Dedication

For

Sandy and Jack Floyd

Mark and Karin Leuthy Benjamin

Louise England

Rob Leuthy

all of whom

love love love their dogs

With special thanks to

Walter Dean Myers

and to all the poets

and Mr.-and-Ms. Stretchberrys

who inspire students every day

Contents

DedicationSeptember 13September 21September 27October 4October 10October 17October 24October 31November 6November 9November 15November 22November 29December 4December 13January 10January 17January 24January 31February 7February 15February 21February 26March 1

March 7March 14March 22March 27April 4April 9April 12April 17April 20April 24April 26May 2May 7May 8May 14May 15May 17May 21May 28May 29June 1June 6Love That DogExcerpt from Hate That Cat

September 12September 13September 14September 19

September 21September 26October 3

About the AuthorBooks by Sharon CreechCreditsCopyrightAbout the Publisher

JACKROOM 105—MISS STRETCHBERRY

SEPTEMBER 13

I don’t want tobecause boysdon’t write poetry.

Girls do.

SEPTEMBER 21

I tried.Can’t do it.Brain’s empty.

SEPTEMBER 27

I don’t understandthe poem aboutthe red wheelbarrowand the white chickensand why so muchdepends uponthem.

If that is a poemabout the red wheelbarrowand the white chickensthen any wordscan be a poem.You’ve just got tomakeshortlines.

OCTOBER 4

Do you promisenot to read itout loud?Do you promisenot to put iton the board?

Okay, here it is,but I don’t like it.

So much depends upon a blue car splattered with mud speeding down the road.

OCTOBER 10

What do you mean—Why does so much dependupona blue car?

You didn’t say beforethat I had to tell why.

The wheelbarrow guydidn’t tell why.

OCTOBER 17

What was up withthe snowy woods poemyou read today?

Why doesn’t the person justkeep going if he’s gotso many miles to gobefore he sleeps?

And why do I have to tell moreabout the blue carsplattered with mudspeeding down the road?

I don’t want towrite about that blue carthat had miles to gobefore it slept,so many miles to goin such a hurry.

OCTOBER 24

I am sorry to sayI did not really understandthe tiger tiger burning bright poembut at least it sounded goodin my ears.

Here is the blue carwith tiger sounds:

Blue car, blue car, shining bright in the darkness of the night: who could see you speeding by like a comet in the sky?

I could see you in the night, blue car, blue car, shining bright. I could see you speeding by like a comet in the sky.

Some of the tiger soundsare still in my earslike drumsbeat-beat-beating.

OCTOBER 31

Yesyou can putthe two blue-car poemson the boardbut only ifyou don’t putmy nameon them.

NOVEMBER 6

They look nicetyped up like thaton blue paperon a yellow board.

(But still don’t tell anyonewho wrote them, okay?)

(And what does anonymous mean?Is it good?)

NOVEMBER 9

I don’t have any petsso I can’t write about oneand especiallyI can’t writea POEMabout one.

NOVEMBER 15

Yes, I used to have a pet.I don’t want to write about it.

You’re going to ask meWhy not?Right?

NOVEMBER 22

Pretend I still have that pet?

Can’t I make up a pet—a different one?Like a tiger?Or a hamster?A goldfish?Turtle?Snail?Worm?Flea?

NOVEMBER 29

I liked thosesmall poemswe read today.

When they’re smalllike thatyou can reada whole bunchin a short timeand then in your headare all the picturesof all the small thingsfrom all the small poems.

I liked how the kitten leapedin the cat poemand how you could seethe long head of the horsein the horse poemand especially I liked the dogin the dog poembecause that’s just howmy yellow dogused to lie down,with his tongue all limpand his chinbetweenhis pawsand how he’d sometimeschomp at a flyand then sleepin his loose skin,just like that poet,Miss Valerie Worth,

says,in her smalldog poem.

DECEMBER 4

Why do you wantto type up what I wroteabout readingthe small poems?

It’s not a poem.Is it?

I guess you canput it on the boardif you want tobut don’t putmy nameon itin caseother peoplethinkit’s not a poem.

DECEMBER 13

I guess it doeslook like a poemwhen you see ittyped uplike that.

