Fenway and Hattie Up to New Tricks

by Victoria J. Coe

  Chip-chip-chip!

  I halt in my tracks. Intruder alert!

  Hattie needs cheering up, but my other duty is calling. I drop the ball.

  My fur bristling, I survey the Dog Park. Nothing appears out of the ordinary. All’s quiet in Food Lady’s vegetable patch. Or is it?

  The low mesh-y fence wobbles. Out shoots a stripe-y chipmunk. His tail’s straight out and swagger-y, like he’s not totally trespassing where he doesn’t belong.

  The little villain scampers into the grass happy as can be. I spring into action. “Beat it, chipmunk!” I bark, rushing straight at him. “Or else!”

  Chip-chip-chip!

  He picks up speed, zigging and zagging, as if he actually has a chance of outmaneuvering the Master of the Dog Park. Well, he can try, but he won’t succeed!

  And really, he’s making my job too easy. He may be fast, but he’s got no technique. He heads right for the bushes, where I can pin him against the side fence lickety-split. Then it’s game over, rodent!

  Sure enough, he dives under the lowest bushy branch. I plunge in after him, ready to claim victory!

  But where did he go?

  The horrible chipmunk odor is everywhere. But he’s not.

  I root around under the bush, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Did he just disappear?

  I crawl through the dirt, the brush scratching my coat. He’s got to be somewhere, right? But then again, chipmunks are always scurrying and then vanishing—poof! This guy could be three Dog Parks over by now.

  I shimmy back out into the grass, where I hear jingling sounds. They’re coming through the fence near the vegetable patch. Wowee, it’s the ladies!

  I hurry over and peer through the slats. A Golden Retriever and a white dog with black patches are rolling around in the grass next door.

  I press my nose into a gap in the fence. “’Sup, ladies?” I call. I’m expecting to smell my best friends, Goldie and Patches. But their scents are different. I hope it’s really them.

  The dog I hope is Patches glances up and trots over. “Fenway!” The lovely voice sounds like Patches. The confident gait looks like Patches. But where did her smell go? “We were just talking about you,” she says.

  I cock my head. “You were?”

  The dog who looks exactly like Goldie lopes toward me. “Well, I wasn’t,” she corrects in a very Goldie-like, growly tone. “My sister here was wondering what happened to you after our mud romp yesterday.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Nothing happened to me. Did something happen to you?”

  “You could say that!” Goldie huffs.

  Patches turns to her. “That bath wasn’t so bad.”

  Goldie harrumphs. “Are you saying you enjoyed the perfume-y shampoo? The too-cold water? The slippery tub?”

  Patches sighs. “Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?”

  I shake my head. No wonder the ladies smell different. “Are you saying you had a bath?”

  Goldie’s eyes widen in surprise. “Are you saying you didn’t?”

  “No—I mean, yes. Hattie doesn’t even try those anymore. Not since I showed her how much better I like cozy towel rubs,” I say. “You should give that a shot.”

  Goldie raises an eyebrow. “Well, we didn’t really have a choice.”

  “We went to a place.” Patches shows off her claws, which are way smoother and shorter than usual. “It was quite nice, actually.”

  “If you like listening to protests. And sounds of panic,” Goldie says. “Or smelling flowery soap.”

  “Now, Goldie,” Patches says, her lovely voice bordering on irritation. “Don’t give Fenway the wrong idea.”

  Goldie tilts her head. “I’m giving him the wrong idea? You make going to the groomer sound like a frolic in the park. Why don’t you tell him about those nail clippers?”

  Patches gives her a scolding look. “Goldie . . .”

  Unbelievable! The ladies went to a place where dogs get shampooed? And have their nails clipped? “But your humans, didn’t they try to save you?” I say, my fur prickling.

  “Of course not,” Goldie gruffs. “They handed us over, then just walked out!”

  I quake with terror. This “groomer” sounds almost as bad as the vet who grabs and pokes and pricks. “Tell me you’re making this up.”

  Patches gazes at me with eyes full of kindness. “It wasn’t nearly as scary as my dear sister remembers,” she says, her voice soft and soothing. “Someday you’ll find out for yourself.”

