Dog - Softcover

Daniel Pennac is one of the most translated authors in France, with books for both adults and children appearing in more than thirty languages. DOG, originally published in 1982, was his first children’s book. "I’m not an expert when it comes to dogs," he says. "I’m just a friend. Perhaps I’ve got a bit of dog in me. I was born on the same day as my first dog. We grew up together." Daniel Pennac lives and teaches in Paris.

Sarah Adams also translated Daniel Pennac’s EYE OF THE WOLF, which was recognized as an IBBY Honor Book for writing in translation. She was born in Brussels and now lives in London. As well as translating books from French, she works as a travel writer, theater critic, and arts journalist.

"What's a pedigree?" asked Dog.

"It's an idea invented by humans," replied Sniffy scornfully, "and it's completely fake." . . .

"Are you a pedigree?" Dog asked Woolly.

Woolly managed a feeble smile. "I have every kind of pedigree in me. I'm related to any dog you care to mention. Even Sniffy here, who doesn't look a bit like me. Even you. . . ."

"Don't you have an owner?"

The smile vanished from Woolly's face. A long silence followed. A very long silence indeed. Finally Woolly said, "I used to have a mistress. . . ."

Silence.

"And?"

Silence.

"I lost her."

The sun was high in the sky. It was stiflingly hot under the great metal roof of the dog pound. There were a lot of tongues hanging out.

"What d'you mean, lost her?"

"Just that. I went out for a walk one evening and when I came back the next morning, she was gone. The apartment was empty. She'd moved out." . . .

"But didn't you follow her smell?" asked Dog, amazed.

"What good would it have done? If she didn't want me anymore, what was the point?" . . .

After a while Woolly said in a thoughtful voice, "Anyway, it's my fault. I didn't train her properly—"

Their conversation was interrupted by something Dog would never forget. Something that's made him call out every night ever since. The main gate swung open onto the setting sun. A black van reversed through the gate into the dog pound. Ten men wearing leather gloves jumped out. They opened a whole row of cages, grabbed hold of the dogs, and hurled them into the van. The director of the dog pound watched the whole operation with a blank smile on his face. The dogs were kicking with all four legs and barking and biting. But it was over in a flash, and nothing they did made any difference. The van took off again. The gates closed behind it.

There was a deathly silence. A gust of Total Terror had just blown through. All the dogs were looking at the row of empty cages.