Fenway and Hattie (3 page)

I lie in the Dog Park for a Very Long Time.
At some point, a Lady Human's voice hollers for Goldie and Patches. “See you around, Fenway,” I hear Patches say. I don't even respond.

Finally, my ears detect a Loud Truck roaring to life, then zooming away. The sliding door opens, and Food Lady appears. She has a puzzled look on her face. Her head swivels. “Hattie?” she calls.

Rustling noises float down from the leafy branches, and then . . . it's Hattie! She's climbing back down the giant tree, the way Fetch Man does when he's coming down a ladder. For the first time, I notice slats of wood stuck to the far side of the trunk. When my short human's almost to the bottom, I jump up.

“Hattie!” I bark, leaping on her legs. “Is it playtime now?”

Apparently not. She scurries right past me to the porch, where Food Lady is standing. I race up behind her.

But as soon as we're through the door, something is different. The house is not empty anymore. I cruise into the big room in the front. It's filled with scents that I recognize right away—Fetch Man's socks and newspaper and potato chips—just like our Lounging Place at home. There's even a couch that smells exactly like the one Food Lady won't let me climb on. How did it get here?

I poke my head into another room and find Fetch Man busy opening boxes. I zoom down the hall and peer into the Eating Place. Food Lady is busy opening boxes, too. Where is Hattie?

I follow her scent over to the high staircase. I bound all the way to the top and tear down the hall into the room where she was before.

There she is! Hattie's also taking things out of boxes—clothes and shoes and toys. She must be very busy, because when I enter, she doesn't even look up. I vault onto a bed that wasn't there before. It smells minty and vanilla-ish like Hattie's bed. I curl up into a ball and close my eyes.

Next thing I know, an alarming sound from downstairs wakes me up.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

The doorbell!

I hear Fetch Man's voice, then the noise of the front door closing. Intruders again? I shoot off the bed and fly down the stairs past Hattie.

The instant my paws hit the bottom step, a delicious scent fills my nose. It smells like gooey cheese, yummy sauce, and spicy pepperoni. It can only be one thing—pizza!

Yippee! I love pizza! I knew something wonderful was happening. “Great news, Hattie. Pizza!” I bark as we rush down the hall.

But when she heads inside the Eating Place, I hang back on the safety of the carpet. I poke my snout through the doorway and inhale the luxuriously spicy and savory aroma. My tongue drips uncontrollably.

Hattie and Fetch Man are sitting at a table, just like the one in our Eating Place at home. Food Lady opens a thin box and puts steaming slices of pizza on paper plates.

I want to dash right in and wait for yummy bits of sauce and gooey strings of cheese to drop from Hattie's spot. But unfortunately, there's a Very Big Problem.

The Wicked Floor.

That pizza smells so pizza-y. And my tummy is so hungry. There must be a way to get over to Hattie and plop next to her chair.

I put one paw on the Wicked Floor's glossy, sinister surface. Yikes! It slides out from under me. Clearly, I'm no match for this monster.

I slither back onto the carpet and collapse in a heap. I peer through the doorway, defeated. And drooling.

“Fenn-waay,” Hattie calls, like she just realized somebody was missing. Clearly, my short human is unaware of the evil lurking beneath her feet. She gazes at me with sad eyes. “Awww.” Her voice is filled with pity.

“Can't we eat pizza out here in the hallway?” I whine.

Hattie looks like she'd be up for it. But Food Lady has other ideas. She gets up and heads over to one of the big boxes. She pulls out a dish that looks just like mine. My tummy starts to rumble.

Food Lady grabs a lumpy bag that I recognize right away. I immediately start panting. She takes out a scoop, and the exciting sound of dog food rattles right on in.

Wowee! It's supper time!

I spring to my feet, my tongue slurping in tasty anticipation. “I'm so ready! I'm so ready!” I bark.

