Fenway and Hattie

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Fenway and Hattie Page 4

by Victoria J. Coe


  At the Flashing Screen wall, the Evil Human stops. He stares at it for a second, even though it’s black and not flashing. He squats down and opens his bag. He takes out snaky wires and . . . scary tools!

  I knew there’d be trouble! “Stop right there, buddy!” I bark, flinging myself at his leg. “There’ll be none of those loud noises while I’m around.”

  Fetch Man crosses his arms. “Hattie,” he snaps as she rushes over, right into the path of danger. Hey, Fetch Man is sabotaging my plan!

  Or is he? “Get out of the way, Hattie! I’ve got this,” I bark, thrusting out my chest. “This is no place for a short human.”

  Just then, a hand reaches down and rubs my head. “Fella,” says a strange but friendly voice.

  The Evil Human! What is he trying to do? Throw me off my game?

  “Fenn-waay! Fenn-waay!” Hattie says, backing away and clapping. She clearly wants to play.

  “Not now, Hattie,” I bark. “Can’t you see how busy I am?”

  She claps louder. “FEN-way,” Hattie says. This time, she sounds annoyed.

  What’s going on? This is not part of the plan. “Hattie, I’m trying to protect you from this Evil Human who has invaded our home,” I bark, and—whoa!

  The menace revs up the roaring tool!

  I lunge toward his arm, stopping a safe distance from the earsplitting sound. “Put that thing down before somebody gets hurt!”

  Hattie’s hands close around my torso. “FEN-way!” she cries.

  “Cut it out, Hattie,” I bark as she lifts me up and away from the Evil Human. “I’m supposed to be the one saving you!”

  And that’s not the only problem. Hattie smells different. Frustrated. She mutters something to Fetch Man over her shoulder. She carries me out of the Lounging Place. Why isn’t she happy that her loyal dog is trying to protect her?

  She keeps on walking to the sliding door. When she opens it, I finally realize what’s going on. We’re going outside to the Dog Park!

  She sets me down on the porch and gazes into my eyes. She points her finger at me. “Fenway,” she says, her voice serious. There is something important she wants me to know. Probably that she’s completely devoted to me and nothing will ever come between us.

  And it hits me—my plan worked! We’re going to play, same as always. Hooray! Hooray! My Hattie’s back!

  But then, a terrible thing happens. She opens the door and goes back inside. Without me.

  Later, Food Lady’s in the Eating Place with the promising sounds of running water, noisy pots, and scraping spoons. Delicious smells are drifting through the house. It’s all I can do to slurp the drool from my muzzle.

  Hattie and Fetch Man charge in and gather around the table. I’m parked in the safe hallway, looking through the door. And I see a wonderful sight—Food Lady’s pouring tasty food into my dish! As it’s rattling in, I jump up and run in circles. Yippee! It’s supper time.

  Food Lady sets my dish on the Wicked Floor. She takes her seat next to Hattie and Fetch Man. My tummy is rumbling. I smack my chops. I can hardly wait!

  Hattie glances at Food Lady, then back at me. “Fenn-waay,” she calls in a hopeful voice.

  I know the routine by now. I cock my head and put on my most pathetic face. I whimper and moan, “Please, oh please, Hattie. I’m sooooo hungry . . .”

  Hattie turns to Food Lady. She wants to bring me that dish.

  “No,” Food Lady says.

  Fetch Man shakes his head. “Train-ing,” he says.

  What’s wrong? Hattie’s supposed to get up and serve me my food out here in the hallway.

  I whine some more. “Hattie, Hattie, oh please, Hattie. Please, please, pleeeeeaaaaase . . .”

  She’s gazing at Fetch Man, then Food Lady, then back to Fetch Man. She looks desperate. She wants to help me. What’s going on?

  I cry and whimper and whine again and again and again. I even roll onto my back and moan, “Oh why, oh why isn’t anybody feeding me? There’s only so much suffering one dog can take.”

  It’s hard work. I keep whining and moaning while my humans finish eating and put everything away. Hattie acts like it hurts to look at me. The feeling is mutual.

  Just when I’m ready to give up, Hattie walks out of the Eating Place and over to the front closet. I spring up to see what’s going on. She’s holding her backpack and something even better—my leash. Good thing I showed up!

