Probably. As I open my eyes, Hattie steps over the edge of the wading pool herself and plops down. With me in her lap!
Splash!
Nooooo! Lukewarm water seeps into my fur. It smells salty. And worst of all, it feels wet! Just like a bath!
My paws churn the water, splashing and sending rippling waves over the edge of the pool. But as hard as I paddle, I’m not getting away. I just keep on getting wetter and wetter. Why is this happening? She knows how much I hate baths. “What’s the big idea, Hattie?” I yelp. “I’m not even dirty!”
“Shhh, Fenway,” she murmurs, her voice soothing, like she’s not tormenting me or anything. Hattie grabs my front leg and dunks my white paw in the water.
“NO!” I bark, wiggling and squirming. I have to convince her to give up this madness. I kick and kick. “Let me out of here!”
“Ow! Ow!” Hattie cries, rubbing her skin where scratches are appearing. She’s distracted all right. But unfortunately, she’s still got my front leg underwater. And she won’t let go.
As if this whole experience isn’t horrible enough, right then a nasty squirrel scampers by. He glares at me with beady eyes, flouncing his fluffy tail, and all I can do is watch. “It’s an emergency, Hattie! I need to get out of this terrible wa-a-a-a-ater!” I howl.
We both twist and turn, water splashing and sloshing out onto the grass. And through it all, Hattie never releases my white paw. She keeps it completely submerged as if getting it as wet as possible is the entire goal.
I can’t rest. I work as hard as I can, flailing and kicking, for all the good it’s doing. I’m completely soaked. And to make matters worse, Angel leans over the side of the pool, offering Hattie praise and encouragement. Like that’s what she needs!
The more I thrash, the wetter I get. It’s the very definition of a sinking strategy.
Clearly, Hattie’s winning and I’m losing.
“Poor guy,” I hear Patches mutter.
“Wish I had his energy,” Goldie says.
Great! The ladies are watching. Like this pathetic scene isn’t bad enough on its own. It has to be humiliating, too.
After a Very Long Time and lots more wrestling, me and Hattie climb out of the pool. The breeze ruffles my sopping wet fur, cold as ice. I try to twist and shake, but she’s clutching me so tightly, I can hardly move.
Angel drapes a towel around us, and Hattie starts rubbing. Normally, towel rubs are fun and cozy, but this one is a horrible reminder of the torture I’ve just endured.
Once Hattie finally puts me down and I’ve enjoyed a series of shakes, I gaze up at her. How did this happen? Weren’t we happy? Didn’t we mean everything to each other?
The bitter goo gets smeared on my paw again. As Hattie dries herself off and Angel empties the wading pool, I start to worry that the worst may be yet to come.
My eyelids flutter open. Morning sun pours into Hattie’s room. A wide patch of light shines on her bed. Where she is still snoozing peacefully.
I’m on the floor, curled up under the chair. Where I have been for the past two nights, all alone.
It’s not nearly as comfy and cozy as Hattie’s rumpled blankets that smell like mint and vanilla. But it’s far enough away to stay safe. And close enough to keep an eye on her.
I’m better off down here even if it’s lonely by myself. Just when I need him most, the used-to-be bear has vanished.
The last two bedtimes, Hattie tried to coax me onto the bed. But I knew better. She only wanted me close so she could play more tricks on me.
Which is pretty much all she’s been doing the past couple of days. Right when I thought things were about to get better!
Even though I’ve chewed the edge of the wading pool, knocked over the carton of salt, and scratched a lot, Hattie’s still managed to torment me with that horrible pool-bath a bunch more times. She was clearly determined to hold me down and dunk my white paw no matter how hard I kicked, splashed, or yelped in protest. Each time was wetter, saltier, and more terrible than the last. In every possible way!
And if the pool-baths weren’t bad enough, Hattie rubbed that yucky-tasting goo on my paw every time a bone, squeaky toy, or juicy hot dog just happened to appear and distract me. Talk about devious antics!
More than once I forgot and slurped my paw anyway. Paaaaatooey! Every time, it was the Worst Taste Ever! Just thinking about it makes me gag all over again.
