Sparky Helps Mary Make Friends

  Dedication

  To the fine folks at Hinsdale Humane Society,

  thanks for loving Rocky, Blade, and Sierra

  until we could call them ours.

  In memory of

  Carla Fisher

  The best dog trainer ever

  Your amazing advice lives on.

  Free educator’s guide at www.redchairpress.com/free-resources

  Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data

  Names: Rivadeneira, Caryn Dahlstrand, author. | Alpaugh, Priscilla, illustrator.

  Title: Sparky helps Mary make new friends / Caryn Rivadeneira ; illustrated by Priscilla Alpaugh.

  Description: [Egremont, Massachusetts] : Red Chair Press, [2020] | Series: Helper hounds | Interest age level: 006-009. | Includes fun facts and information about the mixed dog breed, Border collie and Bernese mountain dog. | Summary: “Mary’s new in town and worried about starting classes at a new school. So her mom called the Helper Hounds--and that is why Sparkplug, the wildly handsome, wickedly smart, world famous Helper Hound is on the scene.”--Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: ISBN 9781634407748 (library hardcover) | ISBN 9781634407779 (paperback) | ISBN 9781634407809 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Mixed breed dogs--Juvenile fiction. | First day of school--

  Juvenile fiction. | Moving, Household--Juvenile fiction. | Friendship--

  Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Dogs--Fiction. | First day of school--

  Fiction. | Moving, Household--Fiction. | Friendship--Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.R5761 Sp 2020 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.R5761 (ebook) | DDC [E]--dc23

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019935132

  Text copyright © Caryn Rivadeneira

  Copyright ©2020 Red Chair Press LLC

  RED CHAIR PRESS, the RED CHAIR and associated logos are registered trademarks of Red Chair Press LLC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in an information or retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical including photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission from the Publisher. For permissions, contact info@redchairpress.com

  Printed in Canada

  0819 1P FRSP20

  CHAPTER 1

  I raced to Tasha’s desk. I knew that “bing!” anywhere. It was the sound her computer made when we got a fresh case. I wagged my tail. It shook my whole body. I pressed my snout into Tasha’s side.

  “Easy, buddy,” Tasha said.

  I sat like a good dog. But I couldn’t stop my tail. It swooshed across the wood floor. Dust bunnies hopped away as my tail swept. Sweeping floors is one of the many things I am great at.

  My mouth opened into a huge smile. My tongue rolled out the side. I couldn’t help that either. Holy cow. This was exciting!

  “OK,” Tasha said. “Looks like we’ve got a new assignment for you.”

  I knew it! Tell me! Tell me! Who needs me?

  “There’s a little girl named Mary,” Tasha said.

  Mary. Mary. I like her already! Tufts of hair flew off my tail. (I may have been drooling. But that’s not important.)

  “Her mom got a new job,” Tasha said. Her eyes squinted at the screen. “The family just moved from Texas to Chicago. Mary’s starting at a new school and is pretty nervous. She’s worried about making new friends.”

  New job. Texas. Chicago. New school. New friends. Nervous. Got it!

  “This sounds perfect for you, Sparkplug,” Tasha said.

  I barked and put my front paws on her lap.

  “Yeah, Spark, you know all about moving and new homes and new friends, don’t you?”

  I barked again. I do. I know all about moving. Plus, another thing I’m great at? Meeting new friends. I can help Mary with that, no problem.

  “Should I say yes to this one, Spark?”

  My bottom wagged along with my tail. I barked twice.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Tasha said.

  Tasha is good at reading my mind. She knows me well.

  So our next adventure was about to begin. Tasha plunked on the keyboard and grabbed my red Helper Hound vest and name badge. My mission to help Mary with her new school jitters and make new friends was launching in 3-2-1…!

  CHAPTER 2

  Before we go, perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself. This is how I became a world-famous, card-carrying Helper Hound.

  I was born in a barn. My dad, Jasper, was a world-champion herding dog, a Border Collie from two farms over. He was great at rounding up sheep. Jasper was also good at roaming around the central Wisconsin farmlands.