But I think maybeit would look betterif there was more spacebetween the lines.Like how I wrote itthe first time.

And I liked the pictureof the yellow dogyou put beside it.

But that’s not howmy yellow doglooked.

JANUARY 10

I really really reallydid NOT getthe pasture poemyou read today.

I mean:somebody’s going outto the pastureto clean the springand to getthe little tottery calfwhile he’s out thereand he isn’t goingto be gone longand he wants YOU(who is YOU?)to come too.

I mean REALLY.

And you said thatMr. Robert Frostwho wroteabout the pasturewas also the onewho wrote aboutthose snowy woodsand the miles to gobefore he sleeps—well!

I think Mr. Robert Frosthas a littletoo

muchtimeon hishands.

JANUARY 17

Remember the wheelbarrow poemyou readthe first weekof school?

Maybe the wheelbarrow poetwas justmaking a picturewith wordsandsomeone else—like maybe his teacher—typed it upand then people thoughtit was a poembecauseit looked like onetyped up like that.

And maybethat’s the same thingthat happened withMr. Robert Frost.Maybe he was justmaking pictures with wordsabout the snowy woodsand the pasture—and his teachertyped them upand they looked like poemsso people thoughtthey were poems.

Like how you did

with the blue-car thingsand reading-the-small-poems thing.On the boardtyped upthey look likepoemsand the other kidsare looking at themand they thinkthey really arepoemsand theyare all sayingWho wrote that?

JANUARY 24

We were going for a driveand my father saidWe won’t be gone long—You come tooand so I wentand we drove and droveuntil we stopped at ared brick buildingwith a signin blue lettersANIMAL PROTECTION SHELTER.

And inside we walkeddown a long cement pathpast cageswith all kinds ofdogsbig and smallfat and skinnysome of themhiding in the cornerbut most of thembark-bark-barking andjumping upagainst the wire cageas we walked pastas if they were sayingMe! Me! Choose me!I’m the best one!

And that’s where we sawthe yellow dogstanding against the cagewith his paws curled

around the wireand his long red tonguehanging outand his big black eyeslooking a little sadand his long tailwag-wag-waggingas if he were sayingMe me me! Choose me!

And we did.We chose him.

And in the carhe put his headagainst my chestand wrapped his pawsaround my armas if he were sayingThank you thank you thank you.

And the other dogsin the cagesget killed deadif nobody chooses them.

JANUARY 31

Yesyou can type upwhat I wroteabout my yellow dogbut leave off the partabout the other dogsgetting killed deadbecause that’s too sad.

And don’t putmy nameon itplease.

And maybeit would look goodon yellow paper.

And maybethe titleshould beYOU COME TOO.

FEBRUARY 7

Yesit looks goodon yellow paperbut you forgot(again)to leave morespacebetween the lineslike I didwhen I wrote it.

That’s okay though.

FEBRUARY 15

I like that poemwe read todayabout street musicin the city.

My street is notin the middleof the cityso it doesn’t havethat LOUD musicof horns and trucksclashflashscreech.

My street ison the edgeof a city

and it hasquiet musicmost of the timewhispmeowswish.

My street is a onewith houses on both sidesand my house isthe white onewith the red door.

There is not too much traffic

on my street—not like in themiddleof a city.

We play in the yardsand sometimesin the streetbut only ifa grown-upor the big kidsare out there, too,and they will shoutCar!if they see a carcoming down our street.

At both endsof our streetare yellow signsthat sayCaution! Children at Play!but sometimesthe carspay no attentionand speed downthe roadas ifthey are in a BIG hurrywith many miles to gobefore they sleep.

FEBRUARY 21

That was so greatthose poems you showed uswhere the wordsmake the shapeof the thingthat the poemis about—like the one about an applethat was shaped like an appleand the one about the housethat was shaped like a house.

My brain was pop-pop-poppingwhen I was looking at those poems.I never knew a poet personcould do that funnykind of thing.

FEBRUARY 26

I tried one of thosepoems that looks likewhat it’s about.

MY YELLOW DOGby Jack

MARCH 1

Yesyou can type upthe yellow dog poemthat looks like a dogbut this timekeep the spacesexactlythe sameand maybeit would lookreally really goodon yellow paper.

