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 Mark Twain Nominees: 2018-2019
 Mark Twain Nominee 2018-2019: Mark Twain Nominee 2018-2019
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 Gift Books FY 2017/2018: Book donated by the Frye family in loving memory of Kenneth Johnson
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Record details

Content descriptions

Summary, etc.:
"Fifth-grader Timminy, who's small for his age and new in town, isn't eager to start middle school--but he gets a great consolation prize in Maxi, a big, deaf, lovable dog"-- Provided by publisher.
Target Audience Note:
650L Lexile
Decoding demand: 90 (very high) Semantic demand: 100 (very high) Syntactic demand: 89 (very high) Structure demand: 87 (very high) Lexile
Study Program Information Note:
Accelerated Reader AR MG 4.1 7 184832.
Subject: Dogs > Juvenile fiction.
Friendship > Juvenile fiction.
Middle schools > Juvenile fiction.
Schools > Juvenile fiction.
Size > Juvenile fiction.
Mark Twain Award nominee, 2018-2019 > Juvenile literature.
Genre: Children's stories.

Syndetic Solutions - Excerpt for ISBN Number 0399545670
Maxi's Secrets : (or What You Can Learn from a Dog)
Maxi's Secrets : (or What You Can Learn from a Dog)
by Plourde, Lynn
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Maxi's Secrets : (or What You Can Learn from a Dog)

Chapter 1 Let's get this part over with--it's NO secret.      My dog Maxi dies.      Just like Old Yeller, Sounder, Old Dan, and Little Ann all died. Except those dogs were fiction. You cried, I cried when fake dogs died. Maxi was real.      So real, I can still sniff and get a whiff of her stinky dog breath--even though she's been gone for forty-one days now. Maybe it's because I haven't vacuumed a single strand of the white fur coat she left behind. And when your dog is a giant, that's enough fur to cover a baby polar bear. Her dried dog slobber is everywhere too--like a hundred tattoos she branded my room with so I wouldn't forget her     NO WAY I'd forget her.     I swear some nights I still hear Maxi nudging my bedroom door coming in to check on me after checking the rest of the house. With her guard duties done, she can plop down on my mattress. My mattress that's still on the floor because she couldn't climb up in bed with me anymore so I moved it down to her level.     But when I wake confused and open the door to let her in, there's just EMPTINESS. Emptiness that I rush to shut out, but I can't. Emptiness slips under the covers with me. Emptiness is cold, not dog-warm. Emptiness is silent, not dog-snoring. Emptiness stinks worse than a dog's breath. Emptiness stinks so bad it can suffocate you.     But you can't let it.     When I start to breathe again, I realize HAVING Maxi in my life will always be a bigger deal than losing Maxi. Her tail still thumps-thumps-thumps in my heart.     And that crazy dog taught me so much. You won't believe all the secrets she shared with me. Plus some other secrets she helped me dig up, deeper than buried bones, inside myself. And sniff out still more secrets from others.     Except, they're NOT secrets anymore since I'm telling you. That's okay cause Maxi would want you to know. She'd bark them to the world if she could.      If she were still here.   SECRET #1 You can learn a lot from a dog you love.     Chapter 2 To be honest, I never dreamed of getting a dog. Maxi was a bribe from my parents.     "We know you don't like the idea of moving, Timminy, but Skenago is out in the country. So guess what?" My mom looked at my dad, as if they'd rehearsed this, and he chimed in with her, "You can have a dog!"     I folded my arms. "No, thanks. I'll just stay here in Portland, in our apartment. You two can move to Skenago and get a dog to keep you company. I'm not going."     Yup. Even as a fourth grader, I was lippy. That happens when you're short--you're always trying to find ways to sound and act BIGGER.     My parents usually called me out for being a wise-mouth, but I knew they wouldn't that time because they wanted me to move more than they wanted me to shut my trap.     It worked. They won. The landlord wouldn't take my piggybank for rent money so we all moved to the house in the country. I hated moving, although Maxi was the ultimate consolation prize. Besides, I doubt Maxi would have survived the busy streets of Portland with her disability.      I'm not sure Maxi ever realized she had a disability--not once in her whole short life. We didn't notice when we first got her, and by the time we figured it out, it didn't matter.      My parents didn't return me to Maine Med where I was born, when they realized years later, that I took after my great-great uncle Lex and was short, really , really short--in the .001 percentile of height for kids my age (Notice I said KIDS--I'm not just short for boys my age, but girls too). Poor Great-great Uncle Lex owned a meat market and had to stand on a wooden crate to see over the counter to wait on his customers. You'll be glad to know I've already crossed butcher off my future dream-jobs list.     No, if my parents didn't bring me back to the hospital when they found out what was wrong with me, I wouldn't bring Maxi back to the breeder's just because of her disability.     Actually, the first time I met Maxi, I didn't see anything wrong with her, and she didn't see anything wrong with me either, I guess.     