty bag lying open on the floor. With each toss, she sighs, then takes the same clothes out again. She frowns at them like they’re confusing. Or wrong. Didn’t they make her happy a second ago? Finally, she opens the screen and thrusts her head and shoulders out the window.
I leap back onto the bed and poke my head outside, too. Sure enough, those two nasty squirrels are still chasing each other near the back fence. “Don’t get any ideas, Rodents!” I bark. “I’m still in charge around here!”
Hattie scolds me, then calls, “Hey, Angel!” She cranes her head toward the house next door.
I gaze down into the Dog Park behind it. A Golden Retriever and a white dog with black patches are playing keep-away with a stick. My best friends, Goldie and Patches! They look extra energetic today. If only I weren’t stuck inside . . .
F-f-f-f-t! A window flies up. Our friend Angel’s head appears wearing a wide grin. “Hey!” she cries.
Hattie holds some of the clothes out the window, showing them to Angel. “Help! Help!” she calls.
Angel is clearly not interested. “No-big-deel,” she says, frowning.
Whatever Angel said is not what Hattie wants to hear. With a huff, she whips the clothes back inside and lets them drop to the floor. She sticks her head back out the window. She asks Angel a bunch of questions. I hear her say “new-kid” a couple of times, sounding wavery. Nervous.
“It’s okay.” Angel’s tone is reassuring. “No-big-deel,” she keeps saying.
What’s making Hattie so nervous? My ears perked, I listen my hardest, but Hattie and Angel aren’t the only ones talking.
Chipper, chatter, squawk!
Down in our Dog Park, the two nasty squirrels continue scurrying around the tree, while another one digs a hole next to Food Lady’s vegetable patch. Those squirrels are popping up everywhere!
My fur bristles. “I’m warning you!” I bark.
Hattie pushes me away—my cue to give up. “FEN-way,” she scolds. She mutters some more at Angel, ending with “See-ya.” She moves away from the window with another sigh. She smells disappointed, like Angel let her down somehow.
“Oh, Fenway,” she says, collapsing on the bed. Clearly, she’s as frustrated as I am.
I climb onto her lap. “Don’t worry,” I say, nuzzling into her shirt. “Your loyal dog is always here for you.”
Hattie wraps her arms around me and kisses my brown paw, then my white paw. “Aw, Fenway.” She reaches across me and tugs the bedside drawer open.
My tail wags with glee. Because I know what’s coming next.
Hattie pulls out a familiar-looking notebook. “Shhh,” she says, her finger to her lips. She flips to a blank page and begins sweeping a pencil across it.
Sswooosh-thsssss-thsssss . . . I watch as images appear. Soon there is a reptile with huge, powerful wings on the paper. And a girl with tiny delicate wings and short hair like Hattie’s.
She makes more and more pictures. Lines and curves, too. “Comm-ix,” she says, showing them to me. Each image is inside its own little box. Hattie flips through the pages, speaking in a soft yet energetic voice like she’s telling me about an exciting day of romping in the Dog Park.
I lean into her shirt, sighing with happiness. My short human smells awfully proud. Our special comm-ix is one new thing that’s actually pretty great.
Tap-tap-tap!
“Ready?” Fetch Man says. We both startle, and Hattie slams the book shut. She whips it behind her back as the door swings open and Fetch Man strides on through. His smiling face sags as his gaze lands on the empty bag.
Hattie shrugs and looks away.
“Bay-bee,” he says, tussling her short hair. He sinks down next to us and speaks in an encouraging tone, like the first time we played ball with those fat, leathery gloves. I pick up a few words that I know: “new,” “friends,” and “play.” But also a bunch that I don’t: “fam-uh-lee,” “camp-ing,” and that mysterious word again—“skool.”
When he finally stops talking, he pats her knee. “Okay?” he asks, getting up.
“Yeah,” Hattie says, but she doesn’t sound any better. When Fetch Man is gone, she drags the chair over to the closet. She takes a rolled-up blanket from the way-up-high shelf.
I rush over. It smells like pine trees and wild animals, like the umbrella chairs and the tent! Oh no!
I race around in circles, my mind in overdrive. “Skool” . . . the trip to Doughnut Man’s garage . . . the bag and the rolled-up blanket . . . What does it all mean?
That night when the window gets dark, Hattie shuts it tight and climbs into bed. I cuddle up next to her. Good news: She smells like mint and vanilla like always. The other good news is I don’t hear any suspicious sounds. My warnings must have scared those rodents away.
Somehow I manage to sleep, and I defeat even more nasty squirrels in my dreams. But when morning shines into the room, my suspicions go up again. Something big is about to change. I just know.
“Fenway,” Hattie mumbles, rubbing her eyes. She smells as worried as I feel.
Good thing she’s got a professional to keep her safe no matter what. “It’s okay, Hattie,” I bark. “I’ll never let anything bad happen.”
Hattie flings off the covers, apparently not reassured. She pulls on some clothes, then tugs them off with a loud sigh. After doing this more times than I can count, she’s finally dressed.
“Don’t worry—this day is going to be great!” I circle her legs, leaping and panting.
Hattie pats my back and heads into the Bathtub Room. I watch her make scrunched-up faces at the shiny square over the sink. “New-kid,” she mutters to herself, pulling at her short hair.
I have to coax her down the stairs and into the Eating Place.
“Ready?” Food Lady asks.
“I’m so ready! I’m so ready!” I bark, rushing across the floor. Right away, I spy another change. Instead of standing at the counter or sitting at the table with steaming cups of coffee, Fetch Man and Food Lady are hard at work. Fetch Man’s at the cabinet loading up a big bag with paper
plates and cups and napkins, while Food Lady’s bent over a plastic chest with wheels and a handle like a wagon. The Food Box!
My tail goes nuts! Is Food Lady packing sandwiches? Are we going on a picnic?
I race over to check it out. But before I’m even halfway there, my tongue starts dripping uncontrollably. I smell bacon and hot dogs! I leap up, my front paws gripping the top of the Food Box. Hey! This thing is stocked—eggs and milk and cheese and ketchup—
“FEN-way,” Food Lady scolds, shooing me away.
My ears droop. What’d she expect? It’s my job to know what food is coming on the picnic!
And speaking of jobs, the tall humans are in a huge hurry to do theirs. While Hattie eats a bowl of cereal, Fetch Man finishes packing the bag and starts on another. Food Lady puts ice on top of all the food. She shuts the Food Box and wheels it out to the garage.
“Hooray! Hooray! I love picnics!” I leap on Hattie’s legs, and she goes over to grab my leash. She smells awfully nervous for somebody going on a picnic. I pull her through the front door.
As I’m mid-pee in the grass, I see something else that’s different. The car is in the driveway instead of the garage. And it’s got what looks like a big suitcase strapped on top!
Fetch Man shoves a bag into the back of the car. Whoa! It’s totally stuffed!
Me and Hattie pile into the back seat. Food Lady lifts the Food Box in beside us. Then a bag that smells like outdoor toys. Soon we are so packed in, nothing else will fit.
The garage door bangs shut, and the car backs out of the driveway. I climb onto Hattie’s lap. When I stick my head out the window, I can’t believe my eyes . . .
Another loaded-down car is backing out of the driveway next door. And my best friends’ faces are staring back at me!
“’Sup, ladies?” I call, the breeze rippling my fur.
“We’re going on a trip!” Patches calls.
My tail sags. “Oh no!” I bark. “I’ll miss you so much.”
“Don’t be too sure!” Goldie yells back as the cars turn. Our car follows theirs as we zoom up the street.
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