in a teenage way
that makes me
feel dizzy.
The cabins are too far apart
for trick-or-treating, so we play
all sorts of hilarious games
at a Cowboy Church Carnival
where Gabe and I ride perched
on top of a giant pumpkin
in a decorated wagon
pulled by Gracie’s
elephant-horse.
I imagine it’s the last time I’ll feel
young enough to enjoy acting silly,
but it’s also the first time I’ve ever
been old enough to laugh
at people
in monster suits.
In my other life, Halloween
meant guarding the pit bulls
from drunk, costumed thieves.
In my other life
all the monstrous nightmares
were real.
But everything isn’t always
easy now. Instead, the hours flip
back and forth between hopeful
and sad.
There’s an ugly surprise waiting for me
at the end of my life’s first happy
Halloween. It comes in the form
of a call that makes Mom’s
phone voice
sound as poisonous
as deadly nightshade berries.
Mom’s in trouble. She’s been fighting.
A guard was hurt. Time will be added
to her sentence. Years will be added
to my foster care.
Tío doesn’t make me wonder
what will happen next.
He tells me right away
that he wants to raise me,
one way or another, either
as my foster dad—or if Mom
and the family court judge
can agree—as my really, truly
adopted dad
forever!
But it’s not just him, B.B. wants me too.
When they talk about OUR family,
Tío calls her Beatrice, or Bee,
and suddenly, I realize that she
has a name of her own.
She’s not just Gracie’s grandma
or a bear biologist. She’s herself,
helping me figure out how
to be myself.
Best of all, she’ll soon be
my foster mom, or maybe even
my adopted mom,
because beautifully brave
Beatrice and my hero-uncle
are getting married!
With Gracie’s parents due
to come home soon,
I won’t even have to worry
about becoming anything weird
like my best friend’s stepbrother.
Being part of the family seems
so complicated and exciting
that I feel like a dog
in a pack of strays,
trying to understand
glances and gestures
because I don’t have
enough words
to express
my wildly
wondrously
mixed-up
feelings.
36
GABE THE DOG
WINNERS
I don’t know what all
his fast human words
mean
but I love the sound of Tony’s
happiest voice
so I listen
and I sniff his hands
until I’m sure his mood rhymes
with winning a shared
hide-and-seek
game.
37
TONY THE BOY
PUPPY TESTING
Gracie’s parents are back just in time
for an engagement party.
Gabe and I will both be the best men
at a wedding in the spring,
but for now, I don’t have to dress up.
I just wear regular clothes,
and watch grown-ups dancing
half-festive island salsa,
and half-calm, cool, old-folks
American.
Everything’s changing
so fast
that I feel
like I’m sliding
down
down
another
steep
mountain slope
before climbing
back uphill
one granite boulder
at a time
until I’m level and calm
instead of scrambling
and scared.
I don’t know all the details
of how I’m going to feel
about losing Mom
and gaining a family
that’s sort of unusual
but also pretty normal.
I do know how I feel
about Gabe—he’s brave, goofy,
smart, silly, bouncy, and I love him
like a brother.
Gabe and Tío both help me enjoy
our first Thanksgiving
as a family.
With snow on the trees
that surround the corrals
of Cowboy Church, the forest
looks like it’s draped in lace
or spiderwebs
or magic.
The wedding is months away,
so for now it’s just me and Tío
and Gabe, and this feeling
of finally understanding
a few simple words
like safety
and hope.
At night, in the cabin,
while Gabe and I gaze
out the window at stars
I find myself wondering
if the lost-and-found hunter
will decide to stop killing
when he’s not hungry,
now that he knows
how it feels to be lost
in the wild.
I hope the hound is healthy
and happy, and I hope I can really
learn math
so I can study science
in college, maybe even get into
veterinary school.
I could figure out new cures
for dog wounds, and learn how to heal
bear diseases and elephant injuries …
but I’ll need great grades
in algebra and geometry,
all the tests of number courage
that stand between me
and my future.
I sleep with fine dreams at night—
running dreams—racing toward
something happy, instead of running
away from fangs and claws.…
Then, on a cold, clear morning
between Thanksgiving and Christmas,
there’s another burst of amazement
in my life, an unexpected gift.
Magic, real, living, breathing
trail magic—a puppy!
Gabe is already six. He can only work
for a few more years, so Tío has decided
that I should help raise our family’s
next hero, a puppy that will need
nearly two years of training
before it can rescue the lost.
Quickly, I figure out the math.