Maybe you couldput my name on it.But only if you want to.Only if you think itlooksgood enough.

MARCH 7

I wasa little embarrassedwhen people saidthings to me likeNeat poem, JackandHow’d you think of that, Jack?

And I really really likethe one you put upabout the treethat is shaped likea treenot a fake-looking treebut like a real treewith straggly branches.

But I want to knowwho is theanonymous poetin our classwho wrote thatand why didn’theorshewant to puthis or her nameon it?Was it like mewhen I didn’t thinkmy wordswerepoems?

Maybe you will tellthe anonymous tree poetthat his or her tree poem

is reallya poemreally reallyand a good poem, too.

MARCH 14

That was the best best BESTpoemyou read yesterdayby Mr. Walter Dean Myersthe best best BESTpoemever.

I am sorryI took the book homewithout asking.I only gotone spoton it.That’s whythe page is torn.I tried to getthe spotout.

I copied that BEST poemand hung it on mybedroom wallright over my bedwhere I cansee it when I’mlyingdown.

Maybe you couldcopy it tooand hang iton the wallin our class

where we can see itwhen we are sittingat our desksdoing our stuff.

I sure liked that poemby Mr. Walter Dean Myerscalled“Love That Boy.”

Because of two reasonsI liked it:One is becausemy dad calls mein the morningjust like that.He callsHey there, son!

And also becausewhen I had myyellow dogI loved that dogand I would call him

like this—I’d say—Hey there, Sky!

(His name was Sky.)

MARCH 22

My yellow dogfollowed me everywhereevery which way I turnedhe was therewagging his tailand slobbercoming outof his mouthwhen he was smilingat meall the timeas if he wassayingthank you thank you thank youfor choosing meand jumping up on mehis shaggy straggly pawson my chestlike he was tryingto hug the insidesright out of me.

And when us kidswere playing outsidekicking the ballhe’d chase after itand push it with his nosepush push pushand getting slobberall over the ballbut no one caredbecause he was sucha funny dogthat dog Sky

that straggly furrysmilingdogSky.

And I’d call himevery morningevery eveningHey there, Sky!

MARCH 27

Yes, you can type upwhat I wrote aboutmy dog Skybut don’t type upthat other secret oneI wrote—the one all folded upin the envelopewith tape on it.That one uses too many ofMr. Walter Dean Myers’swordsand maybeMr. Walter Dean Myerswould get madabout that.

APRIL 4

I was very gladto hear thatMr. Walter Dean Myersis not the sort of personwho would get madat a boyfor using some of his words.

And thank youfor typing upmy secret poemthe one that usesso many ofMr. Walter Dean Myers’swordsand I like whatyou putat the top:Inspired by Walter Dean Myers.

That sounds goodto my ears.Now no onewill thinkI just copiedbecause Icouldn’t thinkof my own words.They will knowI wasinspired byMr. Walter Dean Myers.

But don’t put it

on the boardyet, okay?

Is Mr. Walter Dean Myersa live person?And if he isdo you thinkhe could ever cometo our cityto our schoolto our class?

And if he didwe should hidemy poemwith his words—hide it real good—just in casehe would get madabout that.

APRIL 9

No.No, no, no, no, no.

I can’t do it.

You should do it.You’re a teacher.

APRIL 12

I don’t agreethat Mr. Walter Dean Myersmight like to hearfrom a boywho likes his poems.

I think Mr. Walter Dean Myerswould like to hearfrom a teacherwho uses big wordsand knows howto spellandto type.

APRIL 17

Dear Mr. Walter Dean Myers,

You probably don’t want to hear from mebecause I am only a boyand not a teacherand I don’t usebig wordsand you probably won’t read thisor even if you do read ityou probably are way too busyto answer itlet alone do the thingI am going to ask youand I want you to knowthat’s okaybecause our teacher sayswriters are very very very verybusytrying to write their wordsand the phone is ringingand the fax is goingand the bills need payingand sometimes they get sick(I hope you are not sick,Mr. Walter Dean Myers)or their family gets sickor their electricity goes offor the car needs fixingor they have to goto the grocery storeor do the laundryor clean up messes.I don’t know howyou find the time

to write your wordsif you have to do all that stuffand maybe you should geta helper.

