Love That Dog

  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

  Dedication

  September 13

  September 21

  September 27

  October 4

  October 10

  October 17

  October 24

  October 31

  November 6

  November 9

  November 15

  November 22

  November 29

  December 4

  December 13

  January 10

  January 17

  January 24

  January 31

  February 7

  February 15

  February 21

  February 26

  March 1

  March 7

  March 14

  March 22

  March 27

  April 4

  April 9

  April 12

  April 17

  April 20

  April 24

  April 26

  May 2

  May 7

  May 8

  May 14

  May 15

  May 17

  May 21

  May 28

  May 29

  June 1

  June 6

  Love That Dog

  Excerpt from Hate That Cat September 12

  September 13

  September 14

  September 19

  September 21

  September 26

  October 3

  About the Author

  Books by Sharon Creech

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  JACK

  ROOM 105—MISS STRETCHBERRY

  SEPTEMBER 13

  I don’t want to

  because boys

  don’t write poetry.

  Girls do.

  SEPTEMBER 21

  I tried.

  Can’t do it.

  Brain’s empty.

  SEPTEMBER 27

  I don’t understand

  the poem about

  the red wheelbarrow

  and the white chickens

  and why so much

  depends upon

  them.

  If that is a poem

  about the red wheelbarrow

  and the white chickens

  then any words

  can be a poem.

  You’ve just got to

  make

  short

  lines.

  OCTOBER 4

  Do you promise

  not to read it

  out loud?

  Do you promise

  not to put it

  on 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 depend

  upon

  a blue car?

  You didn’t say before

  that I had to tell why.

  The wheelbarrow guy

  didn’t tell why.

  OCTOBER 17

  What was up with

  the snowy woods poem

  you read today?

  Why doesn’t the person just

  keep going if he’s got

  so many miles to go

  before he sleeps?

  And why do I have to tell more

  about the blue car

  splattered with mud

  speeding down the road?

  I don’t want to

  write about that blue car

  that had miles to go

  before it slept,

  so many miles to go

  in such a hurry.

  OCTOBER 24

  I am sorry to say

  I did not really understand

  the tiger tiger burning bright poem

  but at least it sounded good

  in my ears.

  Here is the blue car

  with 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 sounds

  are still in my ears

  like drums

  beat-beat-beating.

  OCTOBER 31

  Yes

  you can put

  the two blue-car poems

  on the board

  but only if

  you don’t put

  my name

  on them.

  NOVEMBER 6

  They look nice

  typed up like that

  on blue paper

  on a yellow board.

  (But still don’t tell anyone

  who wrote them, okay?)

  (And what does anonymous mean?

  Is it good?)

  NOVEMBER 9

  I don’t have any pets

  so I can’t write about one

  and especially

  I can’t write

  a POEM

  about one.

  NOVEMBER 15

  Yes, I used to have a pet.

  I don’t want to write about it.

  You’re going to ask me

  Why 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 those

  small poems

  we read today.

  When they’re small

  like that

  you can read

  a whole bunch

  in a short time

  and then in your head

  are all the pictures

  of all the small things

  from all the small poems.

  I liked how the kitten leaped

  in the cat poem

  and how you could see

  the long head of the horse

  in the horse poem

  and especially I liked the dog

  in the dog poem

  because that’s just how

  my yellow dog

  used to lie down,

  with his tongue all limp

  and his chin

  between

  his paws

  and how he’d sometimes

  chomp at a fly

  and then sleep

  in his loose skin,

  just like that poet,

  Miss Valerie Worth,

  says,

  in her small

  dog poem.

  DECEMBER 4

  Why do you want

  to type up what I wrote

  about reading

  the small poems?

  It’s not a poem.

  Is it?

  I guess you can

&n
bsp; put it on the board

  if you want to

  but don’t put

  my name

  on it

  in case

  other people

  think

  it’s not a poem.

  DECEMBER 13

  I guess it does

  look like a poem

  when you see it

  typed up

  like that.

  But I think maybe

  it would look better

  if there was more space

  between the lines.

  Like how I wrote it

  the first time.

  And I liked the picture

  of the yellow dog

  you put beside it.

  But that’s not how

  my yellow dog

  looked.

  JANUARY 10

  I really really really

  did NOT get

  the pasture poem

  you read today.

  I mean:

  somebody’s going out

  to the pasture

  to clean the spring

  and to get

  the little tottery calf

  while he’s out there

  and he isn’t going

  to be gone long

  and he wants YOU

  (who is YOU?)

  to come too.

  I mean REALLY.

  And you said that

  Mr. Robert Frost

  who wrote

  about the pasture

  was also the one

  who wrote about

  those snowy woods

  and the miles to go

  before he sleeps—

  well!

