At first, I thought Coco was some sort of super alpha dog who has to be in charge. But now, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe there’s another reason she wouldn’t let me investigate that Food Box. “What’s the deal with Coco?” I say as we trot along behind Hattie and Angel. When the short path ends, we walk along the dirt road. “Because I’m pretty sure she’s up to no good.”
Goldie snorts. “Fenway, if I had a bone for every time you said that about somebody. Let’s see—the squirrels, the bunnies, the vet . . .”
Patches cocks her head like she’s considering the possibilities. “Honestly, this time I’m not sure,” she says. “If it were anyone but Coco, I’d say you’re being overly suspicious. But there’s not much I’d put past that dog.”
Whoa! I don’t know whether to feel comforted or worried. It’s great that Patches is on my side. But she’s the one always telling me to stop imagining the worst. If she thinks Coco is up to something, she definitely is!
The short humans chatter happily, reaching into their bags and popping treats into their mouths. Whatever those morsels are, they must be awfully chewy because Hattie and Angel are both chomping for a Long, Long Time. Normally, I’d ask for some, but that sweet, fruity smell is revolting.
Goldie nimbly hops over a rut in the road. “What are you saying, Fenway? That she’s back at the campsite plotting to chew your favorite bone?”
Gulp! That would be awful! I give my head a good shake to clear out the despicable image. “No, actually, I was thinking of something much worse.”
Patches turns to me, her eyes wide. “Oh my goodness. What could that be?”
“Well,” I say, avoiding a hopping toad, “remember how Coco wouldn’t let me or anybody else sniff around that knocked-over Food Box?”
Goldie scrunches her snout. “She had every right. It was her territory.”
“What if she did it herself?” I check to make sure nobody’s listening. “That’s why she doesn’t want to do anything about it.”
“Fenway,” Patches says, her voice kind and gentle. “Why would she do that? Her humans give her whatever she wants.”
“And how could she knock over a box that big?” Goldie chimes in.
I come to a halt, little puffs of dust wafting up around my paws. “I don’t know. Maybe she had help.”
The ladies exchange a puzzled glance. Goldie speaks first. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
Patches gazes at me kindly. “It does sound rather unbelievable.”
Hattie turns around. “Fenn-waay,” she sings. “Come on.” The inside of her mouth is darker than usual. It smells like really strong cherries.
“Well, in any case . . .” I whip around, my eyes bulging. “I think I need to find out more about that dog.”
But first things first. At the end of the dirt road, we arrive at the clearing where we slept and ate—did Goldie call it the campsite? My tail swishes with excitement. Wonderful aromas of mustard and bread and cheese and—mmmmm—meat fill the air. This can only mean one thing—lunch! My mouth starts watering.
Marcus is sitting on top of the wooden table just beyond the garbage bin, his cheeks flushed and smiling. He holds out his bulging bag, proudly showing off its contents to Swirly-Arm Lady while she lays leafy lettuce on a slice of bread. He smells like the same sweet, fruity-ness as Hattie and Angel. Only way more of it.
Swirly-Arm Lady frowns at the bag, like maybe she feels the same way I do about fruit. She nods toward the backpack lying on the ground. I know that look. Clearly, she wants him to put those treats away.
When we get to the table where Fetch Man is busy spreading a plastic cloth, Hattie unhooks my leash. Lucky lumbers over to us. “Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! You’re back!” he yaps. “What’d I miss?”
Patches points her snout toward June and Hammock Man, who trudge in from the dirt road. His arm is around her shoulders. Her head is bowed down as if she can’t take her eyes off her gooey shirt. “Your short human might need some attention, poor dear.”
“Wow, is that egg?” says Lucky before bounding toward them. Little bits of dust fly up from the ground as he runs.
Hattie leaves Angel’s side and rushes up to Hammock Man, June, and Lucky as they head toward their pointy tent near the hammock and tall pine. Hattie’s face is hopeful. “All-rite?” she asks.
June smiles weakly. Even from across the clearing, I can smell her unhappiness. She gives Hattie a little wave, then—vwoop!—disappears inside the pointy tent. Lucky clomps in after her. I can hear him give himself a good shake.