And on top of everything else, Hattie’s continued to act strangely. Part of her face would go all sweet and loving, while her eyes looked nervous and shifty. Or worried.
She’d lift up my head, just like Spicy Breath did. Then she’d pry my jaws open and quick stuff in a pebbly morsel—probably a peanut! And before I could spit it out, she’d massage my throat until I swallowed.
I’d go to gag, but right then a lovely treat would sail into my mouth. Even though I was on my guard, those treats were impossible to resist. And oh, so distracting! By the time I figured the whole thing was probably a trick, the tasty treat was already chomped and swallowed.
Of course, that part wasn’t so bad.
But overall, I have to face facts. Up until now, I’ve always known what to expect—Hattie loving me, playing with me, taking care of me. And here I am, watching her sleep on the pillow that I’m supposed to be sharing, and it’s pretty obvious that all I have to look forward to forever are bad surprises.
When Hattie wakes up, she gazes at me with that worried-but-at-the-same-time-smiling look. It’s so unnerving.
We head downstairs toward the familiar aroma of coffee. I haven’t smelled bacon or sausages or pancakes since Fetch Man and Food Lady started saying, “Nana-coming.” Which they repeat at random times throughout the day, often accompanied by fussing and sighs.
When we arrive at the Eating Place, they’re rushing around as usual, chattering and moaning like they both have big jobs left to do. My nose is happy that the paint smell has faded, but it sure would be nice to get back to the Good Old Bacon-y Days.
As Hattie grabs a box of cereal, my ears perk up. A loud vrooooom . . . vrooooom . . . is drifting in through the front door. And getting louder. It can only be one thing—a Big Truck!
I race-hobble across the house to the door. I peer out the screen just in time to see the menace himself appear and come to a rumbling halt right in front of our walkway.
“Watch out, Evil Truck!” I bark, my fur standing straight up. “There’s a vicious Jack Russell Terrier guarding this house!”
Totally scared, the Evil Truck goes quiet. But it doesn’t go away. Instead, two tall humans jump out and head toward the house, clearly ignoring the ferocious warning.
“FEN-way!” Hattie yells, grabbing my collar. She smells annoyed. Where did she come from? She’s supposed to be in the Eating Place munching her cereal.
I lunge at the door. “I’ve got this, Hattie! Just let me at ’em!”
But instead of letting me go, Hattie lifts me into her arms. “Shhh,” she says.
“What’d you do that for?” I bark. I squirm. I twist. I must get loose. The sooner, the better! Because the two tall humans are almost here!
I bare my teeth. “Don’t even think about approaching this house!”
“Fenn-waay,” Hattie soothes. She clutches me to her chest, nuzzling my fur.
Like I can be deterred from my job. I growl at the tall humans. They are big and burly and wearing boots even though it’s not raining or cold outside. A highly suspicious sign. “Beat it!” I bark.
Fetch Man and Food Lady come up behind us, smelling excited, like they are happy to see the Evil Truck. What’s the matter with them? Don’t they recognize danger when it’s right in their faces?
Good thing I’m here. “This is your last warning!” I bark, baring my teeth. “Leave now or else!”
“FEN-way,” Food Lady snaps.
&nb
sp; “Hattie,” Fetch Man scolds. He points to the back of the house.
Hattie nods and hurries to the back door.
“How can you do this?” I bark, kicking and twisting. “We’re practically under attack!” I catch one of the tall humans exchanging greetings with Fetch Man before Hattie slides the door open and we’re outside on the porch.
I cock my head toward the side gate, but I don’t hear any signs of struggle. Am I supposed to believe that Fetch Man can handle himself? Even with one hurt paw, I could totally take those guys. I have a family to protect!
And speaking of which, there’s another threat I have to worry about. My head swiveling, I survey the Dog Park. The sky is bright and clear, a light breeze fluttering through my whiskers. I look over at the bushes. Are my eyes playing tricks on me again? Or is that a little head poking out from under the low branches?
I’m itching to bolt out of Hattie’s arms and inspect it, but right then the Friend Gate creaks and I whip around. Angel romps through, all smiles. She’s carrying another bag of peanuts.
