The aroma of smoky bacon wakes up my nose. I crawl out from under the blanket and onto Hattie’s chest. “Get up! Get up!” I bark, licking her chin. “It’s breakfast time outside!”

“Aw, Fenway,” she says, her eyes fluttering open. Smiling, she gives me a scratch behind the ears.

Just like yesterday, it takes her longer than usual to pull on her clothes. It’s almost as if she can’t decide which shirt to wear. Aren’t they the same? I start to wonder if this is how it’s going to be from now on. “Come on, Hattie!” I bark, my tail swishing. “We’re missing out on the bacon!”

Finally, after running her fingers through her hair a whole bunch of times, she unzips the tent—vwoop!—and we charge outside. Even though the sun is shining, the air feels cooler. A bird peck-peck-pecks in a tree overhead. Fetch Man is taking the Food Box out of the car. Food Lady sits at the wooden table sipping from a steaming mug. Hattie rushes over.

Normally, I’d go, too, but the smell of eggs and bacon lures me to the next campsite. Angel and Tool Man are standing over a sizzling Fire Space while Muffin Lady pours coffee and the ladies slurp thirstily from their water bowls.

I bound over to check out the yummy aromas. Angel pulls a plastic bag out of a Food Box. Mmmmm! Even before she opens it, I know it’s bacon! I leap on Angel’s leg, my tongue drooling with desire. “Hey, Angel! Don’t you want to share that bacon with your good buddy?”

She giggles and shoos me down. “Off, Fenway!”

I hang my head. It was worth a try.

Hattie must hear because she charges over. “Fenway!” She smells annoyed. “FEN-way, no!” she snaps.

Like I didn’t already get the message. Avoiding what I’m sure are her angry eyes, I wander over to Goldie and Patches. I hear her say “sorry” to Angel and Tool Man.

“’Sup, ladies?” I say, giving them each a friendly sniff.

“It’s about time you got up,” Goldie says, lifting her head from a water dish. Foamy water drips off her whiskers.

“We’ve already been to the Dog Park and back,” Patches says.

“What?” I surprise myself with a shudder. “How-how was it? Was everybody, um, friendly?”

“Oh, Fenway,” Patches says in her kind voice. She gives me a gentle nudge. “Don’t let Coco get to you. Any dog would want to be your friend once they get to know you.”

Good old Patches. She’s always so encouraging. But she doesn’t realize how bad it feels when other dogs call you names. “I don’t know about that,” I say. “Maybe it was good that I missed out.”

Goldie gulps down more water. “Actually, the place was practically empty.”

My ears perk up. “Really?”

Patches nudges me again. “Try not to worry, Fenway,” she says. “Things usually work themselves out if you’re patient.”

I look at her sideways. Easy for her to say.

I’m about to go over to the Fire Space and see Tool Man and Angel about that bacon when I hear Hattie’s voice across the clearing. She’s sitting under the pine tree with June, nibbling something. A granola bar? I love granola bars!

I romp over, my tail going nuts. My tongue starts dripping as I pick up the scent of peanut butter. My favorite! “How about sharing?” I bark, climbing onto her lap.

Hattie gives me a scowl-y look, but she still tosses a crumble into my mouth. Mmmmm! As I chew, I notice she’s given June her drawings from last night. She must’ve ripped a page out of the notebook.

June wraps her long braid around her finger as she takes the paper. “Thanks,” she mutters, not looking up. She folds the page and tucks it into her pocket.

Hattie smiles. She smells relieved, like the time she brought that bunny back to the neighbors across the street.

Waddling Lady waddles over, her hand pressed to her lower back. She speaks to June, and I catch a few words I know—“Lucky” and “Dog Park.”

June frowns, but Hattie smiles. “Yeah!” she says, getting to her feet as I hop off her lap. “Let’s go.”

We’re going to the Dog Park before breakfast?

Next thing I know, June and Lucky follow me and Hattie down the path by the big oak tree. I hear the ladies call from behind, “Good luck, Fenway!”

Spooky, wispy light glows through the pine trees like sprays of water. A gnarled branch hovers over me as if it’s a claw about to strike. Loud chitters and squawks sound as a couple of nasty squirrels clatter up a tree. My hackles bristle. These woods are full of danger. And after all the strange scents I’ve picked up lately, I’m not too excited about going along this trail.

Not to mention the unwelcome reaction from the park full of dogs at the other end.

June strolls ahead of Lucky, walking shoulder to shoulder with Hattie. The girls chatter about “yoon-ih-corns” and “fair-ees.” For once, I notice June’s not clutching her book. She actually sounds happy.

Lucky, on the other paw, sounds happy all the time. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!” he says, his tail swaying back and forth. “Are you ready to romp?”

“Um, yeah,” I say, avoiding his gaze. Until I know for sure if he had anything to do with what happened to those treats, I have to stay alert around him. Plus, we’re not out of the woods yet.

As we close in on the Dog Park, the yipping and yapping and barking tell me it’s way more crowded than the ladies said. My fur prickles.

I can’t help but notice Coco. She’s smaller than most of the other dogs, but somehow she’s the most visible. Maybe it’s her poofy-ness. Maybe it’s the dogs following her around. Or maybe she just has a way of commanding attention.

