Coop For Keeps: Another Story About Coop The Great

by Larry Verstraete

Overview

For Coop, adjusting to a new home after being adopted by Zach, Emma and their mother, Jess, is not easy. It's hard enough being a lowly dachshund, but it's even harder when your home is a financially unstable guesthouse with smelly strangers drifting in and out. Worse still, the unhappy teenager in charge of Coop is steaming mad much of the time. On top of that, Lucinda, the annoying cat, likes to tease and torment. It's no wonder Coop wishes he could have his old life back.
Enter a murder of crows, a stranger with a mysterious past, two bullies bent on making Zach's life miserable, and a vicious dog with a grudge against Coop. As the risks and challenges mount, Coop's wish only grows stronger. Will he ever find the forever home he so desperately wants?
A follow-up to Coop The Great !
- MYRCA Sundog Nominee
- Best Books for Kids and Teens
- Highly Recommended, CM Magazine

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781773371139
Publisher:	Great Plains Press
Publication date:	04/09/2024
Series:	Coop The Great , #2
Pages:	208
Product dimensions:	6.38(w) x 8.44(h) x 0.50(d)
Age Range:	8 - 12 Years

About the Author

Larry Verstraete is an award-winning Winnipeg author of eighteen books of fiction and non-fiction for kids and teens. A former middle-years teacher with a penchant for storytelling, his books have been on recommended reading lists and have received honours ranging from the McNally Robinson's Book of the Year for Young People Award to BC's Red Cedar Award and Ontario's Silver Birch Award for Non-fiction.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

My last night at Derby Animal Shelter, I couldn't sleep. Not just because the room reeked of urine, thanks to Buck, my roommate. And not only because the fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, casting creepy shadows across the cold concrete floor.

Of all the reasons I couldn't sleep, the thought of morning topped the list. Another open house. Another round of visitors sweeping through the building, eager to adopt a dog to suit their needs. Not too old. Not too short. Definitely not fat. Gotta be smart and oozing personality. The list was endless.

Derby Animal Shelter was a no-kill facility. More than a dozen dogs lived there. Some had strayed from their homes and were found wandering the streets. Others, like me, had been rejected by their owners. Across the hall, behind a cinder block wall, lived a gazillion cats. I'm exaggerating of course, but judging by the volume of the non-stop wailing coming from their quarters, it was an impossibly high number. Probably it was closer to thirty or forty. Too many.

Every Saturday, visitors paraded through Derby. Many peered into my room, shook their heads, and dropped comments as if I couldn't hear or understand. Worse yet, many laughed. "Look! A wiener dog! A sausage meister! A teenie weenie! Ha, ha!"

I knew what the visitors were saying. The way they sneered, snickered, pointed, rolled their eyes, and nudged each other with their elbows. I knew ridicule more than anything.

Ruth, the short lady with the braided hair and quick laugh who toured visitors through Derby, tried to cover for me. "His name is Cooper. He's a small dachshund. Dachshunds might look odd, but they make wonderful pets."

A wonderful pet. Me? You're kidding.

That night, Buck snored like a buzz saw. He was a recent arrival, not much more than a pup. Even though I tried to explain the routine to him, he just stared dozy-eyed at me. It didn't take long to figure out that although Buck had long legs and gorgeous brown hair with white markings, his head was hollow. Dumb as a cat, that one. And without much bladder control either.

When the first visitors arrived, Buck strutted past the window that separated our room from the hallway. I collapsed on my blanket in the corner, too tired to hope or care.

Within minutes, a couple with two kids stopped by. Buck wagged his tail, pranced and danced. Such a ham.

The boy tapped the window. The girl tugged the woman's sleeve. The lady shook her head, then shrugged. She nudged the man beside her. He leaned towards Ruth to say a few words.

When Ruth opened the door and led Buck into the hall, she glanced at me and shook her head. "Maybe next time, Cooper."

Not likely.

The little girl brushed Buck's silky hair. "He's so cute," she cooed.

"Please," the boy pleaded. "Can we keep him?"

"Promise you'll take care of him?" the woman asked.

They reminded me of my last owners. When they adopted me, they were happy and excited too. It didn't last long. A month.

