Ruby Slipperjack - Dog Tracks

Copyright 2008 Ruby Slipperjack

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Cover design by Jacquie Morris and Delta Embree, Liverpool, Nova Scotia
Interior design by John Luckhurst
Copyedited by Kirsten Craven
Proofread by Ann Sullivan

The type in this book is set in Minion 11 on 14 point

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of The Canada Council for the Arts and the Department of Canadian Heritage.

We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for our publishing activities.

2008 / 1

First published in the United States in 2009 by
Fitzhenry & Whiteside
311 Washington Street
Brighton, Massachusetts, 02135

Library and Archives Canada National Cataloguing in Publication
Slipperjack, Ruby, 1952- Dog tracks / Ruby Slipperjack.
eISBN 978-1-927083-83-3, print 978-1-897252-29-1
1. Ojibwa IndiansJuvenile fiction. I. Title.
PS8587.L53D63 2008 jC813.54 C2008-904175-5

Fifth House Ltd.
A Fitzhenry & Whiteside Company
1511, 1800-4 St. SW Calgary, Alberta T2S 2S5
1-800-387-9776
www.fitzhenry.ca

CHAPTER ONE

I awoke to the sound of howling wind outside my attic window. The smell of toast and coffee was already in the air, and it wafted up the stairs to my bedroom. I always left the door open so that I could listen to Grandma and Grandpa talking downstairs. I call my grandma Goom and my grandpa Choom. Thats my short form in Ojibwe.

I smiled at the sound of Gooms laughter coming from the kitchen below. Stretching and yawning, I threw back my sheets and glanced at the window. Pulling the pink ruffled comforter around me, I went to the window and drew the white lace curtains aside and saw snowflakes blowing across the windowpane. I loved my curtains. They had little pink flowers on them. Goom got them for me at Christmas and we decorated my room too. Now, it was all pink and white. I looked down the street. Our small white house was the last on the block, and as always, it seemed, I saw an old man cross the street with his little black dog.

Dressing quickly, I went down the stairs just in time to see Choom coming into the kitchen with his walker. His rasping breath turned into a chuckle as he said, Well, look whos up before she is called this morning.

I giggled, replying, My name is not This Morning! Every time I came down without being called, we would have that same exchange. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and I heard him shuffling into the kitchen.

It was going to be another cold morning to run to school. I usually took a shortcut across a small field behind our house that opened out into the schoolyard. It wasnt that far but it got very cold on windy days.

I was sitting at the table crunching on my favourite dry cereal with lots of milk in it when the phone rang. I couldnt hear what Goom was saying because of my crunching. Choom winked at me and nodded his white head toward the phone. There was only a bit of black hair left on the top of his head but it was still thick. Just as I swallowed, I heard Goom saying, Is Blair going to school today? Better make him stay home if he still has that bad cold. It was my mom! I dropped my spoon, ran to the phone, and hugged Goom around her waist while she talked. My head came up almost level to hers. I remembered when I was much shorter than that.

I had been with Goom and Choom since I was seven years old. I was_ going to be thirteen in May. Thirteen! Finally, Goom handed the phone to me and I sat down on the chair beside the telephone stand. I heard my mother saying, Hello, Abby. How are you? Make sure you dress warm going to school today, alright? Is it snowing there yet? We had a lot of snow last night. It has cleared a bit, but it is really cold. After responding with a series of yes and no answers, I brought the phone over to Choom who went into long sentences in Ojibwe.

I sat down and resumed my chewing of the cereal that was now very soggy and thick. I dropped the spoon and faced Goom, who had now set down her egg on toast on the table and sat in front of me. The oval table was pushed against the kitchen wall and our three chairs were placed around it. Whats the matter? she asked. Her blond hair had slowly turned white at the top and sides of her head, but her blue eyes twinkled with humour as they always had. Choom always said she had a happy soul and that all you had to do was look into her eyes and you would suddenly feel better.

I sighed and asked, How come Mom always talks about the weather, or about Blink, John, Maggie, or the Band office?

She smiled and said, What do you talk to her about? I pulled over the jar of kiddy pops from the centre of the table. Goom always brought back my favourite butterscotch lollipops whenever she went into Thunder Bay for something. I stuck it into my pocket. I usually ate the pops at recess or on the way home for lunch.

I answered, Cant talk to her about anything because she doesnt ask about stuff I do. If I tell her about my favourite music or TV show, or even my homework, she doesnt say much about it.

Goom swallowed her first bite of toast and said, Well, maybe you should go to the reserve more often than just on holidays.

I sat back on the chair. Theres nothing to do there! Maggie never pays any attention to me either. I only saw her once the last time we were there! She always hangs around with her other friends.

Our attention turned to Choom, who was talking about moose hunting. Mom must have handed the phone over to my stepfather, John. Goom grinned at me when Choom began laughing, telling a story in his rasping breath about one particularly funny hunting trip.

Goom was quite fluent in Ojibwe, but we always spoke English. Most of the time, Choom spoke to me in Ojibwe, but Id often forget and answer in English. I think that was because I came home one day with a note from the teacher saying that my English was bad. After that, Goom always spoke English with me, and soon my Ojibwe started including English words. My Ojibwe friend at school always laughed at me when I said something in a mix of English and Ojibwe words. Id say something like, peesh candy api school eshayun, instead of saying bring some candy for school: I guess it did sound pretty funny. Choom never stopped talking to me in Ojibwe, though; he always said that someone had to.

When Choom finally put the phone down, Goom set a plate of breakfast in front of him. He liked his egg on toast too. I glanced at the clock and ran up the stairs to my room. I grabbed my backpack from the couch and placed the remote on top of the television that sat at the corner of my room. After hastily fixing my bed, I ran back down the stairs. Goom was ready with my hairbrush and she brushed my hair back and snapped a clip into it. After a quick kiss on Chooms forehead, I was out in the porch pulling on my boots and Goom was there with my winter coat, toque, scarf, and mitts. She kissed the top of my head, and I dashed out the door.

No matter how early I got up, I was always running late. It was the phone call that did it that morning! The day before, it was Goom insisting that I wear those thick gloves, one of which I couldnt find. The day before that, I couldnt find a book that had my homework in it. It had fallen down behind the television. Oh, well.