So what I am asking youis this:If you ever get timeto leave your houseand if you ever feellike visiting a schoolwhere there might be some kidswho like your poemswould you ever maybethink about maybecomingmaybeto our schoolwhich is a clean placewith mostly nicepeople in itand I think our teacherMiss Stretchberrywould maybe evenmake brownies for youbecause she sometimesmakes them for us.

I hope I haven’t too muchstopped you from doing yourwriting of wordsand fixing your carand getting groceriesand all that stuff—just to read this letterwhich probably is taking youmaybe fifteen minutes

and in that timeyou could’ve maybewrittena whole new poemor at least the startof oneand so I am sorryfor taking up yourtimeand I understandif you can’t cometo our clean schooland read some of your poemsto usand let us see your facewhich I betis a friendly face.

My name is Jack.Bye, Mr. Walter Dean Myers.

APRIL 20

Did you mail it?Did he answer yet?

APRIL 24

Months???It mighttake monthsfor Mr. Walter Dean Myersto answer my letter?If he answers it?

I didn’t know—until you explained—that the letter has to goto Mr. Walter Dean Myers’spublisher companyand then someoneat the publisher companyhas to sort all the mailnot just my letterbut hundreds and hundredsof lettersto hundreds of authorsall that big mess of mailpiled upand someone sorting sorting sortingall that mailand then the letters forMr. Walter Dean Myersgo to himand maybe he’s awaymaybe he’s on vacationmaybe he’s sickmaybe he’s hiding in a roomwriting poemsmaybe he’s baby-sittinghis children or his grandchildren(if he’s married and stuff)

or maybe he has to goto the dentistor get that car fixedor maybe someone died(I really really really hopesomeone did not die)soif you ask meit could take himyearsto get aroundto answeringthat letterso I guesswe’d betterjust forget about itnot count on itget it out of our mindsdo something elseforget it.

APRIL 26

Sometimeswhen you are tryingnot to think about somethingit keeps popping backinto your headyou can’t help ityou think about itandthink about itandthink about ituntil your brainfeels likea squashed pea.

MAY 2

Yesyou can type upthe thing abouttrying not to think aboutsomethingbutyou’d betterleave my name off itbecause it wasjust wordscoming out of my headand I wasn’t payingtoo much attentionto which wordscame outwhen.

MAY 7

Maybe you couldshow mehow to usethe computerand thenI could type upmy own words?

MAY 8

I didn’t know aboutthe spell-checking thinginside the computer.It is like a miraclelittle brainin therea little helper brain.

But I am a slow typer person.Did you say there isa teaching-typing thingin that computer, too?Will it help me typebetterandfastertaptaptaptaptapso my fingerscan go as fastas my brain?

MAY 14

(I typed this up myself.)

MY SKY

We were outsidein the streetme and some other kidskicking the ballbefore dinnerand Sky waschasing chasing chasingwith his feet goingevery which wayand his tailwag-wag-waggingand his mouthslob-slob-slobberingand he wasall over the place

smiling and waggingand slobberingand makingus laughand my dadcame walking up the streethe was way down therenear the endI could see himafter he got off the busand he was walk-walk-walkingand I saw him waveand he called out“Hey there, son!”and so I didn’t seethe carcoming from the other wayuntil someone else—

one of the big kids—called out“Car!”and I turned aroundand saw ablue car blue carsplattered with mudspeeding down the road

And I saw Skygoing after the ballwag-wag-wagginghis tailand I called him“Sky! Sky!”and he turned hisheadbut it was too latebecause theblue car blue carsplattered with mudhit Skythud thud thudand kept on goingin such a hurryso fastso many miles to goit couldn’t even stopandSkywas just therein the roadlying on his sidewith his legs bent funnyand his side heavingand he looked up at meand I said

“Sky! Sky! Sky!”and then my dadwas thereand he lifted Skyout of the roadand laid him on the grassandSkyclosed his eyesandheneveropenedthemagainever.

MAY 15

I don’t know.

If you put it on the boardand people read itit might make themsad.

MAY 17

Okay.I guess.I’ll put my name on it.

