Fenway and Hattie (7 page)

Just then, the sliding door bangs, and I
jump. Fetch Man is on the porch, his fat leathery glove on his hand and a familiar cap on his head. He tosses a white ball into the air and catches it. Okay, he's no Hattie, but playing ball with Fetch Man is my second favorite thing to do. “Excuse me, ladies. I have a game to play,” I call over my shoulder, trotting to the porch.

“Go knock yourself out,” Goldie says.

“Goldie . . .” Patches scolds.

Fetch Man grabs another fat leathery glove off the porch. He bounds down the stairs, holding it out in the direction of the giant tree. “Hattie,” he calls excitedly.

I'm leaping at his side for a better sniff. And view.

The glove on Fetch Man's hand smells old and worn.
It looks bigger than the other one, which is new and stiff. Fetch Man beams proudly. Like he's found a bone that was lost for a Long, Long Time. “Hattie!” he calls again.

Her face appears in the squirrel-house window, but she does not look happy. Hattie grimaces and shakes her head.

Fetch Man reaches out the glove, like he's not sure Hattie saw it the first time. “Come on,” he begs.

Hattie shakes her head more forcefully.

Fetch Man sighs loudly. Then he chatters in a voice that sounds like a combination of coaxing and pleading. Like he's trying to get her onto the cold, scary scale in the vet's office.

Next thing I know, Hattie's face vanishes from the window. Her sneakers appear beneath the leafy leaves. She's coming down!

“Hooray! Hooray!” I bark, romping over. “We're all going to play fetch. It's the Best Day Ever!”

Fetch Man's right behind me. The instant Hattie's feet touch the ground, he hands her the glove.

“Oh no,” I hear Goldie say.

“I can't bear to watch,” replies Patches.

“It's okay, ladies,” I say, prancing near the fence. “I've got this. Just you wait.”

Patches looks like she wants to say something but changes her mind. Goldie drops down and scratches.

I charge back over to Hattie. “I'm so ready! I'm so ready!” I bark, leaping on her legs.

“FEN-way,” she snaps. She turns to Fetch Man, whose voice has changed from coaxing and pleading to serious and guiding.

Really, Fetch Man? You think Hattie doesn't know how to play fetch? It's one of her favorite games!

“Let's go! Let's go!” I bark, circling their feet. “What are we waiting for?”

“FEN-way, stop,” Hattie snaps again.

Hey, can you blame a dog for being impatient?

Hattie trudges back to the porch and grabs her cap. She tucks it on, pulling her bushy tail through the back. “Ready,” she says. But she sure doesn't sound like it. Or look like it. For one thing, she's standing way too close to Fetch Man, giving me a huge head start.

I trot into the middle of the grass, waiting for Fetch Man to wind up and send the ball flying toward the back fence.

But instead, Fetch Man leans in. He flips the ball gently toward Hattie's chest.

She slaps at it with her fat glove, but it bounces off and lands in the grass. Hattie hangs her head.

“I'm on it!” I bark, speeding after the ball as it rolls behind Hattie's feet.

She can't resist the chase. She snatches it practically right out of my jaws—in a way that is not very playful.

Fetch Man pats Hattie's arm. He straightens the leathery glove on her hand. He punches his own glove a few times. He takes a couple of steps back and nods.

Hattie's face is sheepish. She takes a loud breath. Her hand goes back for the toss.

I'm so ready! I'm so ready! I take a lead toward Fetch Man, bouncing and panting. I can hardly wait!

Hattie hurls the ball toward us. I race after it. So does Fetch Man.

Only he's running backward. He leaps way up high, stretching his arm overhead. He grunts and grunts and—
thump!
The ball smacks into his glove.

“No fair! No fair!” I bark, springing up like I could possibly reach the ball in Fetch Man's hand.

Fetch Man clutches the ball like a prize. He grins at Hattie. “Nice!” he shouts happily.

