Jasper is still sleeping when I wake up. He sleeps a lot these days. He’s sprawled out, taking up half the bed like he always does. I nudge him gently with my foot, but he keeps dozing. That’s okay. He can sleep in. Today is his day.

Today we are celebrating Jasper’s Day. It was my idea. Mom and Dad are staying home from work. I’m staying home from school. Everything we do will be in honour of Jasper - sort of like a birthday. But it isn’t Jasper’s birthday, and I tell myself not to think about what day it really is.

Riley’s family celebrates Jasper’s last day. In the morning, their beloved Golden Retriever gets his very own serving of his favourite breakfast - scrambled eggs with cheese, and bacon. Riley remembers to bring the camera as he and his family take Jasper out for a ride in the van.

The family drives to Jasper’s favourite stream where he used to swim and fetch sticks when he was more agile. Jasper’s sight and hearing are also failing, and his arthritis makes it difficult for him to move about. After the stream, Riley and his parents stop at The Big Scoop for a treat. Riley’s father orders the “usual” for Jasper and himself - butterscotch ripple. Riley’s father tells the ice-cream shop owner about Jasper, and the man comes out to the van to say good-bye to one of his loyal customers. After the ice cream, the family stops at Riley’s Grandma’s house, and she and her dog, Nikki, bid farewell to Jasper. Along the journey, Riley has taken several photographs of Jasper.

The family returns home, but only Riley and his mother get out of the van. It is time to say goodbye. Riley whispers in Jasper’s ear, “You’re the best dog in the whole world.” Jasper licks Riley’s cheek, and then he and Riley’s father depart. Even though Riley knows that the veterinarian will give Jasper a shot and death will be quick and gentle for Jasper, it is terribly difficult to say goodbye to his beloved dog.

Riley’s father returns home with Jasper’s body wrapped in an arrowhead blanket, and the family buries him in the backyard. They gently place Jasper’s old chew toy, a stick, his water dish and a picture of the family in his grave. The family laughs and cries as they remember Jasper and say their final goodbyes.

That night, the house is empty without Jasper. Riley’s chest aches as he tries to fall asleep. Mom and Dad got Jasper before he was even born; Jasper had always been in his life. Tomorrow will be Riley’s first day without Jasper.

Riley looks at the photograph of himself and Jasper on his nightstand and thinks of all the photographs he took today, he gets the idea to make a memory book of Jasper’s life. He will never forget his friend.

Marjorie Blain Parker’s tender and unsentimental treatment of a child’s dealing with the death of a pet resonates with readers of all ages. The gentle and honest story speaks of lessons about love, acceptance, and remembrance. Janet Wilson’s soft and expressive illustrations are rendered in chalk pastels on coloured paper.

Jasper’s Day won the ASPCA Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award.

A Memory Book for Harry

Recently, a friend in our online community lost her Golden Retriever to an aggressive cancer. The story of Harry and the beautiful memory book that was created for him and his surviving sister Lucy appears on our sister site, Red Star Café. The story includes a YouTube version of the memory book, with a haunting rendition of Into the West by Annie Lennox (from Lord of the Rings). Read the story here.

A female collie mix, so beautiful, all gold and white and dirty; she’s in the last cage on the aisle, curled up quiet, watching everything - but when I get too close she goes completely crazy, biting at the bars, herself, anything in reach, until I back off and away. Her growl’s like ripping metal, jagged, dangerous, and strong . . . Don’t mess with me, that growl says. I may be in a cage but I can still bite.

Rachel is happiest when she’s volunteering at the animal shelter, especially after she meets the feral collie she names Grrl: they’re both angry and alone. When a teacher encourages her to write about the dog, Rachel finds another outlet for her pain and frustration. Writing about Grrl is easy. But teaching Grrl to trust her is a much tougher task. And when Griffin, the new boy in school, devises a plan to bring Grrl home, Rachel finds that the dog isn’t the only one who must learn to trust. Kathe Koja offers a raw and emotional tale about a girl who risks breaking out of her own cage to find the help she needs.

straydog is Kathe Koja’s compelling debut novel. Koja writes for young adults.