  Fetch Man grabs jingling keys. Food Lady reaches for her purse. This can only mean one thing—we’re going for a ride in the car! Whoopee!

  Fetch Man and Food Lady are chattering up front. Me and Hattie are cuddled in the back. She speaks to me in a quiet voice, like she’s telling me a secret. She pets me over and over.

  My nose detects a fabulous scent in her backpack. There’s no doubt about it! That thing is loaded with treats! Hattie’s obviously planning to give them to me. I can’t stop licking her face. This is the way it’s supposed to be! My Hattie is back.

  When the car stops, I barrel out the door, ready for all the fun we are about to have with those treats. And when I search around the parking lot, there’s more excitement right in front of my eyes. And my nose! Lots of dogs and humans. And they’re heading into a giant building.

  An indoor Dog Park? Hooray! Hooray! I pull Hattie through the doors. I can’t get in fast enough.

  But inside, it’s disturbingly quiet. And worse, the dogs are all on leashes. “What is this place?” I say as we approach a Yellow Lab.

  After we politely sniff each other’s bums, he tells me his name is Lance. He’s with a tall human who smells like hamburger. “Dunno, dude,” he says. “But then, I rarely do.”

  “Well, it’s going to be wonderful,” I say.

  He gazes at me blankly. “Huh?”

  I nuzzle Hattie’s leg. “This is my short human. Her backpack is full of treats!”

  He perks up. “Treats? Awesome!”

  Food Lady and Fetch Man are speaking with some other humans. One of them is tugging the leash of a Basset Hound who looks like he wants to run away. Does he know something I don’t? We introduce ourselves. His name is Rocky.

  This place sure is curious. It must be explored! Nose to the floor, I lead Hattie from corner to corner, intoxicated by the amazing aromas. Every single inch of space smells like dogs. All kinds of dogs. I detect whiffs of Schnauzers and Boxers and Poodles and every other breed I can imagine. Even more than I’ve ever smelled before. Has every kind of dog in the world been here? Talk about a promising sign! This place is probably the best indoor Dog Park ever. Or maybe Dog Heaven.

  As I continue to sniff, I discover something even more incredible—treats! And not just the delicious kind in Hattie’s backpack. Wowee! It’s a smorgasbord of dog treats—cheesy, livery, beefy—the smells are totally overwhelming. I pivot and jump on Hattie’s legs. “This is going to be mind-blowing!” I bark. “I can hardly wait till the fun starts!”

  She looks around uneasily and shifts her backpack to her other shoulder. She smells nervous. Why isn’t she more excited? And more important, why isn’t she handing over the treats?

  Suddenly, I notice that One Human is striding toward us very purposefully. Like maybe she wants some treats, too. Well, she’s going to have a fight on her hands.

  Or maybe not. The One Human’s energy is friendly, yet her posture is telling me to stay on guard. A bad combination.

  She starts talking, and Hattie’s treating her like she’s Very Important. She says that mysterious word “train-ing,” too.

  Hattie grips the leash tighter, like she wants to keep her loyal dog close. There’s something puzzling about this One Human. Besides the fact that she smells like the same wonderful combination of dogs and treats as everything else in this place.

  All of a sudden, she turns and begins talking to everyone, like she’s in c
harge. And the humans all fall for it. They go quiet, staring at her with rapt attention. The dogs, not so much.

  Rocky digs his hind claws into the floor like he’s being dragged into the vet’s office.

  The roundest Beagle I’ve ever seen turns to me with noticeable effort. “Did I hear something about treats?”

  I bounce on my paws. “You bet!” I say. “Tons of them! I smelled them with my own nose.”

  “Good. I’m starving,” she says. “But there better not be any work involved. I don’t do work.”

  I gaze at her, bewildered. She tells me her name is Sadie.

  The One Human keeps on talking, the humans keep on listening, and the dogs have no idea what’s going on. Do the humans expect us to just hang out and wait patiently? It’s the very definition of impossible.

  All the dogs start barking at once. “I want to go home,” Rocky howls.

  Lance jumps on his human’s legs, nearly knocking him over. “Where are the treats?” he barks.

  “I hope I won’t be expected to run around or hop over anything,” says Sadie, sprawling out and yawning. “That’s not how I roll.”

