I hear Hattie’s footsteps padding out onto the porch.

“Fenway?” she calls, sounding puzzled.

I curl up tight. The Nana-box smells old and musty. It’s full of scary memories. But at least it’s open and bright. Overhead, the sky is clear. Sunlight pours in and warms my back.

But there’s still plenty to worry about. This box is a great place to hide as long as Hattie doesn’t get too close to peek in.

“Fenway!” she calls again. Her feet scuffle across the porch and into the Dog Park. “Fenn-waay! Oh, Fenn-waay!”

I shiver. Clearly, she’s searching for me. This cannot be good.

She’s probably got more evil on her mind. Like pebbly morsels or yucky cream or—gulp!—the pool-bath! I’ve put up with her tricks long enough. I can’t stand it anymore!

The sounds of her footsteps are getting fainter and fainter. I picture her at the back of the Dog Park and circling the giant tree, then roaming up the side fence and looking under the bushes. I hear her cross to the other side fence and imagine her scanning the vegetable patch. “Fenway?” she cries, rattling the Friend Gate. It sounds like it’s shut tight.

I resist the urge to stretch up and peek out of the Nana-box. I can’t risk her finding me. The stakes are too high!

Especially now . . . because I’m pretty sure I hear her rushing in this direction. “Fenway! Fenway!” she calls more urgently. She’s starting to sound worried. She must be awfully desperate to return to her dastardly deeds!

I make myself as small and quiet as possible. One accidental noise and she could discover my hiding spot.

She pads up the porch steps, probably about to head into the house. Maybe she thinks I snuck back in there while she was distracted.

Her footsteps thud onto the porch and suddenly stop. She gasps.

Oh no! I shake with terror. Has she realized I’m hiding inside the Nana-box? Is she about to nab me?

I don’t dare breathe. I expect to see her grabby hands at any moment. I can’t bear to look.

But her hands do not appear. Instead, I hear more horrified gasps. “No! No!” she wails. She sprints around the porch, sounding panicked, crying, “No!” over and over, as if she’s making one terrible discovery after another. Is she noticing the pooped-on cape and hat and chewed abracadabra stick? The stolen peanuts? The rest of the ruined Nana-toys?

Hattie stops, and I hear different noises. Little sobs. And sniffles.

F-f-f-f-t! The door slides open again. “Hattie?” Food Lady says.

“Look!” Hattie cries.

“What?!” Food Lady says in a surprised voice. She hurries across the porch, right toward me.

“How—?” Hattie begins, but right then another noise drowns out everything else.

BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP!

Out in the driveway, a car door slams. A trunk pops open. Is Fetch Man returning? Was he gone? I cock my head and listen, my hackles up. Are intruders coming?

In unison, Food Lady and Hattie gasp. “Nana!” they both cry.

Nana? I don’t hear Nana. Could Nana be here?

“Quick!” Food Lady says, rushing around. Whoosh! Clatter! Plunk! What is she doing—

Hey! Suddenly, I’m buried under silky cloths. Soft toys pile on top of me. For an instant, I consider pulling them off. And then—

THUNK!

The lid clunks down. The Nana-box goes dark. Uh-oh! I’m trapped! I wiggle and kick. I have to get out of here!

Outside, I hear the muffled sounds of the screen door sliding open . . . Food Lady’s and Hattie’s footsteps racing through . . . thud! The door slams shut.

How can they leave at a time like this?

I must find a way to escape. I’m clearly on my own. If only it weren’t so cramped and crowded in here!

I rustle through folds of cloth, wriggling and climbing. My nose tells me I’m wrapped in Hattie’s cape. I paw and squirm and wiggle until finally my head pokes out—but I’m not free.

I’m buried!

Whoa. There’s a lot more stuff in here than I thought! More sniffs confirm that the tall hat, the abracadabra stick, and most of the other Nana-toys are all around me. They shift and fall whenever I move. And they all reek of rodent and sniff . . . sniff . . . something else . . .

Ewwwww! Stinky chipmunk droppings! A horrendous reminder of how I’ve failed.

I couldn’t keep the Dog Park safe, and now I’m paying the price.

I bend and kick and swipe. Toys tumble and drop, some falling on either side of me while others hover overhead. I’m surrounded by obstacles. There’s barely enough room in here to move. Or breathe!

My hind paw skids on something hard and round—the wooden ball! My front paw catches in something—a metal ring!

No matter how I twist or where I turn, Nana-toys are in my way. I can’t make any progress at all!

And everywhere I look, it’s so DARK!

I sniff every corner, searching for a way out. But I don’t find one. There’s absolutely no hope!

But I can’t give up. I claw the fake flowers out of my face. I swat the tall hat to one side. I bite a silky scarf that’s wound around my paw. R-r-r-rip!

I climb on toy after toy. At last, I can stretch up high enough to reach the lid. I push against it with my snout. “Open up, you scary Nana-box!” I growl.

I shove and shove with all my might. But the lid doesn’t budge one single bit. It is shut tight.

I sink back down with a horrifying realization—I might be trapped in here forever.

I collapse into a heap of surrender. There’s no escape from the Nana-box.

Unless I can come up with an idea. A really good idea.

I can’t open this lid. And I’m pretty sure it won’t open all by itself. When I was trapped before, I barked and yelped and made lots of noise until Hattie came and let me out. It was a lot of hard work. But it got the job done.

When it comes to hard work, I’m a professional. But what would happen this time? If Hattie opened the Nana-box right now, would I leap into her loving arms? Or would she leave me where I am?

I tremble. Do I want to get out of this scary Nana-box enough to risk being tortured again? Is it too much to hope that Hattie would change back to the loving and fun self that she was before?

I’m shaking and fidgeting and thinking so hard, I’m barely aware of noises outside. Humans chattering. Hattie . . . Food Lady and Fetch Man . . . and somebody else . . . Nana?

They all sound alarmed. What’s that about?

Plop! Somebody sinks into the chair right beside me. Hattie? She sniffles. She sobs. She’s obviously sad and miserable.

Gulp.

Clearly, she feels bad that the thieving chipmunk stole her peanuts and ruined her toys. She spent so much time playing with them. And now they are wrecked. I knew that rodent was trouble. If only I could’ve stopped him. If only I could’ve protected Hattie’s things from danger.

Gulp. Gulp.

Hattie tries to speak, her voice catching. She sounds more upset than ever. “Fenway,” she croaks over and over. She knows I’m to blame. She knows I’ve let her down. If only I could’ve prevented this senseless attack.

My heart is breaking. Maybe my paw was sore and I couldn’t run. Maybe Hattie turned against me. But there’s still no excuse for not doing my job. And now she’s crushed, and it’s all my fault.

What kind of dog am I?