  I think Mr. Robert Frost

  has a little

  too

  much

  time

  on his

  hands.

  JANUARY 17

  Remember the wheelbarrow poem

  you read

  the first week

  of school?

  Maybe the wheelbarrow poet

  was just

  making a picture

  with words

  and

  someone else—

  like maybe his teacher—

  typed it up

  and then people thought

  it was a poem

  because

  it looked like one

  typed up like that.

  And maybe

  that’s the same thing

  that happened with

  Mr. Robert Frost.

  Maybe he was just

  making pictures with words

  about the snowy woods

  and the pasture—

  and his teacher

  typed them up

  and they looked like poems

  so people thought

  they were poems.

  Like how you did

  with the blue-car things

  and reading-the-small-poems thing.

  On the board

  typed up

  they look like

  poems

  and the other kids

  are looking at them

  and they think

  they really are

  poems

  and they

  are all saying

  Who wrote that?

  JANUARY 24

  We were going for a drive

  and my father said

  We won’t be gone long—

  You come too

  and so I went

  and we drove and drove

  until we stopped at a

  red brick building

  with a sign

  in blue letters

  ANIMAL PROTECTION SHELTER.

  And inside we walked

  down a long cement path

  past cages

  with all kinds of

  dogs

  big and small

  fat and skinny

  some of them

  hiding in the corner

  but most of them

  bark-bark-barking and

  jumping up

  against the wire cage

  as we walked past

  as if they were saying

  Me! Me! Choose me!

  I’m the best one!

  And that’s where we saw

  the yellow dog

  standing against the cage

  with his paws curled

  around the wire

  and his long red tongue

  hanging out

  and his big black eyes

  looking a little sad

  and his long tail

  wag-wag-wagging

  as if he were saying

  Me me me! Choose me!

  And we did.

  We chose him.

  And in the car

  he put his head

  against my chest

  and wrapped his paws

  around my arm

  as if he were saying

  Thank you thank you thank you.

  And the other dogs

  in the cages

  get killed dead

  if nobody chooses them.

  JANUARY 31

  Yes

  you can type up

  what I wrote

  about my yellow dog

  but leave off the part

  about the other dogs

  getting killed dead

  because that’s too sad.

  And don’t put

  my name

  on it

  please.

  And maybe

  it would look good

  on yellow paper.

  And maybe

  the title

  should be

  YOU COME TOO.

  FEBRUARY 7

  Yes

  it looks good

  on yellow paper

  but you forgot

  (again)

  to leave more

  space

  between the lines

  like I did

  when I wrote it.

  That’s okay though.

  FEBRUARY 15

  I like that poem

  we read today

  about street music

  in the city.

  My street is not

  in the middle

  of the city

  so it doesn’t have

  that LOUD music

  of horns and trucks

  clash

  flash

  screech.

  My street is

  on the edge

  of a city

  and it has

  quiet music

  most of the time

  whisp

  meow

  swish.

  My street is a one

  with houses on both sides

  and my house is

  the white one

  with the red door.

  There is not too much traffic

  on my street—

  not like in the

  middle

  of a city.

  We play in the yards

  and sometimes

  in the street

  but only if

  a grown-up

  or the big kids

  are out there, too,

  and they will shout

  Car!

  if they see a car

  coming down our street.

  At both ends

  of our street

  are yellow signs

  that say

  Caution! Children at Play!

  but sometimes

  the cars

  pay no attention

  and speed down

  the road

  as if

  they are in a BIG hurry

  with many miles to go

  before they sleep.

  FEBRUARY 21

  That was so great

  those poems you showed us

  where the words

  make the shape


  of the thing

  that the poem

  is about—

  like the one about an apple

  that was shaped like an apple

  and the one about the house

  that was shaped like a house.

  My brain was pop-pop-popping

  when I was looking at those poems.

  I never knew a poet person

  could do that funny

  kind of thing.

  FEBRUARY 26

  I tried one of those

  poems that looks like

  what it’s about.

  MY YELLOW DOG

  by Jack

  MARCH 1

  Yes

  you can type up

  the yellow dog poem

  that looks like a dog

  but this time

  keep the spaces

  exactly

  the same

  and maybe

  it would look

  really really good

  on yellow paper.

  Maybe you could

  put my name on it.

  But only if you want to.

  Only if you think it

  looks

  good enough.

  MARCH 7

  I was

  a little embarrassed

  when people said

  things to me like

  Neat poem, Jack

  and

  How’d you think of that, Jack?

  And I really really like

  the one you put up

  about the tree

  that is shaped like

  a tree

  not a fake-looking tree

  but like a real tree

  with straggly branches.

  But I want to know

  who is the

  anonymous poet

  in our class

  who wrote that

  and why didn’t

  he

  or

  she