  “Hold on, you guys,” I say. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  Rocky stops howling and eyes me with suspicion. “Who died and made you Alpha Dog?”

  I sink down. “Nobody. I mean, let’s give it a chance.”

  “A chance?” Sadie says, nodding at the anxious-smelling humans standing next to her. “Honey, it’s obvious you haven’t been around very long.”

  The One Human says a magical word we all know.

  “Treats.”

  Every single ear perks up!

  I spring up, my tail going nuts. “See?” I tell the others.

  “It’s about time,” Sadie says, struggling to push herself onto all fours.

  “Huh?” says Lance.

  Sure enough, the humans produce treats. But for some reason everybody’s focused on the One Human instead of the dogs.

  The dogs begin jumping and sniffing at the closed fists. Given the totally unfair height advantage, the humans win. For now.

  I turn to Hattie, who’s clutching a handful of tasty little nuggets. Her face is glowing with excitement. “Ready?” she asks.

  “I’m so ready! I’m so ready!” I bark, darting back and forth.

  She leans over and holds out her fist. “Fenway, sit.”

  I leap up as high as I can, my nose going crazy. Mmmmm! Those treats are in there all right! The meaty fragrance is undeniable. I nip and nip, but Hattie’s hand remains closed.

  Why aren’t those treats dropping into my mouth? Hattie’s excited face is unchanged. She speaks again. “Ready, Fenway? Sit. Sit. Sit!”

  “I’m so ready! I’m so ready!” I jump and jump, my tail going berserk. Come on! Why aren’t the treats coming?

  Hattie’s cheeks droop. So do her eyes.

  Is this some kind of game? It isn’t very fun. For either of us. Hattie seems almost as upset as I am.

  Fetch Man puts his hand on Hattie’s back. Food Lady nods at her reassuringly.

  I’m about to ask why she’s the one they’re reassuring when our heads turn toward a commotion on the other side of the room. Lance is jumping and pawing his human. “Yo, buddy! Where are the treats?” he barks.

  The One Human heads over to them. Lance’s human steps aside, as if he expects the One Human to rescue him. He’s grimacing like he’s in pain. Or perhaps he’s afraid of what’s next. Lance turns to the rest of us. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

  The One Human stands over Lance, stares straight into his eyes, and something changes. His face becomes completely focused. He gapes at the One Human like she’s a ham bone. “Sit,” she says.

  He plunks onto his bum. And voilà! A treat falls into his open mouth. It’s beyond impressive.

  But it’s not over. “Stay,” the One Human says, holding out her arm. She steps back. Lance waits, completely still, eyes glued on her as if in a trance. Another treat sails over and—nice grab! This happens a few more times.

  We’re all thinking the same thing—it can’t be that easy. But nobody has the guts to do anything about it. Or do they? I turn to Sadie, then to Rocky. “Just watch, you guys,” I say. “I totally have this.”

  I swivel back to Hattie. “Yo, buddy! Where’s my treat?” I bark. I jump up and paw her legs.

  She jerks away. “FEN-way!”

  I can feel rather than see the attention. “Come on. Where is it?” I bark again, charging at her.

  Right on cue, the One Human comes over. One sniff reveals that she has treats, too. She hovers over me, her body tall and dominant.

  “Sit,” she commands.

  Talk about intimidating! My hind legs crumple. I sink onto my bum.

  She looks into my eyes. “Stay,” she says, extending her arm.

  I freeze in place. I want to hop up and grab those treats. But her strong gaze and powerful energy are warning me not to.

  The One Human takes a step.

  I’m still as a statue—work it, work it, work it—and bingo! Chomp! The treat’s in my mouth, and wowee, is it ever yummy.

  Really, this game is too easy. Apparently, the One Human’s not very smart.

  When it’s dark outside, we’re back at home. I’m curled up in Hattie’s cozy bed. She’s smelling minty. And subdued.

  She quickly kisses my front paws, then begins brushing my fur. I sigh happily with each luxurious stroke. I snuggle against My Hattie’s chest, ready to melt into a pool of delight.

  But something’s different. Instead of singing “best buddies, best buddies,” she’s talking. In that same quiet, serious voice she used before. She’s telling me to pay attention to something important. But what?

