Toto's Tale and True Chronicle of Oz

By Sylvia Patience

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was written in 1900 by L. Frank Baum. Many other Oz books followed, as well as the famous 1939 movie. Not until now, however, does Toto tell the story, as he remembers it. In Toto’s Tale, we read his version of the beloved adventures. Toto tells how he found Dorothy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sylvia Patience
• Release date: Oct 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9780692712443

Sylvia Patience

Sylvia Patience lives in Santa Cruz, California with her family and Toto, her little dog, too. She is a poet and author of four other middle grade children’s novels, including Shell, Crossing the Border and Wandering Time.

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INTRODUCTION

Everyone tells a different story about Dorothy Gale’s adventures in Oz. Memory is a tricky thing. But I was there, and I remember everything like it was yesterday. Since a dog can’t live forever, even a dog touched by the magic of the Good Witch Glinda, it’s time to tell what really happened: the important stuff, like how things smelled, and what it was like to be the only one who couldn’t talk.

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CHAPTER

ONE

My name wasn’t always Toto. Before I met Dorothy, I was a shaggy grey, no-name puppy with bright black eyes. My ears flopped over or stood up with my mood. I was born on a Kansas farm together with five brothers and sisters. We all smelled alike, so my mother used the same bark for each of us. In those early days I never dreamed of adventures, or of speaking human words.

The farmer wore heavy boots and smelled of his oily sheep. He liked my mother because she was good at herding. His wife was always cross. Her smell was lye soap and smoke from the cook stove. We kept out of the way of her feet to avoid a kick from one of her hard, high-buttoned shoes. She called me that shaggy runt, and whenever she saw me, she’d snap her fingers and say, Git! To this day the hair on my neck stands up when anyone snaps their fingers at me.

One by one my brothers and sisters left to work on nearby farms, herding sheep or cows, and catching rats. We were all mutts, but I was the runt. People who came to choose a pup would look at me, shake their heads, and say, He’s too small. By the time I was almost full grown, I was the only puppy left with my mother. She was always working, and I was bored.

One day, when I had nothing to do, I discovered I could make the sheep run. I had a fine time chasing them across the field. I felt powerful. But the farmer saw me and was angry. His wife was angrier. She yelled, That’s it! We’ve got to get rid of that runt. I refuse to feed a useless dog.

In civilized countries like Kansas, animals don’t talk. But I understood what she said. Even then I had a knack for language. It’s one of my talents.

The farmer shrugged his bony shoulders. I guess you’re right. I’ll have to drown him in the trough.

The trough! It was full of water, so I had a pretty good idea what drown meant. I hate water, except to drink. I crept away. I would strike out on my own, before it was too late.

First I went to say good-bye to my mother, who they called Coalie or just the dog. I sniffed and nuzzled her, and woofed softly to tell her I was leaving. She barely opened oneeye and rolled over to go back to sleep. She’d had a long morning helping the farmer round up sheep for shearing, and she didn’t want to be disturbed. I’d miss her, but after one more woof! I started out to seek my fortune.

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CHAPTER

TWO

At that time there were no trees for shade on the flat, grey Kansas prairie. The dirt wagon track I followed was cracked in a pattern of jagged lines and deep ruts. An endless wind blew dust in my face and I was soon covered in it. I’d have welcomed water, as long as no one was going to drown me in it. When I stood up straight, I was only about as tall as the farmer’s rooster, which meant I couldn’t see very far ahead. My keen sense of smell was dulled by dust blowing into my nose. The few farm houses I passed looked much the same as the one I’d left: as bleak as the landscape.

Dusk fell and I sensed night not far behind. My stomach rumbled and my tongue lolled out. Maybe the world was not a friendly place for a young dog on the road. Just as I began to feel desperate, a breeze brought human voices and smells of food: salt pork and biscuits. Ahead was a building, bigger than the farmhouse, and twice as tall. I smelled no sheep or chickens, corn or grain. I lifted my nose to take a deep sniff and raised my ears to listen. The good smells and the voices came from a window at the top.

I circled the building, sniffing. On the back side was a wooden platform ending at a pair of metal rails that seemed to run on forever across the prairie in both directions. A sharp, oily odor, like machinery, clung to them. My stomach growled. There was no way inside to the delicious smells. I found some crusts of stale bread and old meat rinds from the top of a garbage pile. They weren’t fresh, but they calmed my hunger, until I was chased off by a fat raccoon. I drank from a puddle under the pump.

A dip in the ground made a gap beneath the wooden platform. I sniffed to make sure no raccoons were hiding there. It seemed deserted, so I wriggled in and curled up on the dust, tucking my nose under my tail. There I passed the loneliest night of my life, away from my mother and the only home I’d ever known. I woke often, whimpering each time I realized there was no warm body beside me.

The sounds of horses and wagons woke me. It was morning and feet were walking about on the planks above. I crept out to peer over the edge of the platform at a cluster of boots and shoes. Pointing my ears toward them, I heard people talking over the whine of the prairie wind.

