Coco is staring me down, hackles up, teeth bared. “Get away from here, Fenway!” She spits my name like it’s a yucky taste in her mouth. “Right now!”

Yikes! That dog can be pretty vicious when she wants to be. I jump back, my tail drooped.

Coco gets in my snout, her muzzle scrunched. “I’m in charge here,” she snarls. “Not you.”

I take another step back. “I’m only trying to help. I can sniff out who did this.”

“I don’t need any help from you.” Coco whips around to face the ladies and Lucky, her eyes glowering. “Or anybody.”

Lucky glances at the partially eaten food. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!” he says. “Looks like somebody really chowed down! What’re you gonna do, Coco? Huh? Huh?”

“Simple,” she says, her tail perked. “I’m not going to do anything.”

Are my ears playing tricks on me? Did she really say she’s going to do nothing?

Whoever attacked this Food Box will probably strike again. We’re clearly all in danger. I turn to the other dogs. Goldie’s pawing at the ground. Patches is snapping at a fly. Lucky’s gazing at Coco with huge eyes. They can’t be okay with this, can they? Why aren’t they questioning her?

“Not that I owe any of you an explanation,” Coco says. “But I know my humans. Trust me, they’re not going to leave food out again.”

As if on cue, Swirly-Arm Lady lets out a loud sigh. Hot Dog Man squats beside the spilled food and starts tossing it into a black bag like the kind Fetch Man stuffs into the tall can in the garage.

Hey, wait a minute! Is Hot Dog Man throwing out perfectly good food? I spring up, my tail going nuts. It’s bad enough that Coco isn’t concerned about the wild animals, but now this?

“FEN-way,” Hattie scolds, pulling me back.

I drop down in frustration. This is so unfair! In more ways than one!

Marcus comes up next to us, and Hattie pats him on the back. Angel does the same thing.

Some tall humans chatter with Swirly-Arm Lady while others help Hot Dog Man fill the bag.

“Why are you dogs still here?” Coco says with a sneer. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” She whips around and struts off.

Lucky practically bounces after her. “Wait for me, Coco!” he yaps.

Goldie begins to follow, but Patches noses her to a stop. “Don’t bother,” she says in her lovely voice.

I leap up. Finally! “Ladies, we have to do something! We’re under attack!”

“I hardly think so, Fenway.” Patches nuzzles my fur.

“And besides,” Goldie says, her ears flattened, “if the humans are more careful with their food, animals won’t get into it.”

They can’t know that. None of us had a chance to check it out, thanks to Coco. The thief could be vicious and threatening and terrifying—or not. The truth is we have no idea who we’re dealing with. How am I supposed to do my job?

I’m about to keep arguing with the ladies, but right then, Hattie pulls me over to the table.

Food Lady and Muffin Lady bring armfuls of food over to Marcus’s family, and everybody chows down on pancakes and bacon. Hattie slips me a slice or two under the table. That’s my girl!

Afterward, everybody gets busy. Marcus and Angel kick a ball around. The ladies curl up in the shade of the big oak tree. Coco grabs a stick, and Lucky chases her. Normally, I’d join in the game. But all I can think about are wild animals. I smelled them by the big oak tree, so they could have been near the Food Box, too. I have to keep Hattie safe.

She unties me from the table, and we wander across the clearing to the tall pine tree. June’s seated cross-legged against the trunk, a book open on her lap. Hattie plops down next to her, and I cuddle up beside my short human.

She gazes at June’s cheek. It’s smudged again, but today it looks like a girl with wings. I’ve seen something like it before. “Nice-fair-ee,” Hattie says.

June doesn’t look up. “Thanks.”

Hattie chatters and chatters while June keeps her mouth shut. When she turns the page, Hattie points. “Yoon-ih-corn,” she says, her voice filled with admiration.

June smiles and flips to another page. In the corner, I spy a girl with wings. And that’s when I realize where I’ve seen her before—in Hattie’s notebook!

“Cool!” Hattie says.

I snuggle against Hattie’s leg as the short humans chat. They’re awfully interested in that book, even though it’s not anything fun like a ball or a chew toy.

After a few minutes, Angel hurries over to us. She’s cradling a black-and-white ball in one arm, the ladies right behind her. “Hattie,” she cries, out of breath. “Wanna go to the Dog Park?”

My ears shoot up. So does my tail. Of course we want to go to the Dog Park! “Yippee!” I bark, romping across Hattie’s lap. I don’t see Marcus—or Coco—anywhere, but a group of other short humans is waiting and watching near the big oak tree. And the woodsy path that leads to the Dog Park.

Giggling, Hattie springs up. “You too?” she asks June.

I start leading Hattie toward the ladies. “Hooray! Hooray! We’re going back to the Dog Park!”

Right then, we hear, “Ready, boy?” Hammock Man grabs an excited Lucky by the leash. He’s got a bandanna around his head just like the one around Lucky’s neck. They must spot a squirrel because the two of them take off into another trail in the woods, as if they’ve done this very thing hundreds of times.

Angel looks as impatient as I feel. “Hattie . . . the crew!”

“Come on,” Hattie says, waving at June.