  “No way! Hattie always takes care of me,” I say. “She would never give me a bad surprise like that.” But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I remember getting trapped in that box and I’m not so sure.

  I’m still chatting with the ladies when I spy Hattie heading to the door. After a quick good-bye to my friends, I sprint after my short human. Something is probably wrong, and it’s up to me to find out.

  I stick by Hattie’s side as she tromps into the Eating Place. The only tidbit I uncover is a stale but tasty cornflake under a cabinet.

  Hattie’s pouring a glass of milk when the door to the garage opens. My ears shoot up. Somebody’s coming! I rush over, my tail raised in alarm.

  Fetch Man strides in, whistling. He’s got a long pole in one hand. His arm’s wrapped around a paper bag. A big can swings at his side.

  I throw myself at his legs. “I’m so glad you’re back,” I bark. “I missed you so much.”

  He tries to pat me but apparently changes his mind. “Down, boy.” He breezes into the Eating Place and dumps his loot on the table.

  Food Lady comes in from the hallway. With a wide smile, Fetch Man hands her the big can. He unwraps a spongy roller and puts it on top of the long pole.

  Food Lady pats the can, a deep look of satisfaction on her face. My tail swishes. It must be something wonderful. A giant can of chicken soup? Tomato sauce? Dog food?

  I leap and leap, sniffing wildly, but I cannot reach the mysterious can. I turn my nose to Fetch Man. He smells like paint and grease and oil. And also like strange humans and coffee and sweat. This can only mean one thing—he’s been at the tool store! This cannot be good.

  Food Lady peers inside the bag and pulls out little squares of shaggy rug. Rectangles of fabric. Brushes of different sizes. And stiff paper that’s gritty and sort of sparkly. She gazes at Fetch Man, her brow furrowed, like maybe she was expecting a treat instead of all this useless stuff. “Really?” she asks.

  Fetch Man rubs his hands together, full of excitement. He grabs the long pole and spongy roller as if he can’t wait to play with them.

  While he and Food Lady chatter with each other, I glance over at Hattie. She’s sipping her milk like she wants it to last forever. “Nana coming,” Fetch Man says.

  “Yes-but,” Food Lady says.

  Every time Fetch Man says “Nana,” Hattie’s gaze drops to the floor. I hear her mutter “Hattie-the-Grrate” under her breath. She’s definitely worried. Or nervous. But why? We love Nana!

  Food Lady sighs. She hands the big, heavy can back to Fetch Man, who heads into the hall. I’m tempted to follow, but then Food Lady opens a cabinet and pulls out a loaf of bread.

  Whoopee! Lunch! My tail twirls in anticipation. I rush to Food Lady’s side, hoping for delicious crumbs to fall.

  Food Lady cocks her head when she sees how sad Hattie looks. She goes over and pats her shoulder.

  Hattie doesn’t look up. “Hattie-the-Grrate,” she mumbles again.

  “Oh, bay-bee,” Food Lady says. She speaks to Hattie in a voice that’s encouraging and hopeful. But also like she’s giving Hattie a job to do. “You-can-do-it.”

  She must be urging Hattie to finish that milk, because that’s what she does. Hattie’s still not smiling, but she kisses Food Lady’s cheek, clanks her glass in the sink, and trudges out of the room.r />
  I start to go after her, but right then Food Lady goes to the tall, frosty box. Where the peanut butter lives. And jelly!

  But Hattie’s already down the hall and turning toward the stairs. I have to find out what she’s doing.

  Ignoring my drooling tongue, I hightail it through the hallway and chase Hattie upstairs. At the top, I see something that makes me pause—the empty room.

  The place with horrible memories. Where I get trapped behind The Gate all alone when my humans are mad. The empty room is the worst place in the whole house!

  Except it’s not empty anymore.

  Old sheets are scattered on the floor, that big can sitting in the middle. Fetch Man’s on a stepladder beside the window, sticking tape around the edges. It’s the very definition of mysterious.

  I charge in to investigate!

  “FEN-way, stop!” Fetch Man snaps, mopping his sweaty face with his T-shirt.

  I skid to a halt, a sheet bunching under my paws. I was only doing my job. This place needs to be checked out. What if that ladder is dangerous? What if that big can is full of something yucky, like beans?