But just like that, the happy scene turns terrible once
more. Food Lady places my dish right on the Wicked Floor, then goes back to her seat. She nods at Hattie.

“Fenn-waay,” Hattie calls, her face hopeful. She points at my bowl as if I might not have noticed it.

Why is she doing this?

“Fenn-waay,” she calls again. But nothing has changed. My dish is still on the Wicked Floor. Why is Hattie torturing me?

I crumple onto the carpet, my tummy growling. Food Lady and Fetch Man are patting Hattie's arm, like they're comforting her. Hey, I'm the one who needs comforting, people!

There must be a way to get that food.

Hattie goes back to eating her pizza, but she keeps sneaking sorry looks at me. And then, in a flash, I know what to do.

I push myself up and stretch my head inside the doorway. I put on my most pathetic face. “Stop tormenting me,” I whine. I move up to the edge of the Wicked Floor. I whimper some more.

Hattie tilts her head to the side. She looks like her heart is breaking.

I fall to my belly, paws stretched out in front. I whine longer and louder. “You know you want to help me, Hattie. You don't want me to starve, do you?”

I can tell from her eyes that she's starting to cave. I give it everything I've got.

“Oh please, oh please, Hattie,” I moan. “I'm soooooooooo hungry!”

It works! Hattie leaps out of her seat and snatches my dish off the Wicked Floor. While Fetch Man and Food Lady look on disapprovingly, she carries it out into the hallway.

Before she even sets it down—
chomp! Mmmmm!
Wow, is it scrumptious.

For the next few seconds, I'm lost in a crunchy, munchy world of Pure Deliciousness. Until all too soon, the bowl is empty.

I let out a burp of deep satisfaction. That's my short human! I knew she'd come through.

When the windows are dark, I'm upstairs in Hattie's room, lounging on the bed. I sprawl out on the cozy blanket, ready for my bedtime brushing.

Hattie appears smelling strongly of mint, same as every night. She kisses my brown paw, my white paw, then showers my neck with kisses.

I give her cheek a slobbery lick, and she giggles.

She grabs the hairbrush, snuggling next to me and singing in her sweet voice. “Best buddies, best buddies.”

Aaaaah! Each soothing stroke transforms my body into complete and total bliss. I roll over for the other side as Hattie keeps on brushing and singing away. When she gets to my belly, my hind leg kicks with delight.

As the room grows darker and darker, my eyelids get heavy. I close them just for a second and then . . .

I'm outside by the giant tree. And what's that horrible smell? It's so . . . squirrel-ish.

There he is! That fat, nasty squirrel is sitting in the middle of the Dog Park again. Except now he's even fatter and nastier than before. His belly is bigger than my whole body! And his teeth are sharp, drooly fangs!

Yikes!

I search for cover behind the nearest bush, but it's too late. He's spotted me.

“Chipper, chatter, squawk!”
he screeches, waving his massive, fluffy tail and scampering toward me at full speed.

“Get out of here . . . you . . . p-p-pest,” I bark in my fiercest voice.

But apparently, he doesn't hear. He's hurtling straight at me when suddenly—

Crrrrrrack! Boom! Kaboom!

Whoa, that's one loud squirrel!
My eyelids pop open. Hey—he's gone. And I'm back in Hattie's soft, cozy bed.

A bright light flashes. Rain pounds against the window. Oh no, there's a storm outside! With boom-kabooms!

Hattie bolts up, her eyes wide. She clutches the used-to-be bear.

Shaking with courage, I crawl onto her chest. I nuzzle the used-to-be bear. Hattie pats my back. “Best buddies,” she whispers.

I sigh with happiness. Me and Hattie are together, and everything's the way it's supposed to be. We are home.

When it's morning time outside, the door
bell sounds again. Intruders!

“Watch out!” I bark, rushing over. “A vicious dog is on patrol!”

Despite the very obvious risk of danger, Fetch Man opens the front door.

