Fenway and Hattie by Victoria J. Coe

“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 doit.”

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.
    â€œFenn-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 supposedto, 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