But I hope it doesn’t makepeople feel too sadand if it doesmaybe you couldthink of somethingto cheer everybody uplike maybe withsome of those browniesyou makethe chocolate onesthat are so good?

MAY 21

Wow!Wow wow wow wow wow!

That was the best best BESTnewseverI can’t believe it.

Mr. Walter Dean Myersis really really reallycomingto our school?

He was comingto our cityanywayto see his old buddy?

And he would behonoredto visitour clean schooland meet the mostly nice kidswho like his poems?

We sure are luckythat his old buddylives in our town.

WOW!!!

MAY 28

The bulletin boardlooks like it’sblooming wordswith everybody’s poemsup thereon all thosecolored sheets of paperyellow blue pink red green.

And the bookcaselooks like it’ssprouting booksall of them byMr. Walter Dean Myerslined uplooking back at uswaiting forMr. Walter Dean Myershimselfto cometo our schoolright into our classroom.

Wow!

MAY 29

I can’t wait.I can’t sleep.

Are you sureyou hid my poemthat was inspiredby Mr. Walter Dean Myers?

I don’t want to doany any anythingto upset him.

JUNE 1

MR. WALTER DEAN MYERS DAY

I NEVERin my whole lifeEVERheard anybodywho could talklike thatMr. Walter Dean Myers.

All of my bloodin my veinswas bubblingand all of the thoughtsin my headwere buzzingandI wanted to keepMr. Walter Dean Myersat our schoolforever.

JUNE 6

Dear Mr. Walter Dean Myers,

Thank youa hundred million timesforleaving your workand your familyand your things-people-have-to-doto come and visit usin our schoolin our class.

We hope you liked your visit.We think maybe you didbecauseyou weresmile-smile-smilingall over the place.

And when you readyour poemsyou had thebest best BESTvoicelow and deep and friendly and warmlike it was reaching out andwrapping us all upin a big squeezeand when you laughedyou had thebest best BESTlaugh I’ve ever heard in my lifelike it was coming from way down deepand bubbling up and

rolling and tumblingout into the air.

We hope we didn’t ask youtoo many questionsbut we thank youfor answering every which oneand especially for sayingthat you would beflatteredif someone usedsome of your wordsand especially if theyadded a note thatthey wereinspired byWalter Dean Myers.

And it was nice of youto read all of our poemson the bulletin boardand I hope it didn’tmake youtoo sadwhen you read the oneabout my dog Skygetting smooshed in the road.And I think you likedthe brownies, too,right?

Thank you forcoming to see usMr. Walter Dean Myers.

Inside this envelopeis a poemusing some of your words.

I wrote it.It wasinspired byyouMr. Walter Dean Myers.

From your number one fan, Jack

LOVE THAT DOG(INSPIRED BY WALTER DEAN MYERS)

BY JACK

Love that dog,like a bird loves to flyI said I love that doglike a bird loves to flyLove to call him in the morninglove to call him“Hey there, Sky!”

Excerpt from Hate That Cat

Read an excerptfrom Sharon Creech’s

new novel

HATE THATCAT

JACKROOM 204—MISS STRETCHBERRY

SEPTEMBER 12

I hate that catlike a dog hates a ratI said I hate that catlike a dog hates a rat

Hate to see it in the morninghate to see thatF A T black cat.

SEPTEMBER 13

SorryI didn’t knowyou liked cats.Didn’t knowyou have one.

SEPTEMBER 14

More poetry?You probably thinkwe will rememberwhat we learnedlast year, right?

What if we don’t remember?What if our brains shrunk?What if it’s too hard?

But I am gladyou are my teacheragain.I hope you willkeep moving upa gradeevery yearalong with me.

You understandmybrain.

SEPTEMBER 19

No, I can’t write any moreabout my dog Sky.Maybe all of the wordsabout Skyflew out of my headlast year.

I think about himall the timeand I see himin my mindand some of his yellow furis still on my yellow chairand sometimes I thinkI hear himuh-rum, uh-rumthat sound he madewhen he was happy.

But no, I can’t write about Skya-n-y-m-o-r-e.Maybe I could write abouta cata mean cata crazy mean fat black cat.

