“Hattie, you don’t understand,” I bark as she sets me down in our own Dog Park. I rush back to the Friend Gate, leaping and pushing frantically. But it doesn’t budge. “It’s more important than ever!”
“FEN-way,” Hattie snaps, wagging an angry finger at me. “Stay!”
“But I have to do my job,” I wail.
Hattie heads back to the porch like she doesn’t even hear me. She meets Fetch Man’s concerned gaze, then immediately hangs her head. “Sah-ree,” she mutters at him.
I slump in the grass and swipe at an annoying fly. It’s obvious that Goldie was right. Hattie’s stopped appreciating me. All because of him.
Hattie goes back to ripping long leaves and silky hair off the corn while Fetch Man plays with the barbecue. When the big bowl is overflowing with corncobs, Hattie carries it into the house.
Right then, my ears perk at promising sounds next door. The door slides open. Human footsteps pound. Dog tags jingle. And they’re coming closer!
I race to the Friend Gate just as it clicks and swings open. Hooray! My friends are here! My tail swishes out of control.
Tool Man strides through the gate and over to Fetch Man, slapping his palm and patting him on the back. Muffin Lady, cradling a yummy-smelling basket, hurries to the porch. Food Lady greets her with a smile.
Angel appears wearing the familiar jacket, even though all the other humans are wearing bare arms. Hattie steps through the sliding doors carrying a stack of dishes. She eyes Angel warily, her gaze on the jacket.
Me and the ladies do the circle-sniff dance. Patches nuzzles my nose. “What’s the matter, Fenway?” she asks in her lovely voice. “You smell distressed.”
I shoot a glance at the humans. Fetch Man’s proudly showing off the barbecue to a nodding Tool Man. Food Lady’s leading Muffin Lady inside as Angel helps Hattie set dishes on the table. I turn back to the ladies. “You were right,” I grumble to Goldie.
If she’s surprised, she doesn’t let on. “Wish I weren’t,” she says, sinking into the grass.
“Right about what?” Patches says. Could she not already know?
I glare at her. “The bunny, of course. Turns out he’s evil, just as I suspected.”
Patches cocks her head. “What has he done?”
“What has he done?” I jeer. “He’s duped Hattie with his innocent little fur ball act. She’s totally fallen for it. Next thing you know, she’ll be playing chase with him and brushing his coat and cuddling with him at night!”
Goldie glowers. “What is it about short humans and new animals anyway? That’s what I’d like to know.”
I thrust out my chest. “But I won’t stand for it! Hattie was mine first and I have rights!”
Patches looks concerned. “What do you plan to do?”
“Get rid of him!”
Patches’s eyes widen in horror. “Fenway! You’re not serious . . .”
Hiss! Pop! Our snouts turn in unison toward the sounds of sizzling meat. Our nostrils suck in the tantalizing aromas flaring up from the grill—smoky, delectable hamburgers! Savory-sweet hot dogs! My tongue drips uncontrollably. Talk about a distraction.
Goldie recovers first. “He’s not serious about what, Patches? We’re anxious to hear your dire warning.”
My tail shoots up. “Warn all you want, but my mind’s made up. I’m going to find the Evil Bunny Gang and lead them to Thumper. They’ll take it from there.”
“Hold on there,” Patches says. “You’re going to team up with a gang of bunnies?”
Goldie sneers at her. “I hate to agree, but have you thought this through, Fenway?”
I turn back with a sigh. “Well . . . maybe not. But I will. I have to. Too much is at stake!”
Goldie’s ears flatten. “It’s so sad,” she says, her voice filled with pity. “You can’t accept that she’s moved on to somebody else.”
I drop down and bury my nose in my paws.
“Poor guy.” Goldie sinks down beside me. “Listen, fella. I know a thing or two about what you’re going through.”
I barely look up. “Yeah, right.”
Goldie glances at Patches, who’s watching intently. And keeping her mouth shut. Goldie nudges closer to me. “Look, Fenway. I was once in your paws. Back in the day, me and my precious Angel were inseparable. She couldn’t get enough of me, playing and snuggling every day. We were everything to each other.”