Hattie does not share his enthusiasm. She shakes her head and scowls.
“Nice?”
she asks, her voice full of disbelief.

Fetch Man's shoulders soften. He walks back toward her. “Prack-tiss,” he pleads over and over. Finally, she nods.

He backs up a couple more steps. He makes an excited face. “Ready?” he says.

“I'm so ready! I'm so ready!” I bark, jumping wildly at his feet.

Fetch Man bends his knees. He softly tosses the ball right to Hattie. Even though she's standing there all stiff and nervous and not ready at all. And I'm the one who obviously wants to chase it.

Hattie swipes at the ball. It taps the side of her glove and drops gently into the grass. She groans.

“Mine! Mine!” I bark, preparing to pounce.

But once again, Hattie grabs the ball before I have the chance. I leap at her legs as she straightens. She squeezes the ball in her glove. She's not even looking at me.

I jump higher. “When is the fun going to start?” I whine.

“Fenway,” she says, her hand shooing me down.

“Come on! Come on!” I bark, dancing around her sneakers. “I want to play, too.”

Fetch Man glances at Hattie, raising an eyebrow.

She lets out a sigh, hands him the white ball, and races toward the sliding door.

“Whoopee!” I bark, behind her all the way. “Chase is my favorite game.”

But the door slams shut just as I reach it. I turn and
watch Fetch Man flip the ball over his head and catch it a few times, perfectly content. Isn't he upset that Hattie ran off?

A moment later, the door opens and Hattie reappears with my leash. Are we going to walk to the real Dog Park?

“Yippee!” I bark, leaping up and licking her knee.

As the leash clicks, Hattie hops down the steps toward the side fence. I'm galloping along beside her. Wheeeee! The breeze ripples through my fur as we run through the grass. It's the Best Feeling Ever!

But when we get to the fence, the wonderful feeling abruptly ends. I go to follow Hattie back to Fetch Man, but—
ouch!
—my collar tugs me back. Somehow my leash got wrapped around a slat in the fence. “Hattie, help!” I bark. “I got stuck!”

As if she can't even hear me, Hattie tosses the ball back and forth with Fetch Man. Gently and seriously, like it's not even a game. Or any fun.

Hattie is working and struggling, not playing. And she looks so . . . discouraged.

If only I could get loose. I could show her how much more fun it is when the ball whizzes far over our heads. And we have to chase after it a Long, Long Way.

I crumple into a heap of helplessness. And defeat.

“I hate to say I told him so,” Goldie mutters.

“He has to learn for himself,” Patches says.

My ears perk up. “What do I have to learn?”

Patches looks like she doesn't know what to say. Or maybe how to say it.

Goldie nods toward Hattie. “You can keep trying all you want, but she's not going to be the same short human you had before. She's changing.”

I want to tell them they're wrong. That I'm going to find a way to get her back. All I need is a good idea . . .

Then I hear “Woot! Woot!”

I whip my neck around. Hattie is jumping around in a fit of celebration. Her fist is gripping the white ball, pumping the air like a sign of victory. Even from here, I smell a feeling I haven't smelled in a while. Confidence?

Fetch Man grins and claps his hands.

Patches lets out a little whimper. “It's so painful to watch. So very like our own sweet Angel with that same white ball, the same glove . . .”

Goldie shakes her head in disgust. “That's how it went wrong. It all started with that ball and glove . . .”

Whoa, the ball and glove are the problem?

I spring to my feet. I thrust my nose into a gap in the fence. “I told you I'm going to get My Hattie back,” I say to the ladies. “And I know exactly how to do
it.”

When we head inside, I can hardly believe
my nose! The unmistakably wondrous aroma of spaghetti and meatballs is wafting out of the Eating Place. Saliva pools in my mouth. Yippee! It's supper time!

But as Hattie hangs my leash on the hook, I swallow my excitement. I can't let myself get distracted. I have a plan to get My Hattie back, and nothing will stop me.

Fetch Man hangs up his cap and the two fat leathery gloves. The big one over his cap, the smaller one over the leash.

