My name is Joy, and I am a four-year-old Golden Retriever. I have soft, floppy ears, a tail that wags like a happy flag, and a nose that can smell a cheese stick from three rooms away. Two rooms if the door is closed.

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I live in a cozy house in the suburbs with my pack family. There is Kai, who is nine years old and plays tennis. There is Mia, who is seven years old and loves soccer. And there is Mom and Dad, two grown-ups who laugh a lot and still know how to be silly. Some grown-ups forget how to be silly. Not mine.

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The Seven Giants 

Our house has seven maple trees around it, like a team of tall, leafy giants guarding us. I count them every morning on our walk. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... eight? 

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Oh. Eight is Dad. Dad is not a tree. Dad is just tall and standing very still with his coffee.

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Although, if you think about it, grown-ups are a little bit like trees. They stand very tall and hold everyone up. And sometimes they forget that trees are allowed to sway and dance in the wind, too.

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I start again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven trees. Sometimes I sniff each one, too, just to make sure they are still doing their tree responsibilities.

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Every morning I count them, and every morning they are all still there. I think that might be the secret of a good life, counting what is still here.

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Tennis Balls and Soccer Balls 

When Kai grabs his racket, I know something fun is coming. Tennis balls are my favorite thing in the whole world. Round, bouncy, and perfect for chasing. Kai bounces a ball on the driveway, thump, thump, thump, and my paws start dancing all by themselves.

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Mia’s soccer ball is too big to carry in my mouth. I have tried. Many times. My mouth is not that big. My dreams are, but my mouth is not. So I use my nose to bump it back to her, and she laughs and shouts, “Good pass, Joy!” That makes me feel like a real teammate.

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This morning, the sun made bright squares on the kitchen floor. Dad was flipping pancakes and singing a silly song about syrup. Mom was singing the harmony. Kai and Mia came running in. “Hi, Joy!” said Mia, giving me a hug. “Morning, girl,” said Kai, rubbing behind my ears.

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My tail wagged so hard and my whole body wiggled. Then a burst of extra energy shot right into my paws, and zoom! I did three laps around the living room. Humans call it the zoomies. I call it joy escaping from my feet.

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The Problem in Tree Number Six 

After breakfast, we went outside. Kai practiced tennis. Mia practiced soccer. Mom and Dad cheered and took turns being coaches. It was not a real game. It was a family game, which is the best kind.

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But Maple Tree Number Six has a problem, and the problem has a fluffy tail.

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Her name is Miss Nibbles. She is a squirrel. She sits on the lowest branch and flicks her tail at me like she is saying, “Nyah, nyah, you cannot climb.” 

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This morning, Miss Nibbles came all the way down to the grass. She sat up. She nibbled an acorn. Slowly. Right in front of me. My ears shot up. My legs went boing. My whole brain shouted, “CHASE!” 

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Then I heard Mom’s calm voice. “Leave it, Joy.” 

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Leave it? LEAVE IT? It was the hardest “leave it” of my whole life. My tail wanted to go. My paws wanted to go. Even my eyebrows wanted to go. But I sat. I stayed. I was a Very Good Girl with a very wiggly bottom.

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Miss Nibbles looked surprised. Then she scampered up the tree and did a little victory dance on her branch.

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Woof, I said. Dog translation: “I am letting you win today, madam. TODAY.” 

 

Mom knelt down and hugged me. “That was hard, wasn’t it? I’m proud of you.” Kai hugged me. Mia leaned her head against my shoulder. And for a moment we were all together under the maple trees, like the whole world was our backyard.

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Chasing a squirrel feels good for about four seconds. Being trusted by your family feels good all day.

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There is always a squirrel. There is always something flicking its tail and saying, “Over here! Look at me! Hurry!” The trick is remembering what you would miss if you ran.

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Under the Thinking Tree 

That evening, after a picnic with blankets and snacks and laughter, and one tiny bite of cheese, because I made my very best polite-dog face, I walked to the biggest, oldest tree of all. Maple Tree Number Seven.

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I lay down on her roots. The leaves went shhhhh in the wind, like she was saying, “Think, little dog. Think.” 

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So I did. I thought about the trees. You can see their trunks and their branches, and their leaves. But the most important part of a tree is the part you cannot see: the roots, deep underground, holding everything up.

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My family is like that. A house is made of wood and windows. But a home is made up of people who belong to each other. They hold me up, even when I cannot see them doing it.

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And here is something I noticed. Roots never ask to be thanked. They just hold. Maybe the people who love you the most are doing the most holding down where you can’t see it.

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I decided right then that Maple Tree Number Seven would be my Thinking Tree. And every time I learned something important, I would come here to think about it.

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I have learned a LOT of important things. Would you like to hear them? Scoot over. There is room for you. Let's begin.

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JOY’S GOLDEN THOUGHT 

​Home is wherever the people you love are.

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​​​Wag & Wonder 

• Who are the “roots” in your life, the people who hold you up even when you can’t see them? 

• What is something that is really hard for you to “leave,” like Joy and the squirrel? 

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Between the Lines 

FOR THE GROWN-UP READING ALOUD 

Every story in this book has two listeners: the child tucked under the blanket, and you. 

You are the trees in this story. Your child counts you every morning, the way Joy counts the maples. Not consciously, but with the deep certainty that you’re still there. Most of what you give them is root work: unseen, unthanked, holding. Like trees, we sometimes forget that we’re allowed to sway.

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And Miss Nibbles is every bright, twitching thing that calls you out of the backyard: the notification, the inbox, tomorrow’s worry. Joy’s “leave it” is one of the oldest spiritual practices there is: noticing the pull and choosing presence anyway. Chasing feels good for four seconds. Being there feels good all day, for both of you.

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A question for you: What squirrel pulls you out of the backyard? What would happen if, just for tonight, you left it? 

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GROWN-UP’S CORNER 

Each chapter in this book stands on its own, so you can choose the lesson your child needs tonight. Every chapter ends with Joy’s Golden Thought, a one-sentence idea to carry to sleep, and two Wag & Wonder questions. There are no wrong answers. The conversation is the point. 

• Chapter 1 introduces the world: the family, the seven maple trees, the Thinking Tree, and Joy’s rival, Miss Nibbles the squirrel. 

• “Leave it” is a self-control lesson in miniature. Ask your child about a time they waited or chose not to do something they wanted to do. 

• The idea of “roots” is a gentle way to talk about belonging: family, friends, teachers, and anyone who makes your child feel safe.