  That’s where he met my mom, Betsy: a beautiful, prize-winning Bernese Mountain Dog, whose main job was to have puppies. Purebred Bernese Mountain Dog puppies, that is. Puppies, puppies, and more puppies.

  You’d think the lady who fed my mom would’ve been happy when my brothers, sisters, and I came along. But she wasn’t. Since our dad was a roaming Border Collie from two farms over and not a prize-winning Bernese Mountain Dog, Mom’s lady sneered at us. She called us “mutts” and “mongrels.” She never even pet us! Not that I remember.

  As soon as we were “ready,” which meant as soon as we were munching on puppy food and drinking water and sleeping away from Mom, the lady sent us all away. Normally she made people pay lots and lots of money for Mom’s fancy puppies, but since we were “worthless mutts,” she gave us to whomever would take us. For free.

  My first family only kept me for a couple of weeks. Today, I’m a champ at pooping and peeing in the yard. That little corner behind the garage is my favorite spot. It’s a fun surprise for the possums who walk back there. But when I was a little guy, I wasn’t so good at it. After a couple of “accidents”—at least that’s what humans call it, but I always remember peeing on purpose!—in the house, my first family decided I had to go. That’s OK. Their carpet was starting to smell funny anyway.

  So, off I went. This time, the family was a lot nicer. They admired my good looks. Which reminds me: have I already told you about my looks? My shiny black, brown, and white coat? The way my hair flows when I run? The way my white snout shows off the beautiful dirt I’m always rooting around in? Let’s just say I’m really handsome. Everyone says so. Even strangers at the park who don’t even know me.

  And this family even understood my brains. Mutt or no mutt, I come from quality Border Collie stock, and Border Collies are the smartest dogs. Don’t believe me? Google it.

  That family talked about how good I’d be in obedience classes. I’d be some sort of champion at jumping through hoops and weaving around poles, they said. But they never signed me up for those classes. I stayed in the apartment day after day, locked in a crate, bored out of my mind.

  I needed something to do. So I began tearing up the bedding and toys they put in my crate. I’d splash the water bowl on the floor around me. I’d pee and poop in my crate. Just to mix it up a little. A dog’s gotta live!

  And I kept growing. While I had my dad’s brains, I had my mom’s brawn. I got big. Too big for that crate. And too big to live in an apartment. At least, that’s what the family said when they dropped me off at the shelter, where I stayed in a kennel day in and day out.

  The shelter wasn’t home, but it wasn’t too bad. The people at the shelter were nice. They gave me fresh toys to play with and took me on long walks through woods on a hill. There were lots of other dogs to bark at. I pretended I was herding them all into that big outdoor kennel.

  But it was lonely. Th
e nights got long. All the dogs would howl and bark, hoping the workers and volunteers would come back. I’d just curl up and dream about rounding up sheep or helping humans. Something to use this big brain for.

  Then one day Tasha showed up.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tasha walked up and down the walkway outside the kennels, looking at all the dogs, reading their descriptions:

  7-year-old Shih Tzu-ish looking for a single adult to snuggle with.

  Not interested in kids or cats.

  4-year-old Mighty Mix looking for a sofa to sleep on.

  Good with cats, other dogs, and older kids.

  She stopped by me once. I sat my Good Dog Sit for her. I even stopped barking. Then I swished my tail to show her how good at sweeping I was. Tasha smiled, and I knew she was the human for me. And not just because her smile smelled like pizza. (But it did.)

  Tasha had pulled her hair into a tail that day. It stuck straight out the back of her head. She carried a clipboard and took notes as she read my card:

  9-month-old high-energy Border Collie mix looking for dedicated person.

  Happy to spend the day working, playing with kids, or training for agility.

  No cats need apply.

  I could tell this woman meant business. I like business. It means work.

  When Tasha walked on to the kennel next to me—where that Corker the Cocker Spaniel was always soaking her ears in her water bowl—

  I had to act. I couldn’t let this one get away.