Goldie’s eyes get sad. “Then one day, a new puppy showed up. Naturally, I shared my toys and bones and even my favorite cuddly blanket. I was as generous as a dog could be. But that puppy didn’t appreciate my kindness one single bit.”
“Um, there are two sides to every story,” Patches butts in. “As I recall, I went out of my way to show you how grateful I was. And respectful.”
“Ha!” Goldie shakes her head. “If by respectful, you mean ripping somebody else’s belongings to shreds.” She turns to me. “And did Little Patches get scolded even once? No! My precious Angel loved her and cuddled her no matter what she did.”
I shudder. “Gosh, that’s terrible.”
Patches glowers at Goldie. “And you were never a puppy?”
“All I know is if I peed in the house or nibbled a sock, I’d get reprimanded,” Goldie says. “But Little Patches could do no wrong. Angel couldn’t resist those big puppy-dog eyes of hers.”
“Unthinkable!” I say, remembering how mad Hattie got when that fuzzy bear’s legs accidentally got chewed off.
“And I never once complained,” Goldie continues as if Patches weren’t standing right there listening. “I figured she was new and needed time to settle in. But all she ever did was yip and yap that I wasn’t doing enough to make her feel welcome. Can you believe that?”
Patches’s fur stiffens. “Hmm. Well, you were rather mean and bossy . . .”
“Humph!” Goldie looks away.
“Fenway, take it from me,” Patches says. “If there’s any lesson from our story, it’s that things have a way of working themselves out. Be patient.”
I tilt my head and think. Who could blame Goldie for being upset that a new animal came in and caused trouble? And worse—that puppy stole her short human’s love and affection! Goldie understands how horrible that is, while Patches seems to think I should make the best of it. It’s pretty clear which one is looking out for me.
“So what are you saying?” I ask Goldie.
Her eyes flash. “I’m saying if you don’t do something, that bunny is going to take over.”
“Okay,” I say. “But if teaming up with the Evil Bunny Gang won’t work, then what?”
“Well, I was thinking—” Goldie starts to say, but Patches cuts her off.
“Wait a minute.” Patches frowns. “Don’t encourage Fenway to do something he might regret.”
“Stay out of this, Patches!” I growl, baring my teeth.
She backs off with an exaggerated yelp.
“FEN-way!” Hattie sprints toward us, her face alarmed.
I snarl at Patches. “I’m not listening to you. You’re just trying to confuse me.”
“Oh, Fenway. I’d never do that,” she whimpers, shying away.
Hattie pushes between us. “Stop it!” she scolds, grabbing my bumpy collar.
Angel shoos Goldie, even though she didn’t do anything wrong. Then Angel hurries over to Patches and gives her a hug, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Hey, okay?” Fetch Man calls, looking up from the burgers.
“Yeah!” Hattie shouts back to him, smelling embarrassed. She whispers into my ear, “Bee-have . . .” Her shoulders slump. She sneaks a glance at Angel.
I keep my eyes on Patches. It’s obvious whose side she’s on. And it’s not mine.
Food Lady emerges from the sliding doors carrying a steaming platter of corn. Muffin Lady’s right behind her with a bo
wl that’s piled high with something lumpy and white. Potato salad?
Food Lady calls everybody to the porch. Hattie and Angel exchange hesitant looks. Shrugging out of Angel’s embrace, Patches wanders over to the vegetable patch and sulks next to the wire fence.
Hattie gazes into my eyes, her face stern. “Bee-have,” she murmurs again before finally letting go of my collar.
Angel’s halfway to the porch when Tool Man taps her on the shoulder. He spins her around, his hand petting a tear on her jacket.
Hattie freezes, her whole body reeking of fear.
Angel twists. She pulls the jacket off. “Oh no!” she cries, examining the rip.
Muffin Lady joins Tool Man at Angel’s side. Their faces are full of concern. “How?” Muffin Lady asks.
Angel’s eyes well up. “Zahra!” she cries.
Hattie opens her mouth like she’s going to say something. But instead, she sucks in a shaky breath, then closes her lips. She smells scared and relieved at the same time.
Barbecues are supposed to be exciting. And delicious. But this one is the exact opposite.
Instead of happily munching her hot dog, a glum Hattie pushes her supper around on her plate. I slink over to lick up the ketchup-y droppings, but she shoos me away.