My parents and I stepped inside the circular wire fence for a closer look at the seven pups for sale in the litter. One puppy began circling me, keeping the others away. I scooped it up--nose to snout-- and . . .     Smooch! Slurp!     "This is the one," I told my parents.      "But what about one of the boys?" Dad asked.      "Dad, I'm your boy. Time to mix things up with a girl."     "Are you sure? This is the first puppy ad we've answered," Mom whispered so the breeder wouldn't hear. "And we have three more places to check. Maybe we should see those first."     Maxi wouldn't stop licking me.     "She's crazy about me, Mom."     "But some of the other breeds we're looking at are . . . different . . . they're not quite as . . . um . . ."     "Spit it out, Mom--BIG! The other breeds aren't as big as Great Pyrenees. You're worried your puppy will grow up to be bigger than your son."     "I was going to say white , Timminy. It'll be hard to keep a white dog clean."     I made Mom a bunch of kid promises. "I'll give her a bath twice a week. I'll brush her teeth so you can't tell where her white fur ends and her white teeth begin."     Then I really piled it on." Puhleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease! You moved me to this new town where I'm all alone and have no friends. This pup is all I've got."     Dad looked at Mom. "Give it up, Lynda. You've already lost this one."     "Thanks, Dad," I said, grateful that I didn't have to turn on the tears. I would have if I had to.      After they paid and we were loading Maxi (Maxi--who didn't have the name Maxi yet, but I can't just call her IT , can I?) into our car, Dad opened the back hatch.     "I'll just hold her in the backseat with me," I said.     "No, Timminy. She's going back here in the crate we brought."     "That's mean, Dad. Look, she's shivering. She's never been away from her pack before. If I hold her, she'll know she still has a pack, just a new one."     Mom piped in, "But what if she does her "business' in the car?"     "She won't. Let's see if she has to go now. And if she still goes in the car, I'll clean it up."     My parents looked skeptical, but didn't say anything as I led Maxi around the breeder's yard with a leash. Actually, she led me around the yard as she stopped to sniff every two feet . . .     two feet, sniff,     two feet, sniff-sniff,     two feet, sniff-sniff-sniff,     two feet, sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff-squat-pee .     Success! I was prouder than the first time I peed by myself on the potty chair.     "See, Mom."     I climbed into the backseat with Maxi.     "Lynda?" Dad looked at Mom for permission to drive off.     "Kenneth?" Mom threw the question right back at him.     "Oh, okay," he sighed. "Are you buckled up back there?"     "The two-legged one is buckled. Not sure how to buckle the four-legged one."     Dad gave me one of those looks in the rearview mirror. I shut my trap before he decided to put me in the crate.      As we headed home, the more Maxi quivered, the tighter I held her. I was hoping she'd doze off, but instead she started whining. So I held her even tighter. Too tight, I guess.       Squeezed something right out of her.     I froze, hoped no one would notice.     But Mom sniffed and looked at Dad. "Kenneth, is that you?"     "Not me," said Dad.     "Kenneth?" She didn't believe him. Whenever Dad cuts the cheese, he always denies it and says, "First one who smelled it must have dealt it."     When Dad didn't give his "smelled it" line, Mom realized he wasn't the one who dealt it.     "Timminy!" they both shouted.     "Wasn't me."     "The puppy!" My parents were getting good at talking in unison.     "Why don't they make diapers for puppies?" I asked. "After all, they're just babies . "   SECRET #2 Sometimes love stinks.     Chapter 3 So how did Maxi end up with the name Maxi?     First you have to know my dad has always been the NAMER in our family. It wasn't a male dominance kind of thing for Dad. "Ugh! Me Kenneth, me nameth." Nah! It's just he really liked naming things. He was into genealogy and a lifetime member of I may not like the names my dad comes up with, but I've gotta give him credit for being the hardest-working Namer I know.     Take my name, Timminy. Dad wanted to honor our families when he named me so he studied his and mom's family trees. He should have saved himself some work and just named me Great-great Uncle Lex the Second--except he didn't know then I'd grow up to be a shorty. After all, all babies are short. They're measured in INCHES!     He decided in the end to call me Timminy in honor of two great-great grandfathers. On Mom's side, my great-great-grandfather Timotheus, who'd been a preacher and whose name meant "valued by God." Maybe Dad thought he'd be guaranteeing me a ticket to heaven with that part of my name. The other part was from Dad's side, my great-great-grandfather Minyamin, which meant "right-hand son." I'm LEFT-handed, which Dad didn't know when I was a baby.     So in the end, half of TIMotheus plus half of MINYamin equals TIMMINY. That's me.     When you have a name no one has heard before, you're called other things . . . TimOTHy (even when teachers read it on their class lists, they usually say OTH instead of IN--and they're supposed be teaching me how to read?!) Some shorten it to Timmi (a little too cutesy for my taste with that i at the end). And then there's the nickname Minny. I didn't mind "Minny" when I was young, but for a kid my size it stinks big time now (bigger even than Maxi stinks when she does her business).     