Hattie sighs and heads back to me and Angel. Little by little, the rest of the humans stream over to our table as Fetch Man sets out paper plates and Food Lady pours drinks from a thermos. Some of the humans are carrying trays that smell like tasty ham. Some are carrying bowls that smell like creamy potato salad.
Yum! When the humans sit down, I plop on my bum beside Hattie’s sneakers. My tail thumps with anticipation. Have I mentioned how much I love picnics?
After my tummy is happily full of Hattie’s crusts, I get to work on my plan. The humans are busy eating, the ladies are snoozing under the big oak tree, and best of all, Hattie seems to have forgotten my leash. This can only mean one thing—Opportunity.
I saunter up to Coco’s campsite. The flaps of the boxy tent are wide open. Coco’s inside, propped up in that bed like she owns the place. I poke my snout in. “Uh, hey there,” I say, putting on my most friendly tone. “I forgot to say this before, Coco, but it’s cool that you like to play Frisbee. Guess what? I have a Frisbee at home.”
She cocks her head, like maybe she didn’t hear me right. “You pushed your way into my tent to say you like Frisbee?”
“Well . . .” I sink my head onto my forepaws, my bum straight up. “We both like Frisbee.”
She glares at me suspiciously. “Uh-huh.”
“And so, um, I was thinking, since we’re both Frisbee players and everything,” I say, trying not to look her in the eye. “Maybe we could talk about stuff. Like those smells around the spilled food.”
Coco huffs. She sounds like Goldie. “Why would I do that? I already said I don’t need your help, Fenway.”
I bow lower, swallowing the bad feeling in my throat. “I know. But two noses are better than one, right?”
“Nice try,” she says, her eyes unfocused like she’s bored. “But I have the situation under control. Notice there hasn’t been another break-in.”
I hop up onto all fours. “Come on, Coco. You should see me back home. When it comes to scaring off intruders, I’m a professional.”
“The only intruder here is you.” She yawns. “Now, go back to your own tent and keep your nose where it belongs.”
“I’m not an intruder!” I yell.
She cocks her head, but her eyes look away as if completely uninterested.
My fur bristles. “I said I’m not an intruder!”
She lifts up her snout. “Huh-hhah-hhuh-hhah! That’s a good one! You’re really funny, you know? But who is in whose tent right now, uninvited?”
Whoa.
“Don’t make me tell you to leave twice,” she says.
Grrrrr! My whole body shakes with fury. I’m so mad, I could rip a chew toy to shreds! If there was any doubt before, now I know that Coco is definitely, positively, absolutely the Most Evil Dog Ever.
I’m about to snarl or snap or give her some other very vicious warning when we hear a shriek from behind the nearest table. “Hey! What the—!!!”
It’s Marcus. And he sounds upset.
I whirl around and see Swirly-Arm Lady and Hot Dog Man rushing to Marcus. He’s standing behind their wooden table, flushed and holding his backpack. I’ve seen it before, when he stashed his fruity treats inside. But it wasn’t saggy and torn then.
Hattie and Angel head over, their faces full of alarm. And confusion. Hattie scoops me up. Clearly, she needs comforting. Good thing I’m here!
Swirly-Arm Lady’s hand flies to her cheek. “Oh no!”
Hot Dog Man takes the backpack from Marcus. Bits of chewed wrappers fall out. “Lem-me-see.”
Marcus balls his fists. “Who did it?”
My gaze zooms from Marcus to Coco to the tall humans and then back to Marcus again. I have a horrible feeling that we went through this same situation earlier today. But if Coco was inside her tent, it had to be someone else. My fur bristles with alarm.
The humans all start talking at once. Hot Dog Man examines the rip in the backpack. Marcus is seething. Hattie glances down at the scraps of paper in the dirt. Even from here I can smell how sweet and fruity they are.
This can only mean one thing—the thief is back! No wonder Hattie needs comforting.
On the far side of the commotion, I spy a dark shape coming out from behind the garbage bin. Lucky! He skulks around the humans, his tail between his legs, his bandanna untied and hanging limply from his neck. Where did he come from? Was he behind the table all this time?