A Lady Human is standing on the porch. Next to her is a short human about the same size as Hattie. She is wearing a cap exactly like Fetch Man's, only hers has a long wavy tail hanging out the back.

“Hel-lo,” the Lady Human sings. She's holding a basket that smells like warm muffins. With cinnamon!

“Wowee!” I bark, running in circles. “Muffins! Muffins! I love muffins!”

Muffin Lady laughs a friendly laugh and talks for a bit. “Nay-ber,” I hear her say.

Food Lady hurries over, full of happy chatter. I hear her say, “Nay-ber,” too. She welcomes them inside.

I jump on their legs, sniffing furiously. The short human smells amazing, like bubble gum and Fetch Man's fat leather glove and . . . dogs! Golden Retriever and another breed I can't quite identify. Muffin Lady smells even more strongly of dogs. Familiar dogs . . .

Food Lady is smiling at Muffin Lady like she's her best friend. Did I mention she's carrying a basket of muffins?

And they smell so warm and cinnamony! I leap higher and higher, my paw batting her knee.

Muffin Lady startles, but sadly, not even one muffin spills out of the basket.

“FEN-way,” Fetch Man scolds. He turns to Muffin Lady, shrugging sheepishly. “Puppy,” I hear him say.

Muffin Lady laughs again and says, “Ram-bunk-shuss.” That must mean she likes me, because she stoops down and scratches behind my ears.

My humans are wincing in horror. What do they have against a dog making new friends? Food Lady snatches the basket and wraps it in her arms like she's
trying to protect it. Fetch Man rushes to the stairs and calls for Hattie.

Why didn't I think of that? “Hattie! Hattie!” I race over. “Great news—muffins!”

Hattie arrives and steps into the Lounging Place. I trot along behind her, my tail swishing wildly.

Fetch Man puts his hand on her shoulder. “Hattie,” he announces.

Muffin Lady grins and taps the cap of the other short human. “Angel,” she says.

Angel glances at Hattie. She mutters something like a greeting, then her gaze drops to her feet.

Hattie edges closer, smiling and hopeful. But when Angel does not look up, Hattie smells disappointed.

Next thing I know, Food Lady herds everyone down the Perfect Running Surface and into the Eating Place. Except me.

I slump down on the carpet outside the doorway. The humans gather around the table. Pretty soon, they're all chattering, having a good time, and munching on those muffins. The warm scent of cinnamon taunts my nostrils. My eyes spot lovely crumbles near Hattie's feet. My belly aches.

“I'm hungry, too, you know,” I whine, looking at them with sad eyes. “And I sure do looooove muffins.”

Muffin Lady and Angel glance over with puzzled faces, like they've never seen a starving dog before.

Hattie grabs a muffin and starts to get up. Here it comes! I spring up in happy anticipation. I slurp my chops.

But Muffin Lady holds out her arm, and Hattie sits back down. “Train-ing?” Muffin Lady asks.

Food Lady and Fetch Man look embarrassed. Fetch Man shrugs. “Too-bizz-ee,” Food Lady says.

What could it mean? It can't be good, because Hattie has clearly given up on bringing me that muffin. Instead, she stares straight at me and leans out over her knees. “Fenn-waay,” she calls in a sweet voice.

Whoa, is she nuts? Does she actually think I'm going to run onto that Wicked Floor? I slink back down and lower my head, my gaze firmly on my short human.

Muffin Lady pats Hattie's arm and nods in approval.

Hattie holds out a chunk of muffin. “Fenn-waay,” she calls, even sweeter this time.

That muffin looks so yummy. I sink down deeper into the cushy carpeting, my tummy empty and rumbling. This is not how My Hattie behaves. She's supposed to bring it to me.

It's all so horrible. Plus, they're having fun without me. There must be something I can do.

I get up and wander around, trying to think. And
before I know it, I'm at the sliding door. Aha! Why didn't I think of it sooner? “Hurry! Hurry!” I wail, jumping up and scratching the screen. “Somebody let me out. Right now!”

