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| Publisher's Hardcover ©1995 | -- |
| Paperback ©2016 | -- |
Now an eighth-grader, Anastasia Krupnik struggles with caring for her new puppy, Sleuth, answering sticky ethical questions for her classroom Values assignments, and owning up to a dark deed (well, an embarrassing disclosure). Walking Sleuth early one morning, she dutifully cleans up after her dog, but absentmindedly puts the plastic bag into the mailbox instead of the trash can. When the police haul the mailbox away and start asking questions, Anastasia is alarmed. Her eventual confession and her unexpectedly keen memory lead to the arrest of a mailbox bomber. Improbable? Well, yes, but the book has its moments of humor and insight. A must-read for Anastasia's many fans. (Reviewed Oct. 1, 1995)
Horn BookIn this addition to the series, Anastasia Krupnik gets herself into another hilarious and very embarrassing mess. When walking her new dog, she accidentally puts the plastic bag containing his droppings into a mailbox. She's convinced she has committed a federal offense--tampering with the mail--and her ensuing moral crisis and eventual decision to turn herself in make for light, satisfying reading.
Kirkus ReviewsIn which Anastasia Krupnik gets a dog, attends a class in values, and inadvertently deposits a bag of dog poop in a public mailbox. Suppose that in order to protect and save a small vegetable garden that would feed a hungry family for an entire summer, you were required to hit a groundhog over the head with a rock and kill it. Would you do so?'' Anastasia grapples with this and other questions and considers herself wishy-washy because she can't come up with answers; every question raises a host ofWhat ifs?'' in her mind. After realizing her mailbox mistake, Anastasia finds that the ethical questions become more personal. Should she call the post office and confess? Has she committed a federal offense? Will she go to jail? Her confession touches off surprising events, but in the end, Anastasia is sure she's done the right thing. As usual, Lowry (The Giver, 1993, etc.) delivers tight, page-turning prose, plenty of humor, and characters right out of readers' neighborhooods. (Fiction. 7-12)"
After accidentally dropping a bag of what she refers to as dog """"you know what"""" into a mailbox, the lively heroine of this popular series is sure that she has committed a federal offense. Ages 9-12. (Apr.)
School Library JournalGr 4-7--Another Anastasia adventure, this time adding a new dog and a Values class for the modern 13-year-old's coping skills. During an early morning walk with Sleuth, Anastasia inadvertently deposits a bag of dog poop into the corner mailbox instead of her mother's envelope of illustrations intended for her publisher. When she later tries to correct her mistake, she discovers the mailbox has been removed. Anastasia assumes she is to blame and that she has become a federal felon. Finally gathering the courage to call the post office to admit her mistake, she learns that she not only has the information that leads to the arrest of a mail bomber, but also that the poop parcel had actually prevented the explosion of a bomb planted right before her deposit.'' This effort falls short of the guffaws found in Lowry's earlier titles. The plot is pretty far-fetched and the dog-doo dilemma packs only so much humor. The Values class assignments tagged to the end of each chapter--scenarios drawn from modern life--are also a letdown. Thewishy-washy'' responses from Anastasia and her family reveal neither humor nor depth of thought and are out of character from the Krupniks we have come to know. While children have come to expect more from this very talented author, the book is packed with believable dialogue and references to current groups and situations.--Claudia Cooper, Ft. Stockton Independent School District, TX
ALA Booklist
Horn Book
Kirkus Reviews
Publishers Weekly (Fri Oct 06 00:00:00 CDT 2023)
School Library Journal
Wilson's Junior High Catalog
one
But that had been a year ago. And now they had a dog, and now the little room had become The Dog's Room--âedawn, for Pete's sake.
She opened the door to The Dog's Room. He leaped at her and licked her face.
"Hi," Anastasia said, and scratched him behind the ear. She yawned, the dog yawned, which made her yawn again, and then he scampered ahead of her, down the stairs, and stood waiting by the front door.
Funny, she thought, how this dog had never been in this house in his life until yesterday, but already he knew the layout. All by smell, too. He had so much shaggy hair in his eyes that Anastasia was quite certain he couldn't see anything. But he sniffed incessantly, leaning his head down and making his way around by following his nose. During his first hour in the Krupniks' house, he had discovered some stale cheese crackers on Anastasia's desk and a moldy half of a tuna fish sandwich that Sam had wedged behind a radiator.
"Not me," Sam had said, when they showed him. "Bad guys did it."
Now the unnamed dog stood impatiently by the front door as if he had lived in the house all his life and knew exactly which way was marked EXIT. When he heard Anastasia jiggling his leash in her hand, he quivered with anticipation and made an excited whimpering noise.
Hurry up, hurry up, he was saying. My goodness, Anastasia thought in surprise. I can understand dog language.
"In a minute," she told him. "Let me put my jacket on."
He wiggled, and said again, Hurry up.