  When it’s morning time, Hattie rubs her eyes. Yippee, she’s awake!

  I crawl up to her face and lick her cheek, my whole backside wagging with excitement. “Get up, Hattie!” I bark. “It’s time to play.”

  She laughs and strokes my back. Then she rolls over, her gaze drifting to the top of the dresser. Where her backpack is.

  She gets out of bed and reaches for it. My tail goes crazy with a wonderful memory. That backpack is full of treats!

  I fly off the bed, running around her bare feet. Hooray! Hooray! Treats are coming.

  Hattie grabs a few treats and bounces on her toes. “Sit, Fenway!” she says.

  Oh boy! I can’t wait for those treats. I jump and jump, sniffing wildly at her fist. Ouch! I collide with the chair, and a stack of clean clothes tumbles to the floor.

  As Hattie bends down to scoop them up, I’m ready.

  Chomp! Mmmmm. That was awfully easy. And tasty.

  “FEN-way!” Hattie scolds, her voice annoyed.

  What’s up with that? Didn’t she want me to have the treat?

  Hattie sighs and starts refolding the clothes. Apparently, playtime is over. Or maybe not . . .

  A bacon-y smell wafts in from the hallway. Wowee, I love bacon! I speed out the door. “Great news, Hattie!” I bark. “Bacon!”

  I bound down the stairs, straight toward that bacon-y aroma. And sounds of popping and sizzling. Until I get to the Eating Place doorway and skid to a stop. My tummy sinks. Curse you, Wicked Floor!

  Food Lady and Fetch Man are sitting at the table, holding steaming cups that smell like coffee. I inhale the smoky, salty scent of bacon. Mmmmm! My tongue can already taste it.

  Hattie trots right on in, her energy full of purpose. She snatches a strip of glistening bacon and turns to me. “Fenway, come!” she says.

  Fetch Man pats Food Lady’s arm. His face is beaming with pride.

  Hattie stretches out her hand, as if I didn’t notice she was holding a piece of ripply, gorgeous bacon. “Fenway, come!” she says again.

  My belly roa
rs with desire. Saliva drips onto my whiskers. The Wicked Floor is standing between me and that—gulp!—wondrously yummy bacon.

  Hattie gazes at me sweetly. She wants to give it to me. She edges closer. “Fenway, come!”

  Why is she doing this to me? I jump up and up, scratching my claws against the wall. “Give me that bacon!” I whine.

  Food Lady’s eyes widen. Fetch Man shoots up from his seat.

  “FEN-way, no!” Hattie shouts. She rushes over, shooing my paws off the wall. With that bacon still in her hand . . .

  Chomp! Mmmmm! Wow, that was easy. I lick my chops.

  Food Lady goes to the front closet and grabs my leash. “Hattie,” she says, her face full of encouragement.

  Hattie looks defeated. She trudges over to Food Lady, who rubs her shoulders.

  Hooray! Hooray! We’re finally going to the Dog Park. The real one. With big water dishes to splash in. Benches to climb on. And dogs! Lots of romping dogs! I dash to Hattie’s side, leaping and twirling.

  She clips on the leash, and we head to the front door. We walk right past the jump rope coiled on the floor. Its scent of familiar short humans and gritty pavement has grown so faint, it’s almost unrecognizable.

  It’s a mystery, but there’s no time to investigate. There’s playing to be played!

  I pull Hattie down the steps and into the hot, blazing sun. After stopping to pee on a patch of grass—me, not her—we head down the walkway and onto the actual street. Where cars and trucks and buses go. I try to let Hattie know that this is a bad idea by pulling her onto the sidewalk.

  But—whoa, the sidewalk is gone! Where will I find yummy crumbs to eat or sticky wrappers to lick?

  Apparently, it doesn’t matter, because Hattie is determined to walk in the street. Good thing there are no cars or trucks or buses coming.

  In fact, it’s strangely quiet. No human voices yelling or sirens screaming. And not even one car door slamming. The only noises I hear are buzzing bees and fluty, chirpy birds up in the leafy trees. It’s all so wrong. Where did everything go?

  And those aren’t the only problems. Hattie’s heading up the street . . . without Fetch Man. Or Food Lady. They’re supposed to come on walks. Where are they? Why is Hattie leaving without them?

 

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