  I barked. And barked and barked. If sitting nicely and sweeping handily wasn’t going to do it for her, maybe a little noise would.

  “You have something more to say there, umm, Sparkplug, is it?”

  Tasha came back!

  I did! I did! I barked again and spun to the back end of my kennel to get my blue barbell.

  “You like to play, do you?” Tasha asked.

  I barked and dropped the barbell. Holy cow! You bet I did.

  Tasha looked from side to side. I knew what she was doing. People weren’t supposed to reach their hands into our cages, but they always did if no workers were around.

  Then she reached under the cage and grabbed my barbell. I sat up straight, tongue out, eyes on the barbell. Tasha stood up, reached her arm over the kennel gate, and flung it to the back of my kennel.

  I spun around, jumped, and grabbed it. I trotted back and dropped my barbell at the kennel gate.

  “You’ve got a good play drive,” Tasha said. I didn’t know what that was. But I barked. I’m sure I did. “I better see if I can get you outside.”

  Tasha bent down to rub my nose. I noticed her name tag: Helper Hounds, it said. It had her picture on it—along with another dog. The dog in the picture—all muscle and boxy-headed and short-haired—wore a red vest that said Helper Hounds on it.

  I didn’t know what a Helper Hound was. But I wanted in. It sounded like just the job for me. Sometimes people called me “hound dog,” and I do like to help. (Remember my big brain?)

  Anyway, Tasha took me outside and walked me. I lifted my leg and peed on my favorite oak, just so Tasha would see how good I was at going to the bathroom outside. Tasha laughed and said something about my impressive leg flexibility.

  Then, Tasha ran me through all kinds of games of fetch. I don’t mean to brag, but I was amazing. Not only can I catch anything you throw at me, but I can get it back to you faster than you can say, “Get it, Sparkplug.”

  Tasha “taught” me some tricks. (Full disclosure: I’ve always known how to sit, lie down, roll over, and sit pretty. But I let her think she was teaching me how to do it. I get better treats that way.) Then she introduced me to her niece and nephew. They walked me and pet me and asked me to sit too. I liked those kids. And they liked me. All the while, Tasha would write down stuff on her paper. She smiled the whole time. So did I.

  Before I knew it, Tasha was taking me home. OK, OK, I was so excited that I peed on the floor a little bit. Right there in the lobby of the shelter. And then my tail flicked the puddle on Robin, my favorite friend there. But everyone just laughed and came out to hug and kiss and pet me goodbye. I’d made lots of friends at the shelter. They loved me. What can I say? I’m a very good boy and, as I mentioned, quite handsome.

  Tasha took me to those obedience classes I’d heard so much about. No surprise: I was the best dog in my class. I could do everything and anything. Sit. Stay. Sit-stay. Sit pretty. Heel. Here. Come. Down. Speak. Settle. Easy. Leave it. And I could do them all while also giving Fluffernutter the Chihuahua my world-class stink eye. I knew how badly she wanted my jerky treats.

  I graduated and went on to Canine Good Citizen classes. I was the best student there too. I got an award. After that, Tasha sent in my application—complete with a link to my Dog Tube account, which features videos of my skills—to Helper Hounds University.

  A few weeks later, Tasha’s computer binged. Tasha read me an email that told me I got in. No surprise there. But Tasha cried and hugged me. She was so proud.

  “Helper Hounds U is where dogs get their Helper Hounds magic,” Tasha said.

  I was pretty sure I already had magic. But I couldn’t wait to start.

  CHAPTER 4

  I’m a brave dog. But I got nervous when Tasha parked the car outside Helper Hounds U. I saw the dogs sitting still as statues while a man weaved his wheelchair through them. When he’d stop quickly in front of a dog, none of them stretched forward to sniff the guy’s knees. That is, until their person said, “OK.” Then they leaned in and gave kisses and got pets. These dogs were good!

  Tasha was nervous too. Did you know dogs can feel our people’s emotions through a leash? Well, we can. Feelings like fear or joy, being nervous or relaxed, all travel through leashes—and even the air. It’s weird but true!