It works! Hattie and Angel appear at my side. They open the door, and we all zoom through.

The short humans blast down the steps, and I'm right behind them. I'm ready for fun!

The grass is wet and puddle-y. Still no signs of other dogs, but it could be worse—at least there are no squirrels.

Hattie and Angel have a head start, but I'm up for the chase. I'm hot on their heels as they run through the grass. Of course, I'd rather be chased than be the chaser, but sometimes it's okay to mix things up.

But when Hattie and Angel get to the giant tree, they stop. I get a bad feeling. Hattie points at the way-up-high leafy branches. She shows Angel the ladder-y steps on the back of the trunk.

As I'm barreling over, Hattie starts climbing. “Come on,” she says.

Angel smiles, but she smells hesitant.

I leap up, pawing the bottom rung. “No fair, Hattie,” I bark. “We can't play chase up there.”

“Come on,” Hattie says again from halfway up the trunk.

She's obviously heading for that little squirrel house again. I collapse into the soggy grass with a groan.

Angel sighs, then begins climbing up after Hattie.

I'm still watching long after the short humans disappear into the leafy leaves.

I'm about to go sniff around some more, but then my ears perk to wonderful jingly sounds. Hooray! Hooray! Dogs are coming!

I get up and trot over to the fence. Through the slats, I see two of them romping around in the Dog Park next door. “Um, hey . . . hello,” I call.

The dogs stop mid-romp and gallop over. “Fenway?” says the white one in her lovely voice.

“I told you he'd be back,” says the Golden.

Sure enough, it's those same two ladies. Are they the only two visitors to that Dog Park? And why don't they come to this one? “Great memory,” I say. “So, uh, have you two been coming here for always?”

They exchange glances, then look back at me. “What do you mean? We live here,” Goldie says.

I cock my head. “You live in a Dog Park?”

Goldie gets an irritated look and opens her mouth. But before she can answer, Patches says, “Was that our short human you were trying to chase just now?”

“What? No, it was mine. Hattie, remember?”

“Oh, we remember,” Goldie says with a growl. “How
did you say it, super best friends? You do everything together. Isn't that right?”

Patches rolls her eyes at Goldie, then turns back to me. “I meant Angel.”

“Wow, she's your short human?” No wonder she smelled like Golden Retriever and . . . whatever kind of dog Patches is.

“Well, she used to be,” Goldie says.

I look at her sideways. “Isn't she still?”

“Technically, yes. But things change.” Patches lowers her head. “In the beginning, she was fun, a lot like your Hattie. We'd walk to the river and play fetch—”

“I believe it was the pond and we played Frisbee,” Goldie corrects.

“Fact is,” Patches says, a faraway gleam in her eye, “she used to be great. I thought she would always stay that way.”

Goldie scowls. “I knew it wouldn't last.”

“As I recall, you were awfully fond of her,” Patches says. “We both were.”

“She had a lot of potential. Like most short humans,” Goldie says.

“It's so tragic,” Patches says. “Short humans never stay interested in anything for very long.”

“Sad, but true.” Goldie huffs. “They go from one thing to another. Without even looking back.”

“Nowadays, she acts like we're not even here,” Patches says, a little yelp in her voice.

Goldie paws the ground. “She's totally forgotten about the good times we used to have . . .”

“Gee, that's such a bummer for you,” I say. “But not all short humans are like that. Hattie's different.”

Goldie snorts. “Are you sure about that?”

“You don't know her. She's completely devoted to me,” I insist. “She's the best short human ever.”

“Maybe that's how it was
before
,” Goldie says, drawing out the last word. “But it doesn't look that way now.”

“What are you talking about?” I say, but when I gaze up into the giant tree, I have my answer. Hattie's smiling face is poking out of the squirrel-house window. Without me. And a massive boulder crushes my heart.