They stood near the door of the building where a heavy man in muddy boots, overalls, and a straw hat was speaking to a man in shiny shoes and a uniform. Is the train on time, Ed? I heard there were fifty orphans on it when they left New York.

The one with shiny shoes pulled a silver watch out of his pocket. Pretty close. Supposed to arrive at half past.

An older man with a wind-burned face and worn boots scowled. We need a big, strong boy to help with the plowing. I hope all the good ones haven’t been taken.

We want a girl, even a small one, said a woman in high-button shoes and a faded gingham dress.

What were they talking about? I wondered. What are orphans? What’s a train?

Pretty soon I heard a far off whistle and the rumble of something so big it made my whiskers vibrate and shook the ground beneath me.

I tucked my tail and ducked my head so only my eyes and ears were above the platform. A monstrous wheeled engine appeared, spewing black smoke. It rushed along the rails at the head of a snake-like string of carts. Steam hissed from between the wheels of the engine as it squealed to a stop beside the platform in front of me. This must be the train. I flattened my ears and bared my teeth at the monster.

A door banged open on one of the carts and out thumped the boots of another man in uniform, followed by several boys and girls in worn shoes. Behind them came a tall woman. A long, dark blue dress hid her feet. She ordered the children to line up along the platform in front of the train. Many of them were thin and dull-looking, but my eyes were drawn to one little girl whose chestnut hair hung in two long braids. There was nothing grey about her. She seemed even younger for a human than I was for a dog, and she was lively and smiling. Her shoes were as shabby as the others children’s, but her blue eyes were cheerful. They looked straight into mine. It was love at first sight.

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CHAPTER

THREE

The little girl looked at me, gave a squeal of delight, and laughed. I’d never heard that sound before in the colorless Kansas prairie. She took a step toward me. No one, not even my mother, had ever seemed happy to see me. I was about to jump up and go to her, but the stern woman in blue took the little girl’s arm and pulled her back in line. Stand still, child, so people can look at you.

I stayed where I was, wriggling all over, wanting to run to her.

People walked in front of the children, looking them over, asking questions, and talking among themselves. The man with the scowling face looked into the mouths of a couple of larger boys, and felt their muscles. The woman who wanted a girl seemed interested in my little blue-eyed friend. This woman was as thin and weathered as the farm wife who wanted me drowned, but her eyes were kind. With her was a tall, lean man with a long beard, who smelled of horse and cow. He said, Wouldn’t an older child be a better choice, Em? She could help you with chores right away.

The woman answered, I know that, Henry, but look at her smile. It would brighten up the place. And she’ll be helping out before you know it. She turned to the girl. What’s your name, child?

The little girl’s smile widened. Dorothy.

Would you like to come live with us, Dorothy? asked the woman called Em.

Dorothy looked into her eyes, then reached out her small hand and clasped Em’s bony one. Yes, and my doggie too.

Em and Henry paid no attention to the last bit, but I did. My heart raced and my tail wagged. After talking to the woman in the blue dress, the couple led Dorothy across the platform. When they neared the end where I crouched, I ducked under.

Dorothy turned to look for me. Here, doggie, she said.

I crept out, wriggling, and crawled toward her with my ears flat. I wagged my tail slowly to let her know I was friendly and harmless.

What on Earth? said Em.

Dorothy squatted and scooped me up in her chubby arms. Small as I am, I was quite large for her to carry. Her smell was as sweet as the hay in the barn, and she squeezed me tight against her.

Dorothy! said Em, Where did that animal come from? He’s covered with dust. See how he’s dirtying your frock.

He’s my friend. I want to keep him. She almost squeezed the breath out of me. I’ll call him Toto.

She laughed as I wriggled around to lick her chin, the way I used to lick my brothers and sisters, and learned her salty taste.

The man and woman looked at each other.

Oh, well, what harm can there be? said Henry. The child’s an orphan. She’s lost her family, Em. The little dog will be good for her. See how shiny his black eyes are? And I don’t suppose he can eat much. We might as well take him too.

So that is what orphan means, I thought. Then I’m an orphan too.

We rode for a long time in their wagon, pulled by a scrawny horse. Dorothy held me on her lap all the way and pointed at everything. Look, Toto, cows, and, Toto, see! Another dog!

At last we arrived at a farm house even smaller than the one where I grew up. Wind and rain had peeled any paint there might have been from its walls, leaving the boards weathered and grey like the prairie. Henry helped Em and Dorothy down from the wagon while I jumped to the ground. After he unhitched the tired horse and led it to the barn, Henry came back with a brush and showed Dorothy how to get the dust and tangles out of my coat. I didn’t like the pulling, but I held still for her.

By the time we went inside, Em had made up a little bed for Dorothy in a corner of the one-room house. I claimed my own sleeping spot at the foot of it. Henry and Em slept in a larger bed in another corner. The only other furniture was a rusty iron cook stove, a cupboard for dishes, and a home-made table with two chairs. There was no decoration besides an oil lamp that sat on the table and a braided rag rug in front of the stove.

When Henry came in after tending to the animals,