Anastasia zipped her jacket, attached the leash to his collar, and unlocked the front door.
"Ooops," she said. "Forgot something. Just a minute." She reached over and picked up the thick padded envelope on the hall table. "I promised Mom I'd mail this. It's her sketches for a new book. Boy, she'd kill me if I forgot. They're already late and the publisher's been bugging her about it. And guess what--âe Pleeeeeze hurry, the dog said, nudging the door with his nose. He didn't seem to be interested in hearing about Mrs. Krupnik's illustrations.
"One more thing. Plastic bag for you know what." It was the gross part, but Anastasia had promised her parents that she would clean up after the dog. She opened the front door, picked up her father's New York Times from the front steps, and removed it from its blue plastic bag. She tossed the paper onto the hall table and put the crumpled bag into her pocket. She just hoped that no one would see her, especially not Steve Harvey, who was in her class at school and also lived down the street, as she packaged dog poop in a plastic bag. Talk about embarrassing.
Finally she was ready. With her mother's mail in one hand, the plastic bag in a pocket, and holding the leash firmly to restrain the dog, who was tugging hard, Anastasia started out on the first morning of the rest of her life. My Life with a Dog, she thought, and liked the sound of it.
She glanced back at the hall clock before she closed the front door.
Good grief. It was still just 6:08. Anastasia yawned again and headed down the front steps into the dawn.
"My goodness, isn't he cute? What kind of dog is he?"
Anastasia smiled politely at the woman. It was amazing how many people were actually out here at sunrise: some of them walking their dogs, others jogging. This woman was wearing a jogging suit and was carrying weights in her hands and walking very fast, though she had stopped now to admire Anastasia's dog.
"Well, he's really a mutt," Anastasia explained. "Mixed breed, the vet calls it. He's part poodle and part Tibetan, and part wheaten, and . . . I forget what else. But all the different parts are nonallergenic. My dad's allergic to dogs--âe Suddenly Anastasia thought, I'm talking too much, as usual. Why don't I ever know when to shut up? I am going to concentrate on that part of my personality: learning when to keep my mouth shut.
But the woman did seem interested, so Anastasia went on.
"Then the vet called us--âe The woman leaned over, shifted one of her weights to the other hand, and scratched the dog in the shaggy hair behind his ears. "What's his name?" she asked.
"He doesn't have one yet. We just got him. Actually, of course he had a name, but we're going to give him a new one. Only I have to think of just the right one."
"Shaggy," the woman suggested.
Anastasia made a face. "Thanks. But I don't think so. It's a little too obvious."
"Fuzzy?"
Great. The woman was going to stay there all morning, entering a dog-naming contest.
"Well, I'll give that some thought," Anastasia said politely. "But we're trying to think of a name that would sort of sound like his old name, so that it will seem a little familiar to him." She tugged on the leash and pulled the dog away. He sniffed at a hedge, raised his leg tentatively, thought better of it, and trotted forward along the sidewalk.
The woman followed. "What's his old name?" she asked.
Anastasia sighed. She had been trying hard not to say the dog's previous name, because it was a stupid name and she wanted him to forget about it. But she didn't want to be rude. Finally, reluctantly, she whispered it to the woman. "Louie," she said, under her breath.
"Oh! So you need something with an oooo sound! How about Pookie?"
"Thanks. That's really cute. I have to go now." Anastasia hurried along behind the dog, who was not under any circumstances in the entire world going to be named Pookie, and at last the woman waved and went away.
The sun was beginning to come up. Anastasia, approaching a corner where a brick building housed an insurance agency, exchanged smiles with a newspaper delivery person, two more joggers, and a man with two golden retrievers at his side. A woman with a tall thin dog on a red leash seemed very friendly. All of the people she passed did. They said things like "Good morning" or "Hi there" or "Nice day" or "Nice dog."
Actually, it was kind of fun becoming a morning person, Anastasia decided. And also, it gave you time to think. In real life, in the regular daytime hours, you never had time to think because you were so busy doing stuff.
And Anastasia needed to think. Back home, back on the desk in her bedroom, she had a school paper to write.
Many of the free periods that had been study halls or library time were now going to be devoted to Values, until Christmas. After Christmas, Anastasia could go back to studying and reading and daydreaming and doodling again; but for now, from Monday to Friday each week, every single day, she would have to think about Values. She had groaned about it to her parents, but they hadn't been very sympathetic; they had pointed out that all human beings should be thinking about Values every single day of their life anyway.
The course had just begun, and the teacher, Mr. Francisco, had given them each a set of questions. Well, they weren't actually questions; they were sort of situations. Each of the students was supposed to write about how he or she would react in each situation.
Anastasia had thought it would be kind of boring and that she wouldn't have any problem with Values. After all, she thought, she'd been brought up in a family with very good values. She had been quite certain that she knew exactly how she felt in any given situation and what the right response was.
