there. My ears try to catch sounds of jingling, panting, frolicking dogs. But all I smell are chipmunks. And all I hear are more bees and birds.
Which is weird, because weâre almost there. I can hardly wait! I practically drag Hattie along the fence.
Iâm searching for the gate when my ears droop. My tail stops wagging. Itâs a park all right. A plant-y,shrubby sort of park. With a path that leads up to a porch and a house. Just like ours. No bench to climb on. No dogs to romp with.
Hattie does not smell concerned. Apparently, she knows the way.
We pass more houses, and I sense a pattern. Clusters of trees, grass, a driveway. More clusters of trees, more grass, another driveway. Whereâs the traffic light where we wait and sniff? Whereâs the fire hydrant covered with pigeon poop? We must have a lot farther to go.
We come to another plant-y, shrubby park when I do a double take. Thereâs an animal about my size. A Perfectly Still Dog? Heâs got containers on either side of his back. With flowers sprouting out of them. I know every dog has his job, but letâs just say Iâm glad my job is not holding a bunch of flowers.
The Perfectly Still Dog is standing perfectly still, his ears spiked, his head focused forward. As if he does not even notice us. How rude!
Hattie must see him, too, but she refuses to stop. Probably for the best. Weâre searching for dogs to play with, and this guy doesnât seem like any fun at all.
We pause at a dense cluster of shrubs, and I take the opportunity to pee. We go past a couple more houses and driveways. Then, off in the distance, I hear a roaring, clanking sound. It grows louder and louder and louder.
Something is approaching. Hattie pulls me to the side of the road just as it appears.
I know this thing! Itâs the Big Brown Truck that prowls the streets and leaves packages in the lobby downstairs. But somehow it got bigger and browner. And itâs truckier than I remember.
Whatâs it doing here? Did it follow us all the way from our other neighborhood? In any case, thereâs no time for questionsâI have a short human to protect.
I lunge at the monster, baring my teeth. âGo away, you beast! Or pay the consequences!â
Hattie gasps and yanks me out of the street. âFEN-way! Sit! Sit!
Sit!
â she yells, obviously upset by this menace.
Iâm ready to attack the truck if it comes to that. I jump and growl, showing him just how serious I am. And my work pays off!
The Big Brown Truck rattles on by with a bang and a roar and a boom. Fumes linger as it cruises awayâstinky, sinister fumes. âAnd donât come back!â I bark.
But instead of thanking me, Hattie looks annoyed. âOh, Fenway,â she says with a frustrated sigh. She must be eager to get to the Dog Park.
Hey, Iâm eager, too. Itâs not like I asked for the interruption.
As we continue on, all I smell are birds, squirrels, andthe occasional chipmunk. I spot nothing more interesting than a stone wall, a telephone pole, or a planter of roses. My tail sinks with a terrible thoughtâthis is not the way to the Dog Park.
Where are we going?
I redouble my efforts. I sniff every tree, every shrub, every driveway. Wait a minute! Weâre on the same street as before. We are passing the same trees and grassy parks weâve already gone by. We pass by the Perfectly Still Dog, whoâs in the exact same spot as last time.
Before I know it, we end up back at our own home. Hello! We didnât go to the Dog Park. Or the place where short humans with backpacks go. Or anywhere! And we didnât come back with bread or milk. Or doughnuts. What did we do? Just wander around?
But instead of smelling frustrated or ashamed or sad that we didnât get to play, Hattie skips up the front walkway, perfectly satisfied. What is that about?
Weâre almost to the porch when, off in the distance, I hear the rattling, the