If we start teaching a puppy now,
it will be six when I reach eighteen,
the wizardly number
that will make me an adult,
allowing me to join a real search-and-rescue team.
12 + 6. It’s so hard to believe.
In just 3 + 3 years I’ll be able
to volunteer as a SAR dog handler,
instead of a make-believe victim
who hides.
Choosing a puppy is an art.
The lowland animal shelter
is so crowded with homeless dogs
that I have to remember: looks
&nb
sp; don’t matter! Cute and cuddly
or bony and rat-haired, it’s the nose
we need, along with a brave,
loyal temperament.
Sorrowful eyes. Mournful whines.
So many lonely dogs, all hoping
to be adopted! I wish we could
take them all.
We have to choose.
It’s part of adult life, this constant
narrowing of wild wishes
down to one calm task
at a time.
Tío shows me how to follow
the scientific process of puppy testing.
We have to figure out which pups
are calm enough to let us teach them,
curious enough to crave work-play,
bold enough to explore,
and attentive enough to persist,
no matter how challenging
the hide-and-seek-game.
Puppy testing is the best work-fun
I’ve ever had in my 6 + 6 years.
At the back of my excited mind,
I’m already writing an article
for the school paper,
and a poem for my blog.
There’s no rule that says
a scientist can’t also
love words.
Puppy testing is simple—
I cradle each pup to see
if it’s friendly and trusting.
Then, since a SAR dog can’t fear
sudden movements—umbrellas,
crumpled sheets of tumbling paper,
or spooky, windblown plastic bags—
we test their courage. And we play!
We check to see which puppies
love to chase toys,
and which won’t give up
in a long tug-of-war game,
but we also need a calm pup
that knows how to rest when tired,
not a nervous one that acts crazy.
We scratch bellies, pat heads,
and press down on paws with our fingers
to see how each puppy reacts
to being touched, rubbed, hugged,
and loved—a SAR dog can’t be mean.
Aggressive dogs aren’t allowed
to do search-and-rescue work.
Bullies aren’t qualified
to be heroes.
We keep score.
We assign numbers.
Tío trusts me with the
scientific math.
The highest puppy test score
goes to a brave, focused,
curious, wolf-eyed splash
of sun-yellow fur.
She’s three months old.
Her stumpy tail and yellow color
mean she’s probably a mix
of supersmart Australian shepherd
and energetically friendly
golden retriever.
When we choose her, the surprise
isn’t over yet—with a satisfied grin,
Tío writes my name on all
the adoption papers! I officially
have my own dog now. I’m considered
responsible. I’m practically
a grown-up.
Then comes the naming.
Short sounds, to make it easy
for the dog to learn, and maybe
a human name, to remind
everyone my puppy meets
that dogs need the same
love and care
as people.
I don’t want a name that rhymes
with NO or BAD, or a confusing sound
that rhymes with any command.
I try out dozens of girls’ names.
Summer? Too long. Dawn?
Not quite bright enough
for her soft golden fur.
Then it strikes me—I’m not limited
to English. Tío knows Spanish.
He can teach me. By next year’s
would I be halfway fluent?
Could I speak to my class
about learning my family’s
language? Would I start
to feel like a part of two
natural places
at once?
We’re still in the shelter, playing
with my newly adopted SAR pup,
when I start asking Tío to suggest
one-syllable island sounds.
He gives me Paz. Peace.
Mar, Sea.
Miel. Honey.
Luz. Light.
As soon as I hear that last one,
I know it’s perfect. Luz sounds
exactly like this gold frizz of fur.
Luz and the Trail Beast.
I hope Gabe will like Luz—she’s
bouncy and playful, he’ll never
feel old, as long as we’re all
walking
or running
or searching
together.…
From now on, I expect
only good dreams.
38
GABE THE DOG
FULL MOON
The yellow puppy’s milky scent rhymes
with roundness, and the sound of her name
almost rhymes with moon, and when I sing, she sings,
and she understands chase games,
so we’re friends, but I’m older,
so I get to teach her
all about life.
39
LUZ THE DOG
FINDING HOME
In my other life there were mean kids.
I was called hey mutt, but now I’m Luz,
and I have my own boy who takes me
to puppy obedience kindergarten
at the dog-and-horse church
and who lives with me in a house
with a man and a big dog in a forest
where I sniff
sniff
sniff
sniff
as I follow little footprint trails that always
lead me back to my boy whose scent
rhymes with home.