Usually, I’d be thrilled to see Angel. Not to mention the ladies. But lately the ladies have been shut in their own Dog Park, so we can’t play. And Angel’s been no fun at all. Ever since she brought that wading pool over, she’s been part of the problem—helping Hattie hold me down in that horribly wet, salty water. Some friend she turned out to be!
Just the sight of her gives me the shakes.
“Angel?” Hattie says. Her voice is wavery, like she’s not sure if she should be happy or sad.
At first, I’m worried she’s going to fill the wading pool again, but instead she joins us on the porch. Angel lopes over to the Nana-box and picks up the abracadabra stick. “Come on,” she says, peeling the shell and stuffing a peanut into her mouth.
Hattie eyes the Nana-toys, smelling eager yet anxious. As she puts me down, I hear bang! coming from the street. A very loud door is slamming! I limp over to the side gate. It’s probably that Evil Truck!
“Go away, you monster!” I paw the gate with my brown paw. I have to stop them. They’re clearly dangerous!
“FEN-way!” Hattie appears out of nowhere and whisks me away from the side gate.
“Hey!” I wiggle and wiggle. “I have a truck to scare off!”
Angel strides over, the abracadabra stick still in her hand. “Let’s go,” she says.
Hattie looks torn. Like she wants to play with Angel. But she also wants to keep me from doing my job.
As the short humans start to bicker, I continue snarling and growling at the Evil Truck. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get away now while you still can!”
And then, mid-bark, a Very Big Idea pops into my mind.
I look for my chance all afternoon. But Hattie is on me like fur. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’d suddenly turned into a guard dog.
My idea—to get away and hide—is going nowhere fast. And the fact that it takes me so long to get anywhere hobbling around on three legs isn’t helping any. She spots me before I’ve barely gotten across the Dog Park.
With Angel coaxing Hattie to play with the Nana-toys, I was hoping she’d be preoccupied so I could make a quick getaway. But no such luck. Every time I try to ditch her, she’s right on my tail. Of course I have no idea where I would go, but I have to find some peace. If only for a little while!
I’m beginning to think I’ll have to put up with her bad surprises forever when I hear the jingling of dog tags from the other side of the fence. My tail shoots up with hope. I can always count on the ladies. Maybe they’ll help with my plan.
I limp over to the side fence. “’Sup, ladies?”
Through a gap, I see Goldie trot over. Patches finishes a scratch, then does the same. “This separation is getting old,” Goldie gruffs.
Patches sighs. “How are you holding up, Fenway?” she asks in her lovely voice. “It looks like those episodes in the wading pool have been rather hard on you.”
“You can say that again. Between that and everything else, I can’t take it anymore!”
Patches cocks her head. “It doesn’t seem like there’s much you can do.”
Goldie snaps at a fly. “Yeah. Putting up a fight doesn’t seem to be working for you.”
“That’s the problem,” I say. “I’ve tried to get her to stop. I’ve tried to protect myself. But nothing has worked. I have no other choice. I have to get away for a while!”
The ladies gasp. “Fenway, you’re not serious!” Patches cries.
Goldie’s eyes bulge. “I hate to agree, but you two have always been so tight.”
“I know,” I say, sinking into the grass. “But I’m going nuts! I can’t take even one more bath.”
The ladies stare at me with sad eyes. “I guess wanting to hide out for a bit is understandable,” Patches says.
“Hiding’s a perfectly acceptable technique for dealing with problems,” Goldie agrees. “Dogs do it all the time.”
I glance back at the porch. Hattie’s tapping the little clear box with the abracadabra stick again. And also gazing back at me. I turn to the ladies. “The problem is she knows all my moves,” I say. “The second I slink off somewhere, she’s on me. Plus, there aren’t that many places to go.”
“That’s a problem all right,” Patches says, full of empathy.
“But not an unsolvable one,” Goldie chimes in. “You’re small. You can squeeze into all kinds of spots.”
“Or maybe an Opportunity will present itself,” Patches offers.