I watch Hattie and her swinging tail of hair rush into the Eating Place. My nose is overwhelmed by the savory fragrance in the air. I love spaghetti and meatballs!

But I have a mission to focus on. I slink back to the door. Those gloves are up awfully high.

I leap my highest. I stretch myself as far as my body will go. No matter how hard I try, there's no way I can reach. And
sniff, sniff
 . . . aaaaah! That spaghetti smells sooooo good. And I'm sooooo hungry . . .

I want to go beg Hattie to bring me some, but I can't get distracted. Getting My Hattie back is too important!

I jump and jump and jump. I can almost reach the end of the leash. I try again, my jaws snapping.

At last! I chomp on the clasp and give it a tug. Did Hattie's glove shift just a tiny bit?

I look way up. It's slightly off-balance. I have to keep at it!

I'm about to tug some more when I hear food clattering into my supper dish. My tummy grumbles.

“Fenn-waay . . .” Hattie's sweet voice sings.

I want to stick to my task, but my belly's in charge. I bolt over to the Eating Place doorway.

My dish of sumptuous food is sitting in the middle of the Wicked Floor. Hattie's gazing at me with eyes full of determination. “Fenway,” she calls. “Come!”

I thrust my snout through the doorway. My tummy is rumbling. I look at Hattie with my saddest, droopiest eyes. I give her my best whine. “Don't you feel bad for me, Hattie? I can't get to my food and I'm staaaaarving.”

But instead of bringing it to me like she's supposed
to, she doesn't even flinch. She keeps on staring. “Fenway, come,” she calls again, clapping her hands.

Uh-oh. Something's wrong. Hattie's not looking at me with sympathy and concern like she always does. And she sounds almost . . . commanding. Convincing?

I glance at my food. Sitting there in the dish. Smelling so delicious. Waiting for a ravenous dog to come devour it.

But that Wicked Floor stands between us. Talk about torture!

I drop down and whimper for a Long, Long Time. For all the good it does. Hattie keeps on calling me, again and again. Like I'm miraculously going to defeat the Wicked Floor, charge on in, and gobble down the food.

Why won't she just bring it to me?

It's horribly unthinkable. My Hattie's changing like Goldie and Patches said she would. I have to get her back. I have to work harder.

But right now I'm famished. And exhausted. I curl up for a rest.

And then, everything changes. Hattie comes over and grabs the leash.

I hop up. “Hooray! Hooray!” I bark, pawing her legs. “We're going somewhere!”

We all pile into the car. I'm so excited, I almost forget
how hungry I am. Until I get a whiff of Hattie's backpack. Wowee! It's loaded with treats! Good thing I'm starving!

I lick her cheek, then stick my nose out the window as we zoom down the street. My eyes squint in the warm breeze.

When the car stops, my tail wags out of control. Because my nose is smelling amazing familiar smells.

We're at that Treat Place again! Where I'm going to get treats! And see my new friends. “Come on! Come on, Hattie!” I bark, clawing the door. “Let's get going!”

We barrel out of the car, and I lead Hattie across the parking lot. When we get to the door, I see Lance, the Yellow Lab, from last time.

“Yo, dude,” he says as we politely exchange bum sniffs.

“Hey, Lance. What's up?”

“No idea,” he says. And the look on his face proves it.

Lance's human pulls the door open, and we head inside. It's that same big room that smells wonderful. And the same dogs from before are there with their humans. Sadie, the very round Beagle, is lying on her side like it's nap time, while Rocky, the Basset Hound, is trying to drag his human back out the door.

Food Lady and Fetch Man get busy chatting with the other humans. I steer Hattie around to greet my new friends. “Wake up, Sadie,” I say after sniffing under her tail. “The treats are coming, remember?”

She raises her head with considerable effort. “Trust me, honey,” she says. “I remember. But those tasty morsels better come easier this time. I've had it with exertion.”