  PRO TIP: When walking a dog, stay as relaxed as you can! It helps everyone stay calm.

  Anyway, I almost never feel Tasha getting nervous, but as we trotted up to the fence where the dogs were, Tasha’s jitters jolted into me. Helper Hounds U is a big deal. Dogs that don’t pass these classes don’t get to be Helper Hounds.

  To remind Tasha that she was here with the mighty Sparkplug, all handsome and smart and brave, I sat my perfect Good Boy Sit. Still as a statue. Even when Mr. Tuttle, my professor, walked up.

  “You must be Sparkplug,” Mr. Tuttle said.

  Mr. Tuttle smelled amazing, a mix of wet dog and hay, but also the pizza he had for lunch.

  Tasha told me “OK,” so I gave Mr. Tuttle my paw. Then I sat pretty for good measure. Mr. Tuttle knelt down to pet me. Then he gave me a big hug and held on for a while. I gave him two sniffs and then settled in. I don’t mind big hugs, but lots of dogs hate them.

  “Well done, Sparkplug,” Mr. Tuttle said. “Good dog.”

  My mouth opened into my best smile.

  Before taking me into the ring with the other dogs, Mr. Tuttle tested me on a couple of other exercises. Tasha said, “down,” and I lied down. Then she said “side,” so I rolled on to my side. Mr. Tuttle sat on the grass next to me, rubbed my belly (my favorite!), and put his head on my side and then leaned his whole body against mine.

  Lots of dogs hate this too. I don’t love it, but I don’t mind. Not if it helps somebody feel better.

  Mr. Tuttle petted me all over and told me what a good boy I was. He gave Tasha a thumbs-up and said, “I’m impressed.”

  Tasha grabbed my leash. I felt her joy. Then we went into the ring.

  I met Robber first. Today, Robber and I are buddies. We’ve gone on a million adventures together. But when I first met Robber, I didn’t know what to make of the guy. First of all, he’s huge. Robber weighs 120 pounds. That’s more than me and more than Tasha. Second of all, Robber smells like cows. No kidding! A dog that smells like a cow! Third of all, he’s got a stubby little tail. This makes it hard to know if he’s happ
y or nervous or just regular.

  I could tell Mr. Tuttle was watching me closely though, so when Robber trotted up, I sat my Good Boy Sit. I let Robber sniff me first. Then I sniffed him. Cow, cow, and a little hint of…goose? Robber stretched his front feet forward and thrust his bottom in the air, launching into a play-bow. I followed. We had a great time jumping and slobbering on one another.

  I only put my neck over his once or twice. I just wanted to show him I could be boss if I wanted to. But I didn’t want to be boss. I wanted to be a Helper Hound.

  After a couple of minutes, Tasha called me over and told me to sit. I did. Perfectly.

  Then Peach came over. She was about my size and easy to read. Her tail wagged nonstop. It was almost embarrassing. I mean, I know it’s great to meet me, but most dogs like to play it a little cooler than that.

  Peach didn’t care. She loved meeting new people and new dogs and was happy to show it. It made me feel great, actually.

  Peach and I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed. She must have rolled in some fresh skunk grass. She smelled amazing. Then we jumped and jumped and wrestled a little. Her tail never once stopped wagging. When Tasha called me over, I was panting. My tongue drooped way out the side of my mouth. Peach’s tongue drooped out too, but on her, it looked like a great big smile.

  I met lots of other dogs that day too. Some dogs were new, just like me. Others, like Robber and Peach, had been Helper Hounds for a while. They came back to practice their skills.

  At Helper Hounds U, we worked on commands like “leave it.” This is very important. Leave it means no matter how good that tissue on the floor smells, we ignore it. Same goes for cans or boxes or clothes or toys or anything that smells great.

  “Could be dangerous, Spark.” That’s what Tasha told me. I’m pretty sure I can smell danger, but she was only looking out for me, so I worked hard on ignoring everything on the ground. No matter how interesting it looked or smelled!

  We worked on cool things like listening and resting and just being calm even when people were nervous.