The Danforth Puppy is a book I wrote over several years for my friend Joie Maccarone, her dog Zorro, and her granddaughters. I’ve finally published it, dedicated to Joie and Zorro.
It was a hoot to write; I laugh, hard, at some of it myself. I’ve never written a kids book before. I thought that something the parents could enjoy, and not too mainstream, would be worth doing, and it was.
It’s a very short book by my standards, only 15,000 words.
Some excerpts:
Warily, the little kitten said, You know who that was? That was Revolting Rat! He’s the boss rat around here! I didn’t know he was so nasty, and I’ve lived here all my life!
(“All the kitten’s life” was about 3 months, at this point. Long enough to develop a real dislike for the ancient enemy of all cats.)
Should call him Revolting Pig. Such a bully! said the puppy.
Hey, dog, thanks for that, said the kitten, who’d by now calmed down and noticed the puppy wasn’t being at all threatening.
My pleasure, said the puppy, who was liking the little kitten’s beautiful fur and remembering a storybook about kittens the kids had been reading.
I’m Yonge, said the kitten. What’s your name?
(Note: Yonge is an old way of spelling the name, Young. It’s spelled that way because Canadians, and Torontonians, in particular, are peculiar.)
I’m… well, the people called me The Puppy, said the puppy, now wondering why he didn’t seem to have a name.
Well, mine’s the name of a street around here, explained Yonge. We use the street names if we’re not given any human-type names. Not that I’d want to be called some of those names, commented Yonge, cleaning an elegant little paw with his tongue.
True, agreed the puppy. He’d heard one dog called Munchies. Sounded like something people ate.
We can’t just call you The Puppy. You look like a full-grown dog, anyway. Tell you what, that big road there is called The Danforth. How’d you like to be called The Danforth Puppy? asked Yonge.
They were looking for somewhere to keep warm and get out of a cold wind when it happened. Danforth suddenly leaped into the air and spun a full circle.
Yonge! A monster! It’s got me…! explained Danforth, while in mid-air and spinning, followed by, Where is it? when he hit the ground again.
Something jumped on me, said Danforth, looking around for it.
Yonge, who was too cold to go chasing monsters, asked thoughtfully, You sure it wasn’t yourself?
Danforth played along: No. Do you think I’d do that?
Yes. I’m sure of it. It’s exactly the sort of thing you’d do if you got a chance, Yonge replied.
Oh…. Yes, you’re probably right. I should keep myself better informed… pondered Danforth, grinning.
“You jerk!” yelled one of the girls. “Why are you throwing things at that kitten? You could kill him!”
“Here kitty, the big dumb boy won’t hurt you…” said the other girl.
(Not that she was going to persuade Yonge to come out. Yonge had gone to ground under some old furniture in the yard.)
The other boy ran over to the one throwing things and yelled in his face, “If you do that again, forget about having me for a friend!”
“And me,” said the first girl.
“And me,” said the second.
The boy was embarrassed but tried to bluff his way out.
“Aw, come on, it’s just a cat…”
“And you’re just a big dumb bozo, but nobody’s trying to break your skull,” said the first girl.
“Hey! Look out!”
Yonge had taken advantage of the boy’s distraction. He leaped out and bit the annoying boy on the backside, very hard. The boy screamed and ran around with the fierce and not-so-cute kitten holding on. The other kids were laughing so hard that they couldn’t stand up.
…Sort of like that. Fun, fun, fun.