Or maybe it won’t. I shiver. I think about the pool-baths, the yucky-tasting cream, the pebbly morsels. “Thanks, ladies,” I say. “I hope you’re right.”
For the rest of the day, I watch Hattie. And think.
I need two things—Opportunity and Destination. The bad news is I’m having trouble with both.
Patches said an Opportunity might present itself. The trouble is, how long will I have to wait?
While Hattie and Angel play on the porch, Hattie spends just as much time looking at me as she does the Nana-toys.
Finally, Hattie slams the abracadabra stick down in frustration and Angel goes home. As we head inside for supper, I get an idea. Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Maybe what I need to focus on isn’t the Opportunity. Maybe it’s the Destination.
We gather in the Eating Place like always, the wondrous aroma of pepperoni pizza tantalizing my nose.
Sitting beside Hattie’s chair is exactly where she expects me to be. What I need is someplace that’s the exact opposite.
But that’s easier said than done. My mouth is watering and my tummy is rumbling. Maybe I should wait until after supper. Those pizza crusts and my tasty food are definitely worth waiting for!
When my belly is full and Hattie carries me upstairs, I still haven’t spotted a Destination. We head down the hall and duck into the Bathtub Room. Hattie squeezes the little tube and squirts the yucky-tasting goo onto my white paw. I don’t put up a fight. I’m biding my time.
While she puts the tube away, I hobble into her room and curl up under the chair. A moment later, she pokes her head through the door. “Come on, Fenway,” she calls.
I don’t move. I try to look as cozy as possible. With a great big yawn, I close my eyes. Apparently, Hattie gives up. Her footsteps pad through the hallway and down the stairs.
My eyelids pop open. The coast is clear.
I gingerly get up. I need a Destination. Fetch Man and Food Lady’s room? Nah. They’d find me and shoo me out . . . the Bathtub Room? Nah. Everybody goes in there. Plus, they’d probably plop me in the tub! I continue slinking down the hall. There’s one door left. A place with terrible memories of being trapped behind The Gate and Hattie mad at me. The sharp paint smell has faded. It’s been ages since I’ve gone inside . . .
I limp closer to the De
stination, and good news—the door’s not closed all the way. My snout wedges it open, just wide enough so I can sneak through. When I get inside, I nose it shut. Then I turn around.
Whoa. The empty room is not empty anymore! How did this happen?
I sniff my way over to a big bed and a small table. My nose buried in the shaggy white rug, I check out a dresser against the other wall. Wowee! There’s so much stuff in this room, I hardly know where to focus.
I trot over to the same old windows I remember, except now there are long drapes on either side. Fetch Man’s wooden ladder is beside the window on the back wall. There’s a coffee mug and a hammer on top.
Is this that same horrible room? It looks completely different!
And it smells completely different, too. Instead of boring smells of dust and loneliness, I smell scents of paint and Food Lady and Fetch Man. And strangers, too. Those tall humans who came on the Evil Truck? I must gather more information!
I sniff every inch of the used-to-be-empty room. The scents certainly are curious. This place looks like a bedroom, but it doesn’t smell like one at all. For starters, the bed smells like nobody’s ever slept in it. The dresser smells like there’s nothing inside it. The ladder smells like coffee, but it also smells like Fetch Man’s tools and dirty work boots. Those are supposed to be in the garage, not inside the house!
Nose back to the floor, I resume sniff patrol. The fading paint smell is strongest on the walls. They’re a bit darker than they were before, too. When did that happen?
As I’m scouting along the back wall, I hear a noise floating through the window and I stop mid-sniff. A horrible sound. Coming from the Dog Park.
Chip-chip-chip! Chip-chip-chip!
I know those sounds—it’s that thieving chipmunk! What horrible crime is he committing in the Dog Park while nobody’s there to stop him?
The sounds are moving closer, right underneath the window. Uh-oh! That means he’s casing the porch! I leap and leap. I manage to scrape my claws on the wall, but I can’t reach the sill. I jump higher and higher, my hind paws kicking wildly and—whoa—oh—oooooh!
Fenway and Hattie Up to New Tricks Page 8