When we get to the table where Fetch Man is busy spreading a plastic cloth, Hattie unhooks my leash. Lucky lumbers over to us. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! You’re back!” he yaps. “What’d I miss?”
Patches points her snout toward June and Hammock Man, who trudge in from the dirt road. His arm is around her shoulders. Her head is bowed down as if she can’t take her eyes off her gooey shirt. “Your short human might need some attention, poor dear.”
“Wow, is that egg?” says Lucky before bounding toward them. Little bits of dust fly up from the ground as he runs.
Hattie leaves Angel’s side and rushes up to Hammock Man, June, and Lucky as they head toward their pointy tent near the hammock and tall pine. Hattie’s face is hopeful. “All-rite?” she asks.
June smiles weakly. Even from across the clearing, I can smell her unhappiness. She gives Hattie a little wave, then—vwoop!—disappears inside the pointy tent. Lucky clomps in after her. I can hear him give himself a good shake.
Hattie sighs and heads back to me and Angel. Little by little, the rest of the humans stream over to our table as Fetch Man sets out paper plates and Food Lady pours drinks from a thermos. Some of the humans are carrying trays that smell like tasty ham. Some are carrying bowls that smell like creamy potato salad.
Yum! When the humans sit down, I plop on my bum beside Hattie’s sneakers. My tail thumps with anticipation. Have I mentioned how much I love picnics?
After my tummy is happily full of Hattie’s crusts, I get to work on my plan. The humans are busy eating, the ladies are snoozing under the big oak tree, and best of all, Hattie seems to have forgotten my leash. This can only mean one thing—Opportunity.
I saunter up to Coco’s campsite. The flaps of the boxy tent are wide open. Coco’s inside, propped up in that bed like she owns the place. I poke my snout in. “Uh, hey there,” I say, putting on my most friendly tone. “I forgot to say this before, Coco, but it’s cool that you like to play Frisbee. Guess what? I have a Frisbee at home.”
She cocks her head, like maybe she didn’t hear me right. “You pushed your way into my tent to say you like Frisbee?”
“Well . . .” I sink my head onto my forepaws, my bum straight up. “We both like Frisbee.”
She glares at me suspiciously. “Uh-huh.”
“And so, um, I was thinking, since we’re both Frisbee players and everything,” I say, trying not to look her in the eye. “Maybe we could talk about stuff. Like those smells around the spilled food.”
Coco huffs. She sounds like Goldie. “Why would I do that? I already said I don’t need your help, Fenway.”
I bow lower, swallowing the bad feeling in my throat. “I know. But two noses are better than one, right?”
“Nice try,” she says, her eyes unfocused like she’s bored. “But I have the situation under control. Notice there hasn’t been another break-in.”
I hop up onto all fours. “Come on, Coco. You should see me back home. When it comes to scaring off intruders, I’m a professional.”
“The only intruder here is you.” She yawns. “Now, go back to your own tent and keep your nose where it belongs.”
“I’m not an intruder!” I yell.
She cocks her head, but her eyes look away as if completely uninterested.
My fur bristles. “I said I’m not an intruder!”
She lifts up her snout. “Huh-hhah-hhuh-hhah! That’s a good one! You’re really funny, you know? But who is in whose tent right now, uninvited?”
Whoa.
“Don’t make me tell you to leave twice,” she says.
Grrrrr! My whole body shakes with fury. I’m so mad, I could rip a chew toy to shreds! If there was any doubt before, now I know that Coco is definitely, positively, absolutely the Most Evil Dog Ever.
I’m about to snarl or snap or give her some other very vicious warning when we hear a shriek from behind the nearest table. “Hey! What the—!!!”
It’s Marcus. And he sounds upset.
I whirl around and see Swirly-Arm Lady and Hot Dog Man rushing to Marcus. He’s standing behind their wooden table, flushed and holding his backpack. I’ve seen it before, when he stashed his fruity treats inside. But it wasn’t saggy and torn then.
Hattie and Angel head over, their faces full of alarm. And confusion. Hattie scoops me up. Clearly, she needs comforting. Good thing I’m here!
Swirly-Arm Lady’s hand flies to her cheek. “Oh no!”