I pushed back the awful memories. Some things are best left forgotten. Instead, I pretended to share Buck's joy. I wagged my tail and circled him.

"You're going to miss Buck, aren't you?" Ruth said.

Not really.

Of course, I couldn't tell her, at least not in words the way humans do. I couldn't tell that family what they were really getting. Dumb. Dumb. Really dumb.

By noon, the crowd had thinned. Only a few visitors trickled past my window. And then they stopped coming entirely. Silence settled along the hallway. I slept, exhausted from my long night of worry.

Then I heard the click of a latch. Down the hall, a door squealed open. Barks and howls erupted from every room.

Two figures shuffled into view. Ruth and a giant of an old man. He towered above Ruth, so tall he had to bend down to speak to her. They peered through my window. Ruth said something to the old man. He smiled, nodded, and rubbed a gnarled hand across his narrow face. A moment later, they moved on.

It was impossible to sleep now. Too much noise. Too much anxiety. I waited for the ordeal to end. Then, unexpectedly, I heard a tap on the window. Ruth and the old man had returned.

The man smiled and winked. Then he waved. He turned to Ruth to say a few words. Ruth frowned. She started to say something, then nodded.

Ruth opened the door and stooped to click a leash onto my collar. "Come, Cooper," she said, tugging me gently.

My legs ached, worse that day than some others. I shook off the stiffness, ignored the pain in my back, and wobbled after Ruth. Partway, I stopped. My blanket. I veered back and snatched it with my teeth. I followed Ruth into the hall, the blanket trailing between my legs.

Ruth smiled. "Almost forgot it, didn't you Cooper?" She shook her head. "He won't go anywhere without it."

The man reached down, then straightened again as if bending was too much of an effort. I examined his shoes, so large, so scuffed and weathered. I scanned higher, up his wrinkled pants, past his checkered shirt, way up to a head that seemed to touch the ceiling. A mop of grey hair topped a leathery face.

The man drew deep breaths as he squatted. It seemed to take him forever to fold his knees, and his joints creaked as if they needed a slug of oil to grease them.

With his face close to mine, I saw things I had missed earlier. Wrinkles creasing his brow. Skin sagging under his chin. Puffy tissue under his cloudy blue eyes.

You can tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes. Human eyes are like windows without shades. They reveal a person's mood. With eyes, you can tell if the person is happy or sad, curious or bored, friendly or mean. The man's eyes shared their secrets with me. I found gentleness there, but also sadness.

"Hello Cooper."

The man caressed my ears with long, knobby fingers. He ran his huge hand along my back. Then he slid his fingers down my side, skimming the bald patch just above my rear leg.

The wound had healed months ago, but I flinched anyway. Call it instinct. Or maybe it was conditioning. Or was it habit? Humans have so many words to describe things.

"Cooper's been here a while," Ruth said. "Most people don't want an old dog, especially one with medical issues." She eyeballed me and lowered her voice. "He's a good dog, but he's had a rough go of it. The last adoption ... Well, let's just say, there were a few problems."

The man nodded. He reached out and patted my head. "There, there," he said. His voice was soft but gravelly, as if his throat could use a drop of oil, too.

"Cooper keeps to himself. He's very quiet. I don't think he's barked once since he arrived here. I'm not even sure he can." Ruth looked at the old man. "I suppose that's a good thing."

The man smiled. I leaned into his hand. Then I stuffed my muzzle into his crotch and inhaled deeply.

Crotches are ripe places, rich in odours. Each crotch smells special. They are as unique as fingerprints and the fastest way for dogs to know a person.

I'm not sure why, but many humans dislike this. They push away, leap back, or hold their hands in front of their crotch as if protecting something valuable.

Not this man. He let me linger. While I sniffed and memorized his features, he stroked my fur. His fingers skimmed my scar. This time I didn't flinch.

"There, there," he said again.

"Have you owned a dog before?" Ruth asked.

The man smiled. "No, can't say I have. I guess there's a first time for everything."

My heart stopped. A rookie. Wouldn't you know it.

CHAPTER 2

After filling out some paperwork, the old man and I were outside, breathing fresh air and sloshing through puddles from the latest downpour. The man had a strange walk. With each step of his right leg, he took two small ones with his left. He carried the blanket in one hand and gripped my leash in the other. We splashed along, my short legs barely keeping up.

