I, Cosmo

by Carlie Sorosiak

Overview

A golden retriever narrates a hilarious, heart-tugging tale of a dog and his humans as he tries to keep his family together while everything around them falls apart.

Ever since Cosmo became a big brother to Max ten years ago, he’s known what his job was: to protect his boy and make him happy. Through many good years marked by tennis balls and pilfered turkey, torn-up toilet paper and fragrant goose poop, Cosmo has doggedly kept his vow. Until recently, his biggest problems were the evil tutu-wearing sheepdog he met on Halloween and the arthritis in his own joints. But now, with Dad-scented blankets appearing on the couch and arguing voices getting louder, Cosmo senses a tougher challenge ahead. When Max gets a crazy idea to teach them both a dance routine for a contest, how can Cosmo refuse, stiff hips or no? Max wants to remind his folks of all the great times they’ve had together dancing — and make them forget about the “d” word that’s making them all cry. Told in the open, optimistic, unintentionally humorous voice of a golden retriever, I, Cosmo will grab readers from the first page — and remind them that love and loyalty transcend whatever life throws your way.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781536219081
Publisher:	Candlewick Press
Publication date:	03/30/2021
Pages:	304
Product dimensions:	5.40(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.00(d)
Lexile:	700L (what's this?)
Age Range:	8 - 12 Years

About the Author

Carlie Sorosiak is the author of two novels for young adults, If Birds Fly Back and Wild Blue Wonder. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

Read an Excerpt

1.

This year I am a turtle. I do not want to be a turtle.
“His tail’s between his legs,” Max notes, cocking his head. Worry spreads across his wonderful face. “You think the hat’s too tight?”
We are on the porch, and the strange pumpkin is smiling at us — the one Max carved last week, scooping out its guts. I ate the seeds even though he told me “No, Cosmo, no.” I find it difficult to stop myself when something smells so interesting and so new.
Max’s father, whose name is Dad, readjusts the turtle vest on my back. “Nah, he’s fine. He loves it! Look at him!”
This is one of those times — those infinite times — when I wish my tongue did not loll in my mouth. Because I would say, in perfect human language, that turtles are inferior creatures who cannot manage to cross roads, and I have crossed many roads, off-leash, by myself. This costume is an embarrassment.
At a loss, I roll gently onto my back, kicking my legs in the air. An ache creaks down my spine; I am not young like I used to be. But hopefully Max will understand the subtle meaning in my gesture.
“Dad, I really think he doesn’t like it.”
Yes, Max! Yes!
Scratching the fur on his chin, Dad says to me, “Okay, okay, no hat, but you’ve gotta keep the shell.”
And just like that, a small victory.
Emmaline bursts onto the porch then. She is all energy. She glows. “Cosmooooo.” Her little hands ruffle my ears, and it reminds me why I am a turtle in the first place — because Emmaline picked it out. Because it made her happy. I’ve long accepted that this is one of my roles.
Max grabs Emmaline’s hand and spins her around, like they’re dancing. Her purple superhero cape twirls with the movement. Last week, I helped Mom make the costume: guarding the fabric, keeping watch by her feet, and every once and a while, she held up her progress and asked me, “Whaddya think, Cosmo?”
A wonder, I told her with my eyes. It is a wonder.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Mom?” Max asks. He is dressed in dark colors, patches on his shirt, and I suppose he is a cow or a giraffe, although I do not like thinking of him as either. Giraffes are remarkably stupid creatures, and Max is very, very smart. He can speak three languages, build model rockets, and fold his tongue into a four-leaf clover. He can even unscrew the lids off peanut butter jars. I’d like to see a giraffe do that.
Dad replies, “She’s late. Don’t want to miss all the good candy.”
Max says, “I just think —”
But Dad cuts him off with “Ready, Freddy,” which he is fond of saying, despite the fact that Max is called Max. After a pause, the four of us set off into the bluish night. Our house is a one-story brick structure with plenty of grass and a swing set that only Emmaline uses now. Paper lanterns line the driveway, lighting up the cul-de-sac.
The fur on the back of my neck begins to rise.
Halloween is the worst night of the year. If you disagree, please take a moment to consider my logic:
1. Most Halloween candy is chocolate. My fourth Halloween, I consumed six miniature Hershey’s bars and was immediately rushed to the emergency vet, where I spent four hours with an incredible tummy ache.
2. Young humans jump out from behind bushes and yell “Boo!” This is confusing. One of my best friends, a German shorthaired pointer, is named Boo.
3. Clowns.
4. Golden retrievers, like myself, are too dignified for costumes. I am not entirely opposed to raincoats if the occasion arises, but there is a line. For example, Mom bought me a cat costume once, and I have yet to wholly recover from the trauma.
5. The sheepdog is let loose.
Allow me to elaborate on this fifth point. I have never had an appetite for confrontation — not even when I was a puppy. But I make an exception for the sheepdog.
Five Halloweens ago, on a night just like this, Max and I approached a white-shingled house at the end of the street. A big, blocky van idled by the mailbox, and a roast-chicken smell wafted from two open windows. I knew immediately that we had new neighbors — the old neighbors were strictly beef-eaters. An eerie quietness settled over the street, a dark cloud moving to block the moon. So quick that I did not even see it coming, the sheepdog emerged from behind a massive oak tree in their front yard. It was wearing an ominous pink tutu and fairy wings, its gray-and-white fur standing on end.
My immediate reaction was empathy — hadn’t we both succumbed to the same costumed fate? I began to trot over in my bunny outfit, intent on bowing in commiseration, and then welcoming it to the neighborhood with a friendly sniff of its butt. What happened next was not friendly. I have never seen anything like it in my thirteen years.
The sheepdog bared its teeth, a menacing snarl directed straight at me . . . And I swear its eyes glowed red.
I was horrified.
There are few things that truly frighten me: trips in the back of pickup trucks, the vacuum (the sound, the sharp smell, the way things disappear inside it), and anytime Max or Emmaline are in danger. That night, as the sheepdog cast a final red-eyed glance in my direction, its ears back and incisors gleaming, I added one more thing to the list.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Editorial Reviews

