Later, when mouthwatering chicken is sizzling on the Fire Space and Marcus and Angel are playing chase around the campsite, Hattie’s still in the tent by herself. I can hear her scribbling away, probably in that notebook again. Ever since we came back from the pond, it seems to be the only thing she’s really interested in. Every thwusss stabs at my heart. I’m supposed to be in there with her, listening to the comm-ix story. Not tied up outside by myself.
Hot Dog Man sets lots of plates on the table while Swirly-Arm Lady piles chicken high on a platter. The other humans start making their way over, and who can blame them? Barbecued chicken is irresistible.
My tongue starts dripping. That chicken won’t help me figure out what to do or make Hattie happy, but it sure couldn’t hurt.
Marcus catches up to Angel and lets out a loud “Whoop!” Laughing, they bound up to the table, where the human families are already seated. Except for one.
Fetch Man strolls over to the tent. “Hattie?” he calls.
Hattie stops scribbling, but I don’t hear her voice. Or the zipper opening up. Isn’t she coming out to eat supper?
Food Lady joins Fetch Man, her face concerned. “Let-er-bee,” she says to him in a soft voice.
I don’t know what that means, but Fetch Man shrugs and puts his arm around her. They head toward the next table and the food. Without Hattie.
Uh-oh. My hackles bristle. This is all kinds of wrong. How can Hattie miss out on supper? She loves barbecued chicken!
The others greet Fetch Man and Food Lady with questioning looks. “Hattie?” I hear one of the tall humans ask. Clearly, everybody is wondering why she’s the only one not eating. Well, the only human, that is.
Fetch Man and Food Lady exchange a quick glance, then slide into their seats. Whatever Fetch Man says seems to satisfy the rest of them because they dig in to the food as if somebody just not eating happens all the time.
I turn toward the tent, my heart aching. Poor Hattie! I sure wouldn’t want to miss out on supper.
I lower my head, trying to ignore my own rumbling tummy. If Hattie’s not here, that means no chicken scraps for me. I certainly wouldn’t steal it, unlike some creatures.
It’s ridiculous to think that wild animals can invade our campsite anytime they want. Coco and the other dogs act like it’s no big deal. I have to take matters into my own paws.
As the tall humans clean the table, I watch June wander across the clearing and plop down under that same pine tree. She picks up her book and flips it open. I remember what the ladies said when we first got here. She’s not in the crew anymore. That must be why she’s sitting by herself.
Shouts and squeals bring my attention back toward the garbage bin. Marcus and Angel are playing chase again. They weave in and out of the tables and tents, laughing. I hear a mysterious word, “bonn-fire,” a few times. Eventually, Angel slows to a stop not far from me. She hunches over, her hands on her knees, smiling and panting. I hear her say, “Hattie.”
Marcus scowls. “Whatever,” he mutters.
Angel lopes over to the tent. “Hattie?” she calls, leaning into the zipper. I hear “the crew” and “bonn-fire?”
I tilt my head in her direction. I can’t tell if Hattie mumbles a response, or if that’s just the breeze rustling a couple of fallen leaves.
Angel pauses. Waiting? But Hattie doesn’t come out. She must give up, because after a moment or two, she rushes back over to Marcus. They head out through the trees, chanting, “Bonn-fire! Bonn-fire!”
Fetch Man and Food Lady stroll back to our campsite. My tail comes to life. Because Food Lady grabs my bowl. I know what’s coming next!
“Hooray! Hooray!” I bark, leaping and twirling. “It’s sup-sup-suppertime! The very best time of the day!”
Sure enough, the familiar bag crinkles open. Fetch Man unleashes me as meaty, crunchy morsels clatter into the dish.
Ordinarily, nothing can distract me from suppertime. But the sound of the zipper opening—vwoop!—makes my heart soar. Hattie is coming!
I romp over to the tent. Hattie’s head of short hair appears, then the rest of her, the notebook tucked under her arm. Rizzzzz! The zipper closes.
“Hattie! Hattie!” I bark, pawing her legs. “I missed you so much.”
“Shhh, Fenway,” she murmurs. She barely looks at me. She must be very focused. And in a hurry?
I hardly notice Food Lady place my bowl on the ground. I follow Hattie across the clearing toward June. Her face bright and hopeful, she sinks down beside June. “Uh-bowt—um,” Hattie says, fidgeting.
June keeps her gaze on the book while Hattie keeps talking, then looks up, her face surprised.
Hattie hangs her head. “Sorry.”
June looks serious. “It’s okay,” she says.
What’s that about?
“Fenn-waay,” Food Lady sings, gesturing toward my dish. As if my roaring belly could let me forget about supper!
I race back to my bowl of delicious kibble. It smells savory and meaty like always. I’m so hungry! I’m about to plunge my snout in and devour it—
But right then, I get an idea. The Best Idea Ever!