Although . . . my uncle Billwho is a teacherin a collegesaid those words I wroteabout Skywere NOT poems.He said they were justwords

comingoutofmyheadand that a poem has to rhymeand have regular meterand SYMBOLS and METAPHORSand onomoto-something andalliter-something.

And I wantedtopunchhim.

SEPTEMBER 21

Another thing Uncle Bill saidwas that my lines should bel - o - n - g - e - rlike in real writing

But here is what happens when I try to make them longer the page is too wideand the words get all mumble jumbled and it makes my eyes hurt all thatwhite space the edge of the page so far away and in order to get all the wordsdown that are coming out of my head I have to forget the commas andperiods or I have to go back and stick, them in, all over, the place, like this,which looks, if you ask me, stupid, but if you write short lines, a personknows where to breathe, short or long, and I hate to read, those long lines,and I don’t want, to write them, either.

SEPTEMBER 26

I wish you would tellmy uncle Billall those things you said todayabout our own rhythmsand our own IMAGESbouncing around in our wordsand making them POEMS.

And yes I understandthat if I am ever thePresident of the United StatesI might be expected to writevery very long linesbut in the meantimeI can make my linesshortshortshortif I want to.But even if you toldmy uncle Billall that stuffhe wouldn’t believe you.He likes to argue.

My mother likes myshortlines.She runs her fingersdown themand thentapsher lipsonce, twice.

And I think I understoodwhat you said aboutonomoto-somethingand alliter-somethingnot HAVING to bein a poemand how sometimesthey ENRICH a poembut sometimesthey can also make a poemsound purple.

Purple!Ha ha ha.

OCTOBER 3

Okay, okay, okayI will learn how to spellALLITERATIONandONOMATOPOEIA(right?)and I will practice themjust in case I everneed themto ENRICHsomething.

Ready?

Um.

Um.

I can’t do it.Brain frozen.

First you need to havesomething to write about.You can’t justalliterateandonomatopoeiateall over the placecan you?

About the Author

Photo credit Lyle Rigg

SHARON CREECH is the author of the Newbery Medal winner WALKTWO MOONS and the Newbery Honor Book THE WANDERER. Her otherwork includes the novels THE GREAT UNEXPECTED, THE UNFINISHEDANGEL, HATE THAT CAT, THE CASTLE CORONA, REPLAY,HEARTBEAT, GRANNY TORRELLI MAKES SOUP, RUBY HOLLER, LOVETHAT DOG, BLOOMABILITY, ABSOLUTELY NORMAL CHAOS, CHASINGREDBIRD, and PLEASING THE GHOST, as well as three picture books: AFINE, FINE SCHOOL; FISHING IN THE AIR; and WHO’S THAT BABY? Ms.Creech and her husband live in Maine. You can visit her online atwww.sharoncreech.com.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

Books by Sharon Creech

WALK TWO MOONSABSOLUTELY NORMAL CHAOS

PLEASING THE GHOSTCHASING REDBIRD

BLOOMABILITYTHE WANDERER

FISHING IN THE AIRLOVE THAT DOG

A FINE, FINE SCHOOLRUBY HOLLER

GRANNY TORRELLI MAKES SOUPHEARTBEAT

WHO’S THAT BABY?REPLAY

THE CASTLE CORONATHE UNFINISHED ANGEL

Credits

Cover art © 2001 by William SteigCover design by Alicia Mikles

Copyright

Love That DogCopyright © 2001 by Sharon Creech

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American CopyrightConventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the

nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-bookon-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded,

decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into anyinformation storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means,whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented,

without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.www.harpercollinschildrens.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataCreech, Sharon. Love that dog / by Sharon Creech p. cm. Summary: A young student, who comes to love poetry through a personalunderstanding of what different famous poems mean to him, surpriseshimself by writing his own inspired poem. ISBN 0-06-029287-3 — ISBN 0-06-029289-X (lib. bdg.) ISBN 0-06-440959-7 (pbk.) EPUB Edition © November 2014 ISBN 9780061961335 [1. Poetry—Fiction.] I. Title.PZ7.C8615 Lo 2001

00-054233[Fic]—dc21

CIPAC

Revised Harper edition, 2008

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