When we get to Rocky, he's actually shaking. “Relax,” I tell him. “There are going to be awesome treats.”

“Fenway, you are way too happy about this,” he says with a shudder.

“What's not to be happy about?” I say, hopping up and sniffing Hattie's backpack a few more times. “Is something wrong with your ears, Rocky? I said we're getting treats!”

He gazes up at his human like no treat could possibly cheer him up. I can't help but wonder why he wants to go home so badly. Does he live atop a pile of steaks?

When the One Human strides over, the rest of the humans immediately give her their full attention. She obviously has some kind of power over them.

Hattie takes in a deep breath. Like she's getting ready for something.

I'm getting ready, too. I'm leaping and leaping, pawing her legs as she unzips the backpack. Hooray! Hooray! Those treats are coming!

My mouth waters. My tummy roars. I didn't eat supper, but now I'm getting treats! A whole backpack full of them.

“Whoopee!” I bark, dancing around Hattie's sneakers. “I can hardly wait!”

Hattie balls her fist and holds it over my head. “Sit, Fenway!” she says.

I spring up wildly, sniffing like crazy. Sure enough, a tasty-smelling treat is in her hand. I know it is! “Give it to me, Hattie!” I bark. “What are you waiting for?”

Hattie looks rattled. “Sit!” she says. “Fenway, sit!”

“Yippee!” I bark, jumping on her legs. I can almost reach her fist. “I can already taste that delectable treat!”

But Hattie's fist remains closed. With that treat still inside. “Sit, Fenway,” she says again, her eyes getting watery. “Sit! Sit! Sit!”

I nuzzle her hand in a desperate attempt to open it. “I'm so ready! I'm so ready!” I bark.

Next thing I know, the One Human is hovering beside us. She smells like lots of dogs and treats, but she also smells serious. And her voice is bossy. Hattie is completely focused on her. The One Human finishes speaking, and Hattie nods.

Then, with no warning at all, Hattie turns. She stares into my eyes, takes a deep breath, and holds her fist right over my nose. “Sit,” she demands. Her voice is full of conviction.

Whoa, she wants me to do something. But what? Her posture reminds me of that time when I sat and the
One Human gave me a treat. I plop down on my bum, my gaze never leaving her fist. When it opens, I'm not going to miss the yummy snack.

Hattie bounces up and down. “Yes!” she shouts. And just like that, the treat falls into my mouth.

Chomp!
Wowee, is it ever tasty! I'm crunching and munching that meaty morsel in a state of pure happiness that ends all too quickly.

Hattie smiles at the One Human, who pats her shoulder.

“More, please!” I bark.

Hattie holds another treat above my nose. “Stay!” she orders, then takes a step back.

Hey, I'm not going anywhere.

“Yes!” she shouts again, and a wonderful treat sails into my mouth.

Chomp!
Oh boy! It's just as yummy as the last one. It's another blissful moment of crunching and munching that I wish would never end.

Fetch Man and Food Lady are grinning. They pat Hattie on the back. Hattie smells proud. Like she won a competition. Or a battle.

They must be awfully happy that I finally got some food. And they're not the only ones. My belly is on fire. I can hardly wait for more.

Hattie is totally distracted by Fetch Man and Food Lady, which can only mean one thing—opportunity.

I sniff my way over to Hattie's backpack. My nose tells me it's stuffed full with treats. And it's right behind her on the floor!

I thrust my entire head inside. Wowee, this thing sure is loaded. I knew it!

Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
I'm wolfing the treats one after another after another. I can't stop. And why would I want to? There are enough treats here to last forever. I'm in a bagful of Dog Heaven!

“FEN-way!” Hattie yells.

Ouch!
My collar is tugging at my neck, pulling me right out of the backpack. “Hey, what'd you do that for?” I bark, wiggling to get free.

Hattie's face is frowning. Her shoulders are heaving. She's struggling to breathe. Big fat tears start sliding down her cheek. Something tells me that treat time is over.