Hot Dog Man takes the backpack from Marcus. Bits of chewed wrappers fall out. “Lem-me-see.”
Marcus balls his fists. “Who did it?”
My gaze zooms from Marcus to Coco to the tall humans and then back to Marcus again. I have a horrible feeling that we went through this same situation earlier today. But if Coco was inside her tent, it had to be someone else. My fur bristles with alarm.
The humans all start talking at once. Hot Dog Man examines the rip in the backpack. Marcus is seething. Hattie glances down at the scraps of paper in the dirt. Even from here I can smell how sweet and fruity they are.
This can only mean one thing—the thief is back! No wonder Hattie needs comforting.
On the far side of the commotion, I spy a dark shape coming out from behind the garbage bin. Lucky! He skulks around the humans, his tail between his legs, his bandanna untied and hanging limply from his neck. Where did he come from? Was he behind the table all this time?
As the humans continue freaking out, Lucky perks up. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!” he says, his tongue lolling to one side. “What’s going on?”
Does he really not know? He was in the perfect position to see. Or smell. “Looks like somebody broke into Marcus’s backpack,” I say as he wanders up to me and Hattie. “And stole his treats.”
Lucky looks surprised. “Well, that stinks.” A soft breeze ruffles through the trees, and a pinecone lands—plop!—right beside him.
Hattie sets me down and clips on my leash. “Say, um, Lucky,” I say. “Did you, um—see any . . . Hey, is that sap on your fur?” It smells kind of maple-y, but I can’t really tell.
Lucky turns his neck, and his bandanna falls to the ground. He licks a sticky spot on his hind leg.
“Here.” Hot Dog Man hands the ripped backpack to Marcus. Hot Dog Man’s got the same expression Fetch Man gets when Hattie’s left her sneakers outside all night. I wish Hattie would let me get closer so I could give it a sniff.
Marcus stomps over to the boxy tent. Coco shoots out of the opening just before he barges in.
She scuttles up to me and Hattie. “I know what you’re up to, Fenway,” she says with a sneer. I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but her fur is poofed out even more than usual.
I gape at her. “You do?”
Coco raises her snout. Even though I’m twice as tall as she is, I get the feeling she’s not doing it so she can look up to me. “Nosing around where you don’t belong? Again?”
“Me and Lucky were chatting.”
Coco bares her teeth and growls. “Sure you were. Now beat it!”
Before I can respond, Hattie snatches me away from Coco. I swear I see Lucky lurking behind the pointy tent, calm as can be. If he knows something or saw something, he’s sure not acting like it.
Hattie heads across the dirt road to our table, where Food Lady and Fetch Man are cleaning up, leading me farther and farther away from the scene of the crime. Coco’s shrill voice yips after me. “Mind your own business, Fenway!”
Fetch Man holds open a big plastic bag, and Food Lady stuffs delicious-smelling paper plates and napkins and cups inside. Hattie deposits me under the bench and starts to help. I do my part by licking yummy mayonnaise off her fingers.
“Fenway,” she says with a sigh. Clearly, she doesn’t want any help.
“Why’d you bring me over, then?” I whine, sinking down in the dirt. I’m trying not to think about
Coco. Wish I knew what her deal was.
Beyond our tent, I spy Goldie and Patches stretching in front of the big oak tree. Hooray! They’re finally awake! I realize my leash isn’t attached and decide to head over.
“’Sup, ladies?” I say, dashing between them, my leash dragging behind me. “I need to ask you something. About that Chocolate Lab.”
But they’re not paying attention. They obviously have something else on their minds. I follow their gazes to Angel, who’s filling water bottles from a spout on the other side of the clearing. Then to their tent as Tool Man and Muffin Lady pop out holding chunky-looking boots.
Goldie’s ears sag. “Oh no!” she moans. “They’re not leaving us alone again?”
The ladies are quiet a moment as we watch the tall humans stuff their feet into the boots and lace them up. Angel returns with the bottles, swatting at a fly. Muffin Lady tosses her a can of choky spray.
“Not so fast, Goldie,” Patches says, her tail coming to life. “I think we’re going on a hike!”
