Raising Lumie

A poignant, hopeful story of a girl and her puppy.

Olive Hudson desperately wants a dog. But that doesn't seem to be a possibility right now. Newly orphaned, she's moving in with the half sister she hardly knows and their life is too chaotic to include a dog. But then something wonderful happens: Olive gets a chance to raise Lumie, a guide dog puppy. Discipline. Rules. Lots of hugs. Only the best of the best puppies continue on to become guide dogs, and of course Olive wants Lumie to be chosen. But if she is, that means that Olive will lose her. Once again, the incomparable Joan Bauer tells a touching story that is full of heart and warmth and unabashed idealism. Read more Continue reading Read less REVIEW
Praise forRaising Lumie!

*"While imparting solid information about guide dogs and their work, Bauer (Soar) employs her well-honed skill at depicting believable, evolving relationships that are rooted in love and nurtured with encouragement. She balances Olive's big emotions and funny, forthright narration with the light humor of secondary characters and a satisfying, big-hearted ending."--Publishers Weekly, starred review

*"Bauer once again works her magic, crafting memorable characters overflowing with courage and kindness who react in believable--but also admirable--ways to the challenges in their lives . . . The pitch-perfect ending will leave readers both smiling and crying--simultaneously."--Kirkus Reviews, starred review

"If the Hallmark channel produced children's movies, they'd option Bauer's latest in a flash. . . Don't resist. Just give in and let the wholesome story wash over you and work its magic. . . . A gratifying tale with realistic life lessons and literal puppy love."--BOOKLIST EXCERPT. REPRINTED BY PERMISSION. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
1

The Puppies


It's all about warmth right now.

Warmth.

Wiggling.

And eating.

There are seven of them in this L litter. Some black, some a pale yellow beige.

They stay together, they sleep together, mostly in a heap.

No one would think they are the best of the best.

At least some of them are. Maybe more than some.

They are the same size except for the tiny beige one. She's the littlest, but she acts like the biggest.

A man, Brian, is watching the puppies on a screen. "Have we weighed that little one?"

"Not yet," says Christine, who works with the puppies. "She eats like you wouldn't believe."

"I can see that." Brian watches the littlest puppy pushing through her brothers and sisters to get to her mother's milk. He laughs as she finds a prime spot and sucks away.

"Something tells me not to worry about you," Brian says to the screen.

"We'll see," says Christine.

A boy, Jordan, age thirteen, has seen his share of newborn puppies. He never gets tired of it. He is taking notes for a presentation he has to give at his leadership training class this summer. Jordan would rather do anything than give an oral report to a room full of humans. But he was chosen.

"It's an honor," his mother keeps telling him.

"I'd rather pay someone to be me for that morning." Jordan's throat feels like he's been chewing sawdust just thinking about it.

He writes,

The littlest one is showing courage.

She can push her way through a crowd already.

She isn't waiting for someone to help her.



Jordan knows this can be good or bad, depending. He writes,



What's good about this -

she knows how to get her needs met.

What could be a problem - she might be too pushy.



Jordan keeps watching. He comes every day after school to watch the puppies grow.

The puppies open their eyes. Their ears open too.

Jordan writes,



What's that like for them?

Now they can see?

Now they can hear?



It's too early to tell much of anything.

Who will make it?

Who won't?

But Jordan likes to see if his hunches are right.

He grins as the puppies crawl, squirm, and bump into each other.

He moves his chair closer to the screen. His eyesight isn't the best.

For now, he can see some.

He can see enough.





2

Olive




Dear Time,

Sometimes you're my friend

And sometimes it feels like you're out to get me.

I don't understand how each day has the same twenty-four hours,

But some days go so fast

While others feel like they're a month long.

I don't understand how you yank me into the future

when I focus on my dreams.

How you pull me back into the past

when I remember things that are over.

Why do some memories stay so strong

And others disappear like they never meant anything?

Why does last period in school go so slowly?

Why do I remember the answer to a test question

two days after the test is over?

Why do some people have less time on Earth than others?

Why do flowers have shorter lives than weeds?

Just this month, would you slow down every hour

so I can stay in my house longer

and be with my friends longer?

You are Time. You can do that - right?

You go on forever.

I want to hold on to forever so badly.

- Olive Hudson, former sixth grader

Dreams adjust.

I learned this lesson early.

I take my sheet of blue paper out of my pocket. Here's what I'd written:



Maudie is my big sister. Seriously big - six foot three and a quarter inches to be exact. The tallest female I have ever known personally.

I have more to add. I smooth out the blue paper and write:



Forever is a complicated word for me.

I am standing in Mrs. Barnstormer's kitchen facing Hyacinth, the most spoiled dog in New Jersey. Being a companion to Hyacinth is my everyday job, which is helping me save up to afford my own dog someday. Already I've bought a leash, a collar, a water bowl, and two chew toys shaped like gorillas.

You can't just have a dream and expect it to come to you. You've got to get something you can hold on to that shouts, "This is going to happen!"

I wanted to do a lot more for Hyacinth this last year, but her way of going through life i