But some of Mr. Francisco's hypothetical situations were a little complicated. They made her confused. That was why she needed time to think.
She'd already completed her answer to the first question--âe For the first time in her life, Anastasia realized that she had trouble making important decisions.
I am an indecisive person, she thought. Not only do I talk too much, but I am wishy-washy. It was depressing, having so many serious flaws.
While Anastasia mused about groundhogs, values, and character deficiencies, she also thought about a name for the dog. Clearly he couldn't go on very long without a name; it wouldn't be fair. Anastasia remembered when her brother was born, three years before, and they chose his name the very first day, when he was just about four hours old. Of course, they had had about six months to think about it.
But the dog had been a sort of surprise. The vet called about him; they went to see him; Myron Krupnik didn't sneeze or itch; and so they had taken the homeless dog home, stopping en route at the store to buy some food and a dish. It had been quite sudden, with no time to come up with a name.
The dog continued to trot, stopping here and there to sniff. It was astonishing how curious a dog he was, Anastasia thought. Maybe his name should be Sniffer.
No. Sniffer wasn't it; it didn't have the oooo sound that they needed.
Anastasia knew that when she hit on the right name, it would be clear to her at once, like a light bulb appearing over someone's head in a comic book.
The dog stopped again, at the corner, and examined a grassy square around a lamppost carefully.
Snoopy?
No. That name was, well, used.
Finally the moment came, the moment Anastasia had dreaded, the moment when she had to scoop. She glanced quickly around; the woman with the red-leashed dog was still nearby but looking in another direction. Luckily there were few people around. The main observer was the dog, who seemed very interested in the blue newspaper bag, as if he were thinking, Why on earth would you do that?
Anastasia was wondering the same thing. But dutifully, because she had promised her parents she would, she scooped the unattractively large and surprisingly steamy mound into the plastic bag that only thirty minutes before had held her father's New York Times.
Scooper? That was a name with an oooo sound.
No. No light bulb appeared.
Pooper?
No way.
Anastasia sighed. I'm so wishy-washy, she thought, that I can't even name a dog.
Fortunately no one was really watching while she scooped. She had dreaded scooping in front of onlookers. But there was one exception--âeIf he's that grouchy seeing me scoop it up, Anastasia thought, I wonder how he would have looked if I hadn't.
Flustered because the man was still looking--âeDarn it. She decided reluctantly that she would not, after all, be able to go back to bed.
Walking home, the dog continued to stop and sniff and examine. Everything seemed to be of intense interest. He analyzed the shape of a rock in the gutter. Then he pawed at a crumpled paper, studied it closely for a moment, and tasted it meticulously. He inspected a dead leaf with care. He nudged a twig and turned it over with an investigatory paw. It was almost as if he were a detective, looking for clues of some sort. As if he were a--âe<
SLEUTH.
The light bulb appeared! It had the oooo sound she needed. Anastasia grinned and tried it out on the dog.
"Come, Sleuth," she said. He looked up, cocked his head, and sauntered cheerfully over to where she stood.
"Onward, Sleuth," she commanded, and they continued along.
Now and then the shaggy dog stopped to raise his leg. He marked his places along the way, as if, newly named, he needed to reidentify his turf. This is my neighborhood, he was saying. Watch out, world. Sleuth lives here.
Anastasia Krupnik
VALUES
1. Suppose that in order to protect and save a small vegetable garden that would feed a hungry family for an entire summer, you were required to hit a groundhog over the head with a rock and kill it. Would you do so?
Although I like animals a lot (I have a dog, myself) I think human beings are more important, in the great scheme of things. And even though I basically don't believe in harming living creatures, if I absolutely had to, I guess I would kill a groundhog.
But first I would have to be absolutely positive that it was the groundhog that was eating the vegetables. I mean, what if maybe it was actually something else, maybe a person or something, maybe even a starving person who was sneaking in at night and stealing vegetables, and making it took as if a groundhog was doing it?
And even if it was definitely a groundhog, why would I have to kill it with a rock? I mean, couldn't you give it a painless shot or something?
I guess I don't think it would exactly be right to kill it, even with a painless shot, but it would be righter than letting a whole family starve to death.
Even though I don't believe they actually would. They could get food from dumpsters behind the supermarket, if they had to. Or the Salvation Army would help.
Excerpted from Anastasia, Absolutely by Lois Lowry
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
“As usual, Lowry delivers tight, page-turning prose, plenty of humor, and characters right out of readers' neighborhoods.”—Kirkus Reviews
What could possibly go wrong when Anastasia Krupnik walks to a mailbox early one morning with two packages and a dog? A mail mix-up of a most embarrassing kind. Instead of mailing the letter, she deposits her dog’s morning business! As her school “Values” class debates moral issues and the local police confiscate the corner mailbox, Anastasia faces a dilemma of her own. Should she confess? What is the right thing to do? With her characteristic integrity and humor, Anastasia weighs her options.