Goldie brightens. “It’s about time! I hope we can collect sticks.”
“Certainly!” Patches cries. “Finding sticks is one of the best parts about hiking. Besides all the sniffing spots, of course.”
Suddenly, Goldie’s as animated as a puppy. She kicks up a couple of leaves as she romps around. “Yes! I can hardly wait!”
My tail droops. I hate it when my friends are leaving.
“Why so sad, Fenway?” Patches says, giving me a playful nudge. “You’ll love hiking. It’s like a long, long walk.”
My ears shoot up. “I’m going, too?”
“Everybody is!” Patches’s snout gestures toward my family’s campsite. Food Lady’s putting on a cap just like Fetch Man’s. Three water bottles are lined up on the wooden table. That choky spray, too.
“Yippee!” I yell, leaping and twirling. “I’m so ready! I’m so ready!”
Marcus bounds over as Angel pulls a fat tail of hair through the back of her cap. He offers her some shiny apples that she stuffs in her backpack. Both short humans are wearing laced-up boots like Tool Man’s and Muffin Lady’s. Marcus says something to Angel, and she throws her head back, laughing.
As I glance around the clearing, I don’t see Hattie. She must be inside the tent changing her clothes. Again.
Swirly-Arm Lady helps fasten a backpack on Hot Dog Man’s back. I turn to the ladies. “Hey, if they’re going, too, does that mean Coco—?”
“Hold on,” Goldie says, her voice mysterious.
Patches gazes up at the sky. “Just wait and see.”
Before I can even ask, Swirly-Arm Lady lifts the Pomeranian in all her poofy-ness. The sun glints off Coco’s sparkly collar as the lady human tucks her into the backpack. Hot Dog Man’s going to carry her on the hike?
The ladies exchange smirks.
I’m about to ask if this is a joke when Hattie emerges from the tent. I gallop over to her. “Hooray! Hooray!” I bark, pawing her legs. “I love hiking!”
Hattie stoops down and picks up my leash. Food Lady tries to hand her the choky spray, but she doesn’t take it. Instead, she shakes her head. “Not going.”
Food Lady looks concerned. “Why not?”
Hattie doesn’t answer. She gazes across the clearing, to where June is sitting by herself against the pine tree. That book is open on her lap again.
Food Lady kisses Hattie’s cheek. “Nice,” she says.
I’m not sure what that was all about, but I’m getting the feeling we’re going to miss out on the hike. I’m feeling disappointed until I sense opportunity—with Coco gone, maybe I can find out what happened to that backpack.
Marcus and Angel rush up. Marcus offers Hattie an apple and looks her over, his forehead scrunching. “Ready?” he asks.
“Not going.” Hattie looks away.
“What?” Angel cries, her eyebrows arching under the bill of her cap.
Hattie shrugs, her gaze drifting over to June.
Marcus glances across the clearing and frowns. “Come on, Hattie,” he says, slapping her shoulder. “The crew!”
She hangs her head. “Nah.”
“June-ih-corn June?” Marcus says. He jabs Angel in the side.
“No,” Hattie says in a meek voice.
Marcus looks stunned. “What?” he asks Hattie, like maybe he didn’t hear what she said.
Hattie makes a pained face and rubs her belly. “Sick,” she says, even though she smells perfectly fine.
“Oh no,” Angel says in a sad voice.
“Let’s go!” Hot Dog Man calls, waving his arm. Coco on his back, he and Swirly-Arm Lady head to the trail just past the garbage bin where Hammock Man and Lucky went running. Tool Man and Muffin Lady hurry by with the ladies. Fetch Man and Food Lady line up behind them. Hammock Man rounds out the group, the shiny rings on his ears sparkling in the sun.
Angel looks at Hattie with hopeful eyes. “Feel better.”
“Lay-ter,” Marcus says as he and Angel rush over to the tall humans and dogs. And Coco. I watch them disappear through the trees.
Me and Hattie stroll over to June. She plops down. “Hey.”
June glances up, an actual smile spreading across her face. Soon the short humans are focused on the book and chattering away.
Finally, it’s my chance to do some investigating! I decide to start with Lucky. He’s curled up lazily near Waddling Lady, who’s dabbing paint on a propped-up board. And Hattie’s dropped my leash.