  Fetch Man glares at me. He points at the doorway. “Out!” he says, his face serious and urgent.

  Whoa, easy, Fetch Man. It’s not like somebody chewed your new shoes. Or ate a whole meat loaf! I back into the hall before he goes completely bonkers.

  Even though it looks different and it’s not empty anymore, that room is clearly still full of yelling and punishments. Good thing I found out before I accidentally got trapped in there again.

  I follow Hattie’s scent to her room. Sure enough, she’s sitting on the floor, gazing at the Nana-box, her face scrunched.

  I assume growl position. While keeping my distance. “Get back in the closet, you terrible box!” I snarl, baring my teeth. “Nobody wants you here!”

  Hattie rubs a hand over it. She looks cautious and confused, like she can’t decide if she loves it or hates it. And she smells nervous. Obviously, she needs my help.

  I jump up and slobber her cheek. “Trust me on this, Hattie,” I bark. “This thing is bad news. Let’s go bury it in the closet again.”

  “Aw, Fenway,” she says with a weak smile.

  I lick her cheek again. “It’ll take two seconds. When it comes to burying things, I’m a professional.”

  She pets my head for a while, like she’s considering it.

  “That’s my girl.” I snuggle her shoulder. “Our favorite games are way better than that new one.”

  I’m probably getting through to her, but she still smells worried. She heaves a heavy sigh. What is her strange fascination with the Nana-box? Why can’t she just leave it alone?

  Right then, Fetch Man pops his head in the doorway, and we both turn. “Lunch,” he says.

  Wowee! I knew it was lunchtime! I spring up and spin in circles.

  I follow Hattie into the hall. When she ducks into the Bathtub Room, I hang back on the safety of the carpet. I shudder, thinking of what the ladies said. Hattie can splash herself with that rushing water and smelly soap all she wants, as long as it doesn’t involve me.

  After she reappears, we’re heading toward the stairs when I come face-to-face with . . .

  THE GATE!

  When did that go up?

  All of a sudden, it’s guarding the doorway to the empty room. Hattie leans over, her head poking into the room. My ears droop with punishment memories. “Don’t even think about it, Hattie!” I bark, nudging her toward the stairs. “There’s nothing good in there.”

  She scoops me up and nuzzles her face in my fur. I’ve won another round. But with the way scary things keep popping up around here, I’m going to have to stay on my game.

  In the Eating Place, Fetch Man and Food Lady gobble their sandwiches in record time. But Hattie’s apparently got higher priorities. After only one or two bites, she sneaks the rest of hers under the table into my waiting jaws.

  Chomp! Mmmmm! Peanut butter and jelly is my favorite. I rub against her shin. “Best buddies, best buddies,” I croon.

  Hattie smiles and pats my head, but she still doesn’t smell happy. “Best buddies, best buddies,” she sings.

  When the Eating Place is clean and every crumb’s been licked off the floor, we head back upstairs. The empty room is still guarded by The Gate, but it’s not empty for long. Fetch Man and Food Lady emerge from their room wearing their oldest, rattiest clothes. Giving us stern words of warning, they climb over The Gate and disappear.

  I want to hang around and see what they’re doing, but Hattie has other plans. She snatches me up and carries me into her room.

  With a loud breath, she plops onto her cozy bed. She scratches behind my ears—Ah, yeah! That’s the spot—but judging by the blank look in her eyes, she’s busy thinking.

  We’re quiet for a minute or two, until a loud, happy voice drifts through the window screen. Hattie props her elbows on the ledge. I climb onto her lap and peer outside.

  Our Dog Park looks empty and boring, but the one next door is the exact opposite. The ladies are chasing a ball that Angel is tossing. “Go get it!” she calls.

  Hattie perks up, smelling excited. She’s getting an idea.

  My tail swishes. Wowee! I bet I’ve got the exact same idea!

  “Angel!” Hattie calls out the window. She chatters a bit, then rushes over to the Nana-box. “Fenway, come!” she grunts.

  My tail wilts, and I back away. “My idea was to go outside and play with our friends. Not with this thing!”

  Hattie wheels the scary Nana-box into the hall. Where is she going? Is she planning to toss that thing into the trash?