Like teetering ships, we veered across the parking lot to the only car there — a rust bucket if ever there was one. The rear bumper was missing. A string of dents lined the trunk. A few dings pocked the passenger door. When the man opened it, a chunk of rust fell to the pavement.

He tossed the blanket inside. "Go ahead, Cooper."

I looked at the impossibly high seat. You have to be kidding.

The man chuckled. "Well, I guess you'll need a hand."

He reached down and scooped me up. As he hoisted me onto the seat, the colour drained from his face. He grabbed the door to brace himself. "Oh, my," he wheezed.

He stood there for a moment, propped up against the door, drawing deep breaths. Rain pelted his head, trickled down his neck, and soaked his jacket.

Slowly the colour returned. "There. That's better."

While he ambled over to the driver's side, I inspected the interior. Sun-bleached upholstery. Cracked vinyl dashboard. Chipped windshield. Shabby, just like the outside.

And filled with odours, too. Mostly the scent of pine from the tiny tree that dangled from the mirror. But there was also the delicious smell of bacon from a large paper bag on the back seat. And something else. A faint odour from the upholstery where I sat. I sniffed, inhaling the sweet aroma. Perfume. Very faint, but still there.

The man climbed in, dug his cellphone out of his pocket, and placed it on the console. Shifting gears, he screeched out of the parking stall and wheeled onto the street. The paper bag in the rear tipped. I glanced back just in time to see a head of lettuce and a brick of cheese tumble to the floor, followed by an entire chicken encased in plastic wrap. My mouth watered.

The windshield wipers fluttered briskly, barely keeping up with the downpour. The old man dodged puddles, weaved past slower cars, and steered around potholes. When he screeched to a stop at a red light, I dug my heels into the seat, but it was too little, too late. I slipped off, smacked into the dash, and slid to the floor.

"Sorry about that, Cooper." The old man leaned over to scoop me up. "I suppose I am a bit of a speed demon. I might have trouble walking, but put me behind the wheel and I am a NASCAR driver."

He returned me to the seat and ran his fingers over my ears. "Are you okay?"

I leaned into his soft touch. Yeah. I'm fine.A little shook up, but I'll know better next time.

"Guess we never had a proper introduction," the old man said. "I'm Michael." He looked at me, then shook his head. "Tell you what. We're both off to fresh starts. Forget Michael. It's Mike from now on. And you ..." He rubbed his chin. "I think Coop is a better name for you. Mike and Coop. Yeah, that sounds right."

Sure. Why not? Add it to the list.

I've had many names. Oscar. Rusty. Flint. Clint. I forget the others. With each adoption, the new owner tried to erase the memory of the previous one. New name. New identity. Fresh start.

Coop? Yeah, I could live with that.

Mike rolled down my window and stuffed a cushion under me so I could hang my head out. "Go ahead, Coop. The air is free."

As we fired past rows of neat houses with carefully kept lawns, rain soaked my muzzle. Wind whipped my ears. A buffet of smells hit my nose — wet leaves, soggy grass, and, around one corner, the delightful scent of decaying compost.

We tore past a school, a grocery store, and several people huddled under umbrellas at a bus stop. As we rounded a corner, the phone rang. Mike glanced down and shook his head. He let it ring as he roared down the street. A few houses later, he slipped into a driveway and braked inches from a lopsided garage door.

"Jess? Is that you?"

A voice percolated through the phone. I cocked my head to one side to hear better but couldn't make out the words.

Mike frowned. He shifted the phone to his other ear. "Now, Jess. Slow down. Tell me again. Rick did what this time?"

The frown deepened. "What about Emma and Zach? Are they okay?"

They talked for a while longer. Mike said Rick's name several times, usually with a frown or heavy sigh.

"Do what you need to do, Jess." Mike said, ending the call. "Give my love to the kids."

He shook his head and stared out the window. Then he opened the door and shuffled around the car. "Go ahead, Coop." He lifted me up and plopped me onto wet grass twice my height.

I glanced back.

"Don't worry. I'll bring your blanket."

I thought of bolting. But really, where would I go? And why? At my age and with my legs, I wouldn't get far. Besides, Mike had my blanket.