HOW TO STAY FOUND IN THE WONDROUS WOODS
BY GABE, LUZ, AND TONY
Never hike alone.
Tell someone where you’re going, and how long you’ll be gone.
Stay on marked trails.
Take plenty of water and high-energy foods.
Make sure the adults who go with you have the right equipment (GPS, satellite phone).
If you do get lost, remember that many plants are poisonous. Only gobble wild berries if you recognize them as familiar—blackberries, strawberries, raspberries. Surprise: insects are some of the safest wild foods! If you’re starving, try to think like a bear. They eat ant eggs, beetle grubs, grasshoppers, and crickets. (Never nibble spiders.)
If you’re lost, don’t panic. Stay in one place. Hug a tree. Every time you wander in circles, you make it harder for a four-footed trail angel to find you.
Trust the dog’s nose.
A NOTE TO READERS
The characters in Mountain Dog are imaginary, but the story was inspired by a real boy, and real dogs. One of my husband’s search-and-rescue dogs, Maggi, is a calm, wise Australian Shepherd/Queensland Heeler cross. Maggi came to us as a stray, needing to be rescued and adopted. She loves to herd humans, making sure we are all in one place. Our younger SAR dog, Chance, is an energetic Yellow Labrador Retriever who shares Gabe’s enthusiasm for all things round and high-flying, even the moon.
When my husband trains Maggi and Chance, I serve as a volunteer “victim,” hiding in the forest so the dogs can practice finding a lost person. Sometimes I just hide for a few minutes, but there are days when I have to wait for hours before a dog’s smart nose finds my invisible scent trail. It feels like magic, but my husband calls it science.
Many other aspects of Mountain Dog were also inspired by my real life. I have relatives who left our ancestral island on a raft. I’ve stood face-to-face with a b
ear on a trail, and I’ve heard a mountain lion’s eerie cry. I’ve visited a sad, confused woman in prison. I’ve seen mountain areas remote enough to have tiny, old-fashioned schools, as well as cowboy churches where horses and dogs are welcome. I used to dread math, but in order to study botany and agriculture, I had to overcome my fear of numbers.
Most of all, throughout my life, whether on wilderness paths or city sidewalks, I have often received trail magic in the form of unexpected acts of kindness from strangers.
I hope you enjoy reading Mountain Dog as much as I enjoyed writing it!
YOUR FRIEND,
MARGARITA ENGLE
CLOVIS, CALIFORNIA
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I thank God for wilderness and trail angels.
I am joyfully grateful to Curtis, our dogs, the rest of our family, and the following canine search-and-rescue organizations: CARDA, MADSAR, SLOSAR, and NSDA. Special thanks to Kai Hernández, Norma Snelling, Nancy Acebo, and Dr. Cheryl Waterhouse.
I wish to express profound gratitude to Ann Martin and Laura Godwin for this opportunity to write about canine trail magic. Special thanks to Kate Butler, April Ward, and the entire Holt/Macmillan publishing team.
I am grateful to Olga and Alexey Ivanov for their beautiful illustrations.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Margarita Engle is a poet and novelist whose work has been published in many countries. Her books include The Surrender Tree, a Newbery Honor book and winner of the Jane Addams Children’s Book Award, the Pura Belpré Award, the Américas Award, and the Claudia Lewis Poetry Award; The Poet Slave of Cuba, winner of the Pura Belpré Award and the Américas Award; and Hurricane Dancers, winner of the Pura Belpré Award.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
Olga and Aleksey Ivanov immigrated to the United States from Russia in 2002. The husband-and-wife team received a classical art education in Moscow and have collaborated on over eighty children’s books, including The Tall Book of Mother Goose and Charlotte’s Web. They live and work together in an artist studio near Denver, Colorado.
Text copyright © 2013 by Margarita Engle
Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Olga and Aleksey Ivanov
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The Library of Congress has catalogued the print edition as follows:
Engle, Margarita.
Mountain dog / Margarita Engle; illustrations by Olga and Aleksey Ivanov. — First edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-8050-9516-6 (hardcover)
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Rescue dogs—Fiction. 3. Dogs—Fiction. 4. Human-animal relationships—Fiction. 5. Great-uncles—Fiction. 6. Foster home care—Fiction. 7. Hispanic Americans—Fiction. 8. Sierra Nevada (Calif. and Nev.)—Fiction.] I. Ivanov, O. (Olga), illustrator. II. Ivanov, A. (Aleksey), illustrator. III. Title.