June’s gaze falls back to the book. “Nah,” she mutters, shaking her head.

Hattie glances at Angel, then over at the oak tree and the other short humans. Clearly, it’s time to play! What’s her hesitation? “See-ya,” she says to June with a shrug. Finally!

The pine-y, mossy scents lead us down the same path as yesterday. Buzzes and chirps drift into my ears as they flap in the breeze. I see pawprints and hoofprints in the dirt, and I smell that strong, musky odor. It’s everywhere!

Me and the ladies sprint most of the way. Turns out it’s a good strategy for ignoring the snaky shadows on the brush, the gnawed-off tree trunk, and the dim sky full of treetops.

Hattie, Angel, and the rest of the short humans can barely keep up as we race to the gate. While we gasp for breath, we watch a single maple leaf drop off a low-hanging branch overhead and flutter to the ground.

A brown-and-white Corgi pokes his snout through a link in the fence. “New here?” he says, giving me a sniff-over.

“Nope,” I say, thrusting out my chest. “I’ve been here since yesterday. The name’s Fenway.”

“Fenway?” He stares at me for a second with his head tilted, like he didn’t just smell me or anything. “I’ve heard that name before somewhere.”

“You were so right about this place,” I tell the ladies. “So many dogs to play with! You come here every year? I could get used to this!”

Goldie looks like she wants to say something but changes her mind. Patches’s eyes are kind as always. “We had a feeling you’d like it,” she says.

The Dog Park is already humming with action. Dogs are crawling through the tube and climbing over the ramp and barking with glee as short humans laugh and chat and throw balls. “Hurry up, Hattie!” I bark. “I can’t wait to play with my new friends!”

“The fun doesn’t start without you, Fenway,” Goldie says.

“Marcus!” a bunch of short humans shout as they rush toward him. As soon as Hattie opens the gate, we race inside.

“Whoopee!” I cry, shooting across the grass. The ladies are hot on my tail.

As I make a wide turn, I see Hattie and Angel dashing over to Marcus, who’s surrounded by short humans. He reminds me of Food Lady bossing us around. But for some reason, the rest of them don’t seem to mind.

The ladies on my heels, I weave in, out, and around other dogs. Big, little, long-haired, short-haired—wowee! This must be the Most Popular Dog Park Ever!

“Hey, everybody!” I call, slowing as I approach the climbing ramp. “I don’t want to brag or anything, but I used to be a champ on that thing back in the city.”

A Wheaten Terrier stops mid-climb, her tags jingling. “Cool!” she cries. “Let’s play follow the leader.” She tells me her name is Kwanzaa.

“Yeah,” says a dark brown Havanese with a little bow at his throat. He introduces himself as Hugo. “The more the merrier.”

I lead the ladies up the ramp, the others trailing behind. “Check this out, guys!” I yell from the top. I leap into the air, spinning. “I’m flying!”

I hear Goldie’s claws come to a clattering stop as I land. “Game over,” she says.

“I hate to agree, but there’s no way I am trying that move, Fenway,” Patches says.

When I whirl around, everybody’s frozen on the ramp. “Did you say his name was Fenway?” Hugo asks.

Kwanzaa cocks her head. “Um, I just remembered I have to go,” she says, backing down the ramp.

Hugo scampers after her. “Kwanzaa, wait for me!”

I turn to Goldie and Patches, my ears wilting. “Why don’t they want to play with me? Should I have tried an easier trick?”

The ladies exchange a glance. “Maybe,” Patches says.

We tear around the perimeter of the Dog Park a few times. On the fourth or fifth round, I spy Coco strutting along the back fence, a line of other dogs tagging after her. I remember them from yesterday—Titan, Midnight, and Chorizo. Is that a new game? It looks pretty boring.

“Don’t you ever get . . . tired, Fenway?” Goldie huffs as we near the front of the Dog Park. Again.

“He’s got more energy than the rest of us put together!” Patches yells.

“Seriously . . . I need a break,” Goldie says, puffing.

“Maybe a short one,” I say, cruising up to the giant water dish. “Playing does make me thirsty.” I plunge in for a good, long slurp. I hear the ladies come up beside me to do the same.

I must be drinking for longer than I thought. When I come up for air, two black-and-white dogs I don’t know are suddenly guzzling right across from us. If I had to guess, I’d say the bigger one is a Border Collie and the other is a Boston Terrier.

“Hey,” I say when they eventually look up. “You two seem like you’d be up for a challenge. Want to race me around the park?”

The Boston Terrier just stares. So does the Border Collie. Have they never seen such a handsome Jack Russell before?

Right when I’m beginning to wonder if the cat stole their tongues, the Boston cocks her head. “You’re not that dog Fenway, are you?”

I stand a little taller, my tail high and waving. “I sure am!” I say. “Have you girls heard of me?”

The Boston looks at the Border Collie, who’s already slinking away. “Um, sort of,” she mutters. Next thing I know, she’s skulking off, too.

My tail sinking, I turn to the ladies. “Nobody likes me. Do I smell flowery or something?”

Before they can respond, I notice Coco and her gang sauntering past, and suddenly, everything is crystal clear.