Patches apparently decides it’s a perfect time for a nap. Goldie doesn’t even bother perching next to Angel, who barely notices her hamburger. All she wants to look at is the tear in the back of that jacket.
The tall humans are the only ones chattering and chomping on creamy potato salad and ears of buttery corn. They must not realize everything’s wrong.
When the sky gets dark and the crickets start chirping, not even a vanilla cupcake or a gooey roasted marshmallow can get the short humans to smile. Goldie leaves me with words of sympathy and encouragement before they head home.
My family streams into the Eating Place, where I manage to plow through a bowl of yummy kibble even though the prisoner is acting more obnoxious than usual. He rustles through the hay and knocks over a dish—clunk! And if that’s not horrible enough, his teeth start scraping against the cage—scri-i-i-i-itch . . . scri-i-i-i-itch . . . scri-i-i-i-itch . . .
Eeeee-yoooow! That sound is so annoyingly painful, every strand of fur on my back rises in protest.
While Food Lady’s busy swishing a pan in the sink, Hattie goes to the cage. After a quick glance at Food Lady, Hattie leans over the Evil Bunny and sticks a finger through the bars. “Lay-ter,” she whispers, gently patting his floppy ears.
It’s a sight too nauseating to watch. Hattie gives Food Lady a quick peck on the cheek, and we dash upstairs to her room, just like always.
My hopes rise. Maybe he’s stolen Hattie’s heart, but I’m the one who’ll be snuggling with her. She gets into her pajamas and disappears into the mint-smelling Bathtub Room. I curl up in the rumpled blankets, ready for the cuddling and cooing and luxuriating in the soothing strokes of my hairbrush.
But when Hattie returns, she only brushes me a couple of times before tossing the hairbrush onto the chair. Is that it? No paw kissing? No “best buddies” song? No snuggles?
I nose her arm, gazing up at her with my most irresistibly cute face. But she’s obviously still annoyed. Probably because the barbecue wasn’t any fun. She turns away. Next thing I know, the room goes dark.
Later, when the whole house is still and quiet, Hattie throws off the covers. “Shhh,” she murmurs, and heads for the door. After poking her head out, she tiptoes into the hallway. Alone.
Where is she going? I sit with my head cocked, watching the closed door and listening.
Soon I hear Hattie’s quiet footsteps returning. My tail wags with joy, until the door opens . . .
And the cage appears!
“Shhh,” Hattie whispers. Holding her breath, she sets the cage on the way-up-high dresser.
My tail sags. I should’ve known she’d bring him up here. Pretty soon he’ll be taking over the whole house. And Hattie’s whole life.
She reaches into the cage. Out comes the trembling little fur ball cradled in Hattie’s loving hands. “Thumper,” she soothes, caressing his fur.
I sink into the rumpled blankets. I have to do something. If only I knew what.
After the enemy is back in his cage and Hattie’s head is on the pillow, I nuzzle against her cheek. But it’s impossible to sleep.
On top of the dresser, the Evil Bunny nestles into his rustle-y bed. Getting way too comfortable.
Goldie said this would happen. Whoa, was she ever right.
This is not the way bedtime’s supposed to be. My gaze falls on the hairbrush lying on the chair. My heart swells with sadness.
Eventually, my eyelids get heavy . . .
At last! Hattie picks up the hairbrush. She brushes my coat and sings, “Best buddies, best buddies.”
I cuddle against her shoulder, sighing with pure happiness. Everything’s right again. Until a revolting stench assaults my nostrils.
It’s that Evil Bunny! How did he get onto Hattie’s pillow?
“Awww,” Hattie coos, nuzzling his floppy ears. She starts stroking his nasty, bunny-ish fur. “Best buddies, best buddies,” she sings to him!
He purrs with delight.
No! Hattie, no! I turn away, whimpering and shuddering . . .
And then, I’m someplace bright and sunny and grassy—outside in the Dog Park.
Hattie runs around, waving a stick. Her face is wide and smiling.
Hooray! Hooray! I love to play keep-away!
I rush over to her, ready for the chase, but she must not see me. She rushes right up to a floppy-eared fur ball, teasing him with the irresistible stick.