As I trudged up the crooked steps to the front door, Mike watched, a smile on his face.

"Ready?"

CHAPTER 3

Mike padded across a worn carpet, groceries tucked under one arm. "What do you think, Coop? Look around. This is your house, too."

We passed a grandfather clock and a tall mirror in the hallway. I caught a glimpse of us. Giant Mike, his head scraping the light fixture. Me, a long tube of brown fur perched on stubby legs with a whip for a tail.

We wove through the living room on our way to the kitchen. Pictures hung at odd angles along the wall. A spiderweb clung to the ceiling. A clump of unknown material — hair or lint or thread — drifted across the floor. It snagged my underbelly before moving on.

In the living room, I passed a maze of furniture — sagging sofas and worn chairs, a cabinet littered with knickknacks and pictures, a coffee table heaped with newspapers and magazines.

"Not much, is it?" Mike said from the kitchen. "There's work to be done here, that's for sure."

Mike spread the blanket on the kitchen floor. "This is as good a spot as any, Coop."

He dug into his pocket, rattling coins and keys. He pulled out a fistful of change and tossed it into a cookie jar. "Old habit," he said, smiling sadly. "When times were tough, we used the money for outings to the theatre."

We? Was there someone else?

Wrapped in my thoughts, I missed the clues. I didn't hear the pad of soft paws approaching. I didn't see the shadow looming over me. I didn't smell the distinctive odour that identified its owner.

A furry paw swiped my snout. An angry black mass pounced on my back. Instinctively, I backed away to protect myself.

Mike whirled around and laughed. He stooped to pick up my attacker. "I see you've met Lucinda."

Yellow eyes glared from a snarling face. More bad luck. A cat.

Mike cradled Lucinda in one arm. "Now, now. That's no way to treat our guest."

The cat squirmed, hissed, and twisted free. In a single move, Lucinda leaped to the floor while Mike grabbed the air behind her.

"Lucy! Don't you dare!" he yelled.

Lucinda landed, whisper quiet. Her belly hung an inch above the floor, supported by thick legs and paws the size of coasters. She was easily twice my height and length, maybe more, and probably double my weight.

Lucinda arched her back. Her coarse black hair stood up like prickly quills. Her tail waved above like a warning flag. She hissed, then strutted towards me, swiping with her claws.

I stepped back, but Lucinda kept coming. When she was a cat-length away, she stopped. She tilted her head to one side and stared. I could practically hear the gears in her tiny brain grinding. Now, what is this? A large rat? No, a puny dog, I think.

Lucinda stepped ahead, hissed, and swiped again. This time she clipped my ear.

"Lucy!" Mike yelled. He crouched to nab Lucinda but teetered and grabbed a chair to steady himself instead.

Lucinda looked at Mike. I scurried under the table. By the time Lucinda looked back, I was tucked into a tight corner under a chair.

Lucinda hissed and narrowed her eyes. She crept closer, so close I could smell the fish on her breath. Tuna, I think.

I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting another blow. I heard nails scraping, breath drawn in and out, a desperate meow, and then ... nothing.

I looked. Lucinda stared back.

I don't think Lucinda knew her own size or how impossibly narrow the chair was that I was under. The front half of her body was jammed between two legs of the chair. The rear half stuck out. Lucinda was a prisoner, stuck half inside a cell, half out.

"Lucy, I expect better of you," Mike said, prying the cat loose. He pointed to a kennel on the far side of the kitchen. "You'd hate that, wouldn't you? Now behave yourself."

Lucinda nestled in Mike's arms and purred like an idling car. Mike didn't see the evil looks she shot at me.

"That's better." Mike waved to me. "Coop, come out. Lucy won't touch you now."

My ear stung, but it hurt less than the injury to my pride. Cornered by a cat. How embarrassing.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Coop the Great"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Larry Verstraete.
Excerpted by permission of Great Plains Publications.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Editorial Reviews

"Coop for Keeps is a wonderful story about family, love and growing together through life’s challenges. Award-winning author Larry Verstraete does a fantastic job of weaving the themes of loss and grief, bullying, and knowledge of crows into a moving yet often times funny story."—CM Review of Materials

From the Publisher