  I have to find out. I’m bounding after her when I start to gag. Eeeee-yew! The hallway’s suddenly filled with the overpowering odor of paint. I have to get out of here!

  Hattie calls to the tall humans in a hurried voice as we pass by. The box must be heavy, because it thumps down the stairs. And Hattie’s breathing is more strained than usual. Downstairs, I trail her through the hallway to the back door.

  As Hattie slides it open, my tail starts swishing again. Hooray! Hooray! At least we had the same idea about going outside! Maybe I can convince Hattie to ditch the box and play fetch with our friends.

  She lugs the box onto the porch, and I zip into the grass, leaping and twirling with anticipation. Because I hear our friends coming!

  Hattie looks over at the Friend Gate as it swings open. “Angel!” she calls.

  The ladies rush into our Dog Park, Angel trotting in behind them. She’s still clutching that ball, but she’s got something else, too—a small bag. The kind that snacks come in. Yippee! I’m always ready for snacks!

  I leap up and give it a few sniffs. Mmmmm! It smells like peanut butter. I love peanut butter!

  The ladies come up for the circle-sniff dance. “’Sup, ladies?” I say.

  Goldie turns her head toward Hattie and Angel, who are hovering over the Nana-box on the porch. “What’s that?” she asks as we all head over.

  I’m way more interested in Angel’s bag. I leap at her hand. Wowee! It smells really peanut-y. “Just a box full of silky scarves and random stuff that isn’t much fun,” I say.

  Goldie cocks her head, studying the box. “Not much fun?” she says. “Are you sure about that?”

  Hattie goes to shoo me down, but Angel giggles and opens the bag. “Ready, Fenway?” she says.

  “I’m so ready! I’m so ready!” I bark, jumping and begging.

  Angels pulls something out of the bag. Probably a treat! She peels off a crackle-y shell. I can hardly wait to eat it!

  I leap wildly. Hooray! Hooray! Something yummy is coming!

  Angel tosses the treat into my mouth . . .

  Chomp—ew! It feels like a pebble. I roll it around on my tongue. Patooey! I spit it onto the porch.

/>   Goldie nods at it with a look of recognition. “I could’ve warned you it was a peanut.”

  I gaze at the slobbery pebble. It smells like peanut butter, but it’s definitely something foul. “A peanut?”

  Hattie and Angel exchange shrugs. They each crack open a peanut and pop them into their mouths, bits of shell falling onto the floor.

  Well, that wasn’t nearly as great as I thought it was going to be. Obviously, we need to find something better to do. I romp down the steps in search of a keep-away twig.

  But when I find one, Goldie and Patches are still on the porch. They gaze at the short humans with rapt attention.

  Hattie adjusts the tall hat on her head. She ties the cape around her shoulders. “Sho-Nana,” she says. “Hattie-the-Grrate.” Angel smiles and looks on with approval.

  Hattie flips through the pages of a little book, Angel hunching over her shoulder. They ooh and aah like that book is the most interesting thing they’ve ever seen.

  Angel takes the tall hat and punches her fist through the top. Whoa! She broke Hattie’s hat.

  But Hattie doesn’t seem the slightest bit angry. Actually, she grins and nods at Angel like this is exactly what she was expecting. She grabs the fake flowers and stuffs them into the hat, clearly eager to play with them. Hattie taps the hat with the stick. “Ab-ra-ca-dab-ra!” She pulls the flowers back out, saying, “Ta-da!”

  Angel laughs and claps. Hattie takes a bow. For the first time since the humans started saying “Nana” all the time, Hattie looks hopeful.

  What changed her mind about this stuff? Maybe this Nana-box is only fun for two short humans playing together? Or one short human and one Nana? It’s certainly no fun for dogs!

  Because everybody knows what’s fun for dogs is romping around the Dog Park playing fetch or keep-away. So why are the ladies standing on the porch watching Hattie and Angel? I slink over, dropping the twig on the porch.

  Right then, Patches turns to Goldie. “I know what this is!” she says. “Remember when those short humans came over with pretty packages?”

  Goldie grimaces. “You mean when they ran around screaming? And tossing balloons that exploded with water?”