Before I can even react, the Evil Bunny scampers after her, his eyes full and gleaming. He clearly wants that stick.
Hattie giggles like crazy. She zigs and zags, the nasty creature chasing her around the Dog Park. My Dog Park!
Dog Parks are for dogs!
I race around, prepared to snatch that stick—and Hattie’s attention—but no matter what I do or where I go, I can’t get close enough.
All I can do is watch them romp through the grass, having the time of their lives. Until finally Hattie slows to a stop. Panting and laughing, she flops down in the grass.
The Evil Bunny hops onto her chest. She pulls him into her arms. Where she’s holding a plump, glistening hot dog. With ketchup!
My tongue drips uncontrollably. I need that hot dog! And my beloved Hattie! I start to run to her, but somehow I end up running in circles. I can’t get near them!
Hattie grins. She wiggles the hot dog at the Evil Bunny.
His whiskers twitch. His mouth opens. His fang-like teeth go to chomp . . .
My eyes pop open. Hattie’s room is filled with bright morning light. And I’m curled up beneath her chair.
I creep out for a stretch. And a look.
The Evil Bunny is rambling around the cage, perfectly at home on top of Hattie’s dresser. And she’s peacefully snoozing in her bed.
While her once-beloved dog is camped out on the floor.
It’s every kind of wrong. I have to take action. Now. How hard can it be to scare off a bunny? After all, I chase squirrels for a living.
I leap onto the bed for a closer view. But there’s a Very Big Problem. The cage that’s keeping him trapped is also keeping him safe. Talk about a bad combination!
I’m going to need help. And I can’t wait for the Evil Bunny Gang to come get him.
The blanket nudges my bum. “Fenway?” Hattie grumbles, her eyes fluttering awake.
My tail wags hopefully. I climb over the lumpy, bumpy covers to reach her. “I’m right here, Hattie,” I bark. “Your adorable dog! Remember me?”
Hattie sits up and rubs her face. And then a f-f-f-f-t! noise drifts in through the window. She leans her
elbows on the sill.
I jump up onto her lap, my nose pressing against the screen. The Dog Park below is quiet. And so is the one next door. Except ours is empty and the ladies’ is not.
Goldie is in the far end of their Dog Park, chasing her tail. Patches bounds over and sinks low on her front paws, inviting Goldie to play. But when Goldie responds with a snap, Patches sulks off toward the bushes.
Angel plods into the grass, her arms bare, her cap on her head. She picks up her fat leathery glove and tosses the white ball way up high. And then . . . thwap! She snags it tight.
Hattie perks up. She turns, about to hop out of bed, when the f-f-f-f-t! sounds again. She returns to the window.
Zahra appears, wearing a cap like Angel’s. Her long, silky hair swings like a tail behind her head. She bounces down the porch steps and joins Angel in the grass. “Hey!” she calls.
Hattie sucks in a breath.
Angel’s hands fly to her hips. She yells at Zahra in a gruff voice. I catch one very clear word: “Ript!”
Whatever that means, Zahra doesn’t like it. She shakes her head. “No!” she cries, her voice full of horror.
Angel’s shoulders stiffen. She huffs at Zahra, more angry words spewing out of her mouth.
Smelling anxious, Hattie leans into the screen. She opens her mouth as if to call to them, but then she gulps like her words got stuck.
After a quick and irritated glance at me, she pauses. Her eyes remind me of a dog who’s just spied an opportunity, like an unguarded bone.
We turn back to the window. Zahra continues shaking her head. “No,” she keeps saying. She wipes her face. Finally, she turns and flies back up to the porch. Another f-f-f-f-t! and she’s gone.
Hattie sinks back on the bed, her eyes still big with that look of opportunity. She springs up and pulls on her clothes like she can’t get them on fast enough. She grabs the cage and tiptoes downstairs, peering over her shoulder a whole bunch of times.
In the Eating Place, Hattie wolfs down a bowl of sloshy cereal at the counter. I keep an eye on my nemesis between licking drips off the floor. He glares back at me with those beady eyes. I will find a way to get rid of him if it’s the last thing I do.
Fenway and Hattie and the Evil Bunny Gang Page 7