I saunter over to him. “So, what’s going on?” I say as casually as possible. “Too full to move?”
Lucky raises his head. “Huh?” He couldn’t look more innocent.
“I was just thinking. You look awfully content. Like maybe you chowed down a little too much, if you know what I mean?”
“Ohmygosh, I get that a lot,” he says. “But it’s all muscle, seriously. I’m a lot stronger than you’d think.”
I’m about to ask him another question when Hattie and June hurry over to Waddling Lady.
“Sure,” she says, grinning from under her floppy hat. She grabs a different brush and starts painting on Hattie’s cheek.
I scamper to Hattie’s side to watch. She smells excited. June reaches down and pats the top of my head, her long braid swinging over her shoulder.
Caw-caw-caw! A loud bird sounds from someplace way-up-high. A crow? He sounds angry or urgent, like he’s giving us a warning.
June stands back, gazing at Hattie’s cheek. Right in the center is a horse’s head with a glittery horn coming out of its forehead. “Awesome!” June cries, clapping her hands.
Hattie opens her mouth like she’s going to say something. But right then, we hear a rustling sound and footsteps thudding into the campsite. We all turn.
Marcus is out of breath as he sprints to the table. He grabs the lone water bottle and whirls around. His eyes widen as he sees us. “Hattie?”
Hattie leaps up, gasping. She takes a few steps toward Marcus. “Um, hey!” she cries, her hand on her face. She turns the painted cheek away from him. Clearly, she’s startled.
Sweeping a curl off his sweaty forehead, he strides across the campsite. He gazes sideways at Hattie and June. “Sick?” he asks, his voice sounding skeptical.
Hattie glances at June, then back at Marcus. She looks away, like she does when she’s nervous. Or uncomfortable. “I—uh, I . . .” she stammers.
Waddling Lady wipes her paintbrush on a cloth. June watches like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
“Um, better,” Hattie says, patting her belly. A soft breeze ruffles her short hair.
Marcus squints and points at Hattie’s face. “Yoon-ih-corn?” he asks, his face puffed out like he’s about to burst into laughter.
“What—uh . . .” Hattie pulls a tissue from her pocket and swipes at
her cheek.
“Well, come on,” he says, turning to go. The water bottle swings from his finger.
Hattie mutters, “Yeah—okay.” She glances back at June, whose eyes look surprised and sad at the same time.
Hattie swivels around and grabs my leash. We rush across the campsite.
My tail goes nuts. We’re going on the hike after all! But then my tail droops when I realize I’ve lost my chance to question Lucky and investigate the crime scenes. For now.
As we hurry after Marcus, Hattie turns and offers a little wave to June. She’s already slumped against the pine tree, her face buried in the book. Lucky drops down at Waddling Lady’s feet like he’s too sluggish—or full—to move.
* * *
The ladies were right about the hike—it was just a long walk. But they must have forgotten to warn me about the wild animal scents. I spent the whole hike with my hackles up. And I must’ve scared those creatures away with my ferocious presence because even the squirrels and chipmunks kept their distance.
At suppertime, everybody heads back down the dirt road to the field where the humans played games with eggs, sacks, and ropes. But this time, there are long tables that smell like yummy food—fried chicken, buttery corn on the cob, and sweet, crumbly corn bread!
My tongue drips out of control. “Wowee!” I say to the ladies as Hattie and Angel pull us over to one of the tables. “I love corn bread!”
Patches sniffs the air. “It is rather delicious,” she says.
“Don’t get too excited, Fenway,” Goldie says as the short humans fiddle with our leashes.
Next thing I know, me and the ladies are tied up at the far end of the table while our short humans slide onto the benches. Suddenly, all I hear are loud voices and laughter. I sink onto my paws, trying to ignore the tantalizing smells.
I glance around for Food Lady and Fetch Man. They’re seated at one of the far tables, chattering away with a bunch of other tall humans. When I turn back, I realize our table is loaded with short humans—noisy, jostling, rowdy short humans. “The crew,” I catch somebody say.
Fenway and Hattie in the Wild Page 6