Writing straydog, my first book for young people, ushered me into a world I knew already as a reader. Many of the characters I love best in fiction — Louise Fitzhugh’s Harriet, J.D. Salinger’s Holden and Franny and Zooey, Francesca Lia Block’s Witch Baby — are people who say what they think, show their bewilderments, struggle with hard ideas, love with all their hearts; exasperating, funny, intense people. Young people.

I’m a strong supporter of animal rights, so I’m especially proud that straydog was honored by both the ASPCA and the Humane Society. I believe that you can learn everything you need to know about a person by watching the way s/he acts with animals and little kids, the powerless ones.

“So what’s up with that collie?”

Melissa’s at her desk, an old-fashioned school teacher’s desk, dented metal drawers and heaping piles of junk: fund-raising appeals, cruelty investigation forms, food orders, a busted leash tagged DON’T BUY THIS KIND!!! At the center of the heap is the brand-new computer, the one new thing in the place, a donation from some distributor. Now Melissa scrabbles like Shiva through the mess, hunting for “The pen,” she says to herself, “where is the pen ?” and then to me “What collie?” She gives me the major Melissa-stare, her wide blue eyes like What! do! you! want! Her hair’s really, really short and blonde, she gels it so it sticks up like porcupine quills. “You mean the one Jake brought in?”
“Yeah. Grrl.” It was what I called her, writing last night in my paper; it fit, it’s just right but “The feral one, you named her?” and she rolls her eyes. “Rachel, before you start, stop, all right? She’s been all her life on the streets, you know what they’re like when they’re –”

“I know, I know.” You can almost never socialize the feral ones, they’re almost always euthanized .I’ve seen dozens of dogs, and fallen in love with half of them, and cried my heart out when they died; that’s how it is here. But this one is different, somehow. There’s something about her, something in her eyes, I can’t stop thinking about her: as if I know what she’s like, know her from the inside out. And I have a plan for her, or at least the plan for a plan so “I just want to try,” I say to Melissa, “just get to know her a little. And it won’t interfere with my work schedule, I’ll still do all my regular stuff –” 

“I don’t have time — there you are! — to argue with you now,” she says, snatching up her pen. “Go away. Go talk to the dogs,” which I do, sweep and swab and water and feed, all the while sneaking little looks at Grrl in her cage lying on a blue blanket, one of the old torn-up blankets from the rescue van. Her eyes are half-closed, cloudy; the cage card says she’s got a fever from the leg infection. When I reach to put the card back she growls at me, that ripping, ugly sound: Don’t mess with me , that growl says. I may be in a cage but I can still bite.

So I start talking like I always do, to all the dogs — hey you guys, how’s it going — but once in awhile I say “Grrl”, looking into her eyes, making sure she knows it’s meant for her. “Grrl, Grrl,” almost like her growl but warm and crooning, the name and the idea came to me like a gift last night as I sat looking over the essay, two gifts at once because I’m going to write about that dog, I thought, about Grrl and from “A Dog’s Life” I changed the title to “straydog,” all one word, like a dog would think of herself.

And once I’d done that the words just, just flew, it was like I couldn’t write fast enough. It was like I knew her, knew how she would think and feel and fear, knew it all from the inside out and when I finally stopped writing — not done, only just started but my hand was hot and aching, and my eyes were as dry as little rubber balls — I felt so good, so full , I don’t know how else to explain it; like I’d eaten at a banquet, like I was a banquet. — Oh, that’s not it either, how can words say exactly what you want sometimes and sometimes nothing at all?

Winner of the Humane Society’s KIND Book Award
Winner of the ASPCA’s Henry Bergh Award
A BOOK SENSE 76 Top Ten Summer Teen Reads pick
A selection of the Junior Library Guild
A selection of the Children’s Literature Choice List for 2003

Kathe Koja website