Once we’re inside, Hattie and June slide onto the bench near the front gate. Lucky takes off, his bandanna flapping in the breeze. I’m in a Dog Park full of dogs and short humans, but suddenly I’m alone. I wander over to the giant water dish and start lapping, even though I’m not thirsty.

I hear jingling dog tags nearby. Should I glance up? Should I say hi? My tail sags and curls against my bum.

Dog voices murmur. Are they saying “that’s him” and “he’s the one”? Or is it my imagination?

By the time I have the courage to look, the dogs are gone. Or maybe they were never there.

The Dog Park is hopping with dogs climbing on the ramp, crawling through the tube, chasing balls and Frisbees. Coco is in the middle of it all, leading every game and not sticking with any of them for more than a few seconds. Wherever she goes, the rest of the dogs follow.

My heart thuds. This is not the way it’s supposed to be. But I know if I romp over there and try to join in, the other dogs will suddenly remember they have something else to do. Or worse.

The breeze ripples the leaves in that low-hanging branch of the maple tree. I see some short humans gathered under it. They’re all focused on one, who seems to be chatting and gesturing while the others look on, laughing and bumping fists. The crew. Even from here at the water dish, I know the leader is Marcus. He’s always the leader. And he’s up to no good. Like canine, like human.

I’ve never not known what to do before. Especially in a Dog Park. But I can’t keep slurping water all day. I look around for other options.

Dogs, short humans, more dogs, more short humans—Hattie! Why didn’t I think of her right away?

I scamper over to the bench where she and June are sitting. “Hattie! Hattie!” I bark, pawing her leg. “Let’s play chase!”

“Aw, Fenway,” she sings, patting my head and turning back to June. She does not get up.

I cock my head. Hattie loves to run and play. Did she really come to the Dog Park to sit on a bench? Maybe she needs more convincing. “Come on, Hattie!” I paw her leg again. More forcefully this time. “Don’t you want to play with your adorable dog?”

“Shhh, Fenway,” she mutters, her focus still on June. I hear her say “drag-un” and “fly-ing” and a stream of other words I don’t know. How can words be more interesting than romping around? Especially with her best buddy.

I have to convince her. I gaze up with my biggest, saddest eyes. “How can you resist this cute face?” I whine.

“Awww,” she says, thrusting out her lower lip. She reaches down and scoops me into her arms. She hugs me tight.

Being in Hattie’s arms is one of my all-time favorite places to be. But we can cuddle anywhere. Doesn’t she realize we’re in the Dog Park? Where are her priorities?

I’m about to wiggle out of her grasp when I hear the group of short humans headed this way. Led by Marcus, they’re squirming and jostling more than I ever could.

“Hey, Hattie,” Marcus says. He reaches his arm across June, his palm open.

Hattie’s breathing quickens and she smells worried. She smiles weakly and slaps his hand. “Hey, Marcus,” she mutters.

There’s something about that Marcus I don’t trust. “Keep your distance!” I growl.

Hattie gasps. “FEN-way!” she scolds.

Marcus jumps back, his arms flailing. “Help! Help! A puppy!” he yells, laughing.

The rest of the short humans laugh, too. I don’t get the joke, but it feels familiar somehow.

Hattie’s cheeks get hot. She smells even more worried than before. She turns away.

Marcus waves his hand in front of Hattie’s face. “Cah-new-trip!” he says, which must be some sort of rallying cry because the other short humans suddenly start whooping and hollering. They gather around the bench, practically pressing in on us.

“Come on, Hattie,” one of them says.

“Yeah, Hattie,” another one says.

“The crew!” says another. He gives Hattie’s shoulder a little shove. “The crew!”

Hattie glances at June, whose brow is scrunched up. Hattie forces a smile. “Cah-new-trip?” Hattie murmurs.

June frowns. Clearly, she’s not interested in whatever Hattie asked her about.

Marcus waves his hand at Hattie again. “Yoon-ih-corn???” He says it the way Coco says my name. With disgust.

June slouches lower on the bench. Her scent is a mixture of doubt and fear.

Marcus folds his arms across his chest and rocks back on his heels. “Come on, Hattie.”

“Yeah, Hattie,” some of the others say. “Come on.”

“Come on, Hattie!” the rest of them shout.

A few start clapping their hands and chanting. “Hat-tie, Hat-tie, Hat-tie!” Pretty soon they’re all doing it. “Hat-tie, Hat-tie, Hat-tie!”

Hattie wraps her arms around me even tighter, her heartbeat thudding in my ear. Obviously, she needs some comforting. I nuzzle against her cheek. It feels hot again.

Right then, Lucky comes bounding over and leaps on June. “Ohmygosh! Did you see what I did?” he yaps. “I ate a whole stick!”

What—he ate a stick? Will the guy eat just about anything? Like those chewy fruity treats?

Hattie hops off the bench. “Ready?” she says to June, setting me down.

As June pushes Lucky off and grabs his leash, Hattie turns to Marcus. “Maybe,” she mutters. Then we head out the gate.