But enough about me. What about Maxi's name? Dad was determined to name her "Maxine" after my great-great aunt Maxine who owned twenty-three dogs at one time, although I protested.     "Dad, you can't name this puppy "Maxine.'"     "Maxine, it is." Dad said. "I've researched carefully. Great-great Aunt Maxine would be most honored--God rest her soul."     "Dad, this puppy would be most embarrassed--God wouldn't stick her with a name that OLD. What will the other puppies in the neighborhood think?"     "I've made up my mind, Timminy."     I didn't fight him. I just started calling her Maxi.     When Dad said, "But her name's really Maxine," I answered, "Yeah, but she doesn't look like a "Maxine" yet--we can call her that when she's an old girl. Maxi is a good nickname for a puppy."     Of course, I had no way of knowing then that Maxi would never get to be an old girl.     I also had no way of knowing then that it didn't matter WHAT we called her . . . Maxine, Maxi, Backseat Pooper--since she never once heard us say her name.   SECRET #3 Sometimes all the energy you put into something you think matters, doesn't matter one bit.     Chapter 4 So how long did it take us to realize Maxi was deaf?     Longer than you'd think.     We were busy unpacking from our move and checking out our new town. Skenago's corner store sold more than fifty flavors of homemade fudge and it had a drive-in movie theater--none of us had ever been to a drive-in so we went twice in one week and saw the SAME movie.     Plus we were puppy newbies and busy with all that feeding-walking-peeing-pooping stuff. It's not easy. I gained new respect for Great-great Aunt Maxine, the Queen of Canines. How'd she handle twenty-three dogs at once? I could hardly handle one.     Take Maxi out--nothing happens.     Take Maxi back out--nothing happens.     Take Maxi back out again--nothing happens.     Take Maxi in--SOMETHING!     Poor Great-great Aunt Maxine! That must have been SOMETHING to take care of all those dogs' SOMETHINGS!     Besides figuring out Maxi's bathroom schedule, I tried to learn all I could about her breed.     Great Pyrenees were bred to guard livestock and make sure no big bad wolves snuck up at night and got them. Poor Maxi! Dad, Mom, and I were her only livestock. She'd try to gather us into one room so we'd be easier to guard, but we weren't very cooperative. I'd be playing games in my room, Mom would be reading in her room, Dad would be watching the History Channel in the living room, and Maxi would be roaming room to room to room. Sometimes, we'd yell, "Pig pile," and run and crash on Dad. Then Maxi only had to walk around and around the couch to keep us safe from those big bad wolves. Good girl!     Great Pyrenees are also super smart. Just what I, a smarty pants, deserved. They were bred to think for themselves. That's why it takes them longer to learn to follow commands.     We also didn't know anyone else with a Pyr (that's the short name for Great Pyrenees) to compare our experiences to. I read stuff online, the vet told us more stuff, but the best place was the I Love Great Pyrenees Facebook page. Dad found it and shared their posts with me     EVERY.     SINGLE. DAY.     (Don't tell Dad, but I'm glad he did. It was sort of like our own Secret Dog Club.)     "Jiminy Criminy, Timminy, take a gander at this one."     Poor Dad! Still stuck in Pinocchio Land talking about Jiminy Cricket. And who uses the word gander? My dad does. If you bothered to ask him, (what was I thinking!) he'd say, "Gander , as a verb, has American origins, around 1900, and came from the idea of a male goose stretching its long neck to get a better look at something."     So I took a gander over Dad's shoulder. "Wow! Look at that one." The Facebook photo showed a giant Pyr sitting on a woman's lap with the words "My baby!"     "It seems all Pyrs, no matter their size, think they're lapdogs." Dad laughed, then pointed.     "Check out the comments. Everyone's saying how much their Pyrs weigh . . . 146 pounds . . . 151 . . ."     I jumped in. "This one's only 109 pounds. But that one says 139, 183, 164. Yikes--192!     "Don't tell your mother. She doesn't need to know how big Maxi might get."     Just then Mom walked by. "Don't tell me what?" she asked.      "Nothing, Lynda," said Dad. "Just a guy secret     Mom sighed, patted Maxi who was lying at Dad's feet, and said, "Well, then Maxi and I won't tell you our gal secret--that the average adult female Pyr weighs 85-115 pounds and gains up to ten pounds a month during the first year. But, shhhhh , Maxi, don't yip a word of it to the guys." Mom walked off.     "How's she do that, Timminy? How's your mom get me every single time?"     "Um . . . Dad, you forget moms have eyes in the back of their heads, plus it looks to me like you leave the door wide open for her to walk right in and get you     EVERY.     SINGLE.     TIME."     "Come on, Maxi." Dad tugged on her collar. "Let's go for a walk. You're the only one in this house who doesn't give me any lip."   SECRET #4 Something can stare you in the face and you still can't see it. Better take another gander. Excerpted from Maxi's Secrets: (Or What You Can Learn from a Dog) by Lynn Plourde All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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