Cosmo's narration combines wit, heart, stubbornness, and a grouchy dignity, all ably tugging at funny bones and heartstrings alike. Sorosiak's author's note is a joyful celebration of dogs' hidden humanity, one that's reflected in her joyfully and painfully realistic tale of a struggling family and doggedly persistent canine companion...Love might not last forever, but it can certainly teach an old dog new tricks.
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

Sorosiak (Wild Blue Wonder) offers Cosmo a combination of wisdom and innocence that feel truly dog-like as his warm voice conveys Max and Cosmo’s mutual affection—the steady and heartwarming constant in both their lives. Touching, bittersweet, and true, this book will appeal to anyone who has loved a pet.
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Told from the point of view of Cosmo, this tender middle-grade tale about the love between a human and a dog will touch the heart of animal-lovers everywhere. Cosmo and Max are a special duo, and together they learn that no matter what may happen at home, there’s nothing like the love between special friends. A must-read for dog fans.
—Booklist Online

Like any good dog, Cosmo is so funny, friendly, and loyal that he quickly became a dear friend, so much so that when I finished reading the book, I missed hearing his voice and picturing his shaggy face. Come back, Cosmo!
—Jim Gorant, author of the New York Times bestseller The Lost Dogs

This striking middle-grade debut is a love letter to dogs everywhere. Readers will cheer for Cosmo and Max with all their hearts. I, Cosmo soars!
—Ali Standish, author of The Ethan I Was Before

From the Publisher

★ 2019-07-14
Cosmo has the soul of a dancer. There's just one problem—dogs can't dance…can they?

Ever since Mom and Dad picked him out of the litter 13 years ago, Cosmo has vowed to protect the Walker family, whom he loves more than anything, until his dying day. Trouble lurks, however, behind the household's closed doors. Mom and Dad are fighting more and more, leaving 12-year-old Max, his younger sister, Emmaline, and Cosmo scared and confused, wary of the dreaded d-word, divorce, hounding their heels. When Mom's brother, Reggie, returns from Afghanistan and brings Max and Cosmo to a special club for dogs, the inseparable pair discovers that dancing may be the only way to try and hold the family together. Cosmo must battle shyness, the pains of age, and demonic neighborhood sheepdogs (both real and imagined) to try and save what he and Max love most. Cosmo's narration combines wit, heart, stubbornness, and a grouchy dignity, all ably tugging at funny bones and heartstrings alike. Sorosiak's author's note is a joyful celebration of dogs' hidden humanity, one that's reflected in her joyfully and painfully realistic tale of a struggling family and doggedly persistent canine companion. The family itself is biracial (white dad, black mom), and both kids have brown skin and curly black hair.

Love might not last forever, but it can certainly teach an old dog new tricks. (Fiction. 8-12)

Kirkus Reviews