Fenway and Hattie by Victoria J. Coe

Author:Victoria J. Coe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-01-14T05:00:00+00:00

When everything’s cleaned up, we all head to the front door and Hattie clips my leash. She goes for the jump rope, but when Angel frowns, she drops it. Hattie sighs and grabs the fat leathery glove instead.

Whatever she has planned, it’s bound to be fun. When we get outside, Hattie leans down to hug me and somehow my leash gets tied around a slim tree. “Um, hey, Hattie . . .” I bark as she walks away. “Aren’t you forgetting somebody?”

Hattie stops near a patch of dirt, where Food Lady is kneeling and digging and sprinkling water. Angel is near the driveway, fingering that white ball. Which can only mean one thing—another awesome game of fetch! Or chase! I struggle to get loose.

Fetch Man hovers next to Hattie, watching her intently. He has a hopeful look in his eye.

“Hey, everybody!” I bark. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m stuck here and I can’t play.”

They act like they can’t hear me. Angel winds up and hurls the ball toward Hattie and Fetch Man. Hattie stretches out to get it, but it bounces behind her and dribbles toward Food Lady and the dirt.

“I’m on it, you guys!” I bark, leaping out as far as I can. It’s a whisker beyond my reach.

Hattie jogs right past me, looking annoyed. Or discouraged. She scoops up the ball and heads back.

“Unfair! Unfair!” I bark. I jump and twist, even though it’s no use.

Fetch Man rests his hand on Hattie’s back. He talks into her ear, then stands aside, moving his arm like he’s tossing a ball.

Hattie nods. She strokes her cap a couple of times. She pulls her arm back and flings the ball at Angel.

Fetch Man starts clapping, but then stops as the ball sails over Angel’s head. It lands on the driveway and begins rolling toward the street.

Hattie’s shoulders slump. Fetch Man pats her back, his face encouraging.

Angel is about to head after the ball when strange sounds make us all stop in our tracks.

Tinky-tinky-tink-a-too.

Is it music, like fluty birds? It’s moving toward us. It must be exciting because Hattie and Angel drop their fat gloves and squeal with glee. Do they know what this is?

Fetch Man does not appear the least bit curious. Food Lady does not even look up. She keeps on playing in the dirt like her sense of hearing is gone.

The tinky-tinky-tink-a-too is getting louder. And closer. Hattie skips up to Fetch Man, who digs into his pocket. Smiling, he hands Hattie and Angel a couple of small flimsy papers.

Clutching them tightly, the short humans scamper to the edge of the grass. Their heads turn in the direction of the noisy music. Waiting.

Until . . . a truck turns the corner!

My hackles shoot up. Is the Big Brown Truck coming for us again?

No! It’s smaller. And whiter. And it’s playing the tinky-tinky music.

Hattie and Angel hop up and down, their arms waving.

“Hattie, stand back!” I bark, leaping and flailing. “This thing must be dangerous!”

But she is not listening to my very obvious warnings.

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