During the last three or four years, I have been assured of making money from the republication of “Butch The One- of- a- Dog.” The assurance has come in the form of telephone calls. I got another call a few days ago.
The first caller I had was sincere, spoke correct English, and knew the story of Butch well. The publisher wanted to republish the book However, the cost would be mine. When I told the salesperson I would not invest any more in the book, the pitch changed to their superior marketing plan. I was told I would be passing up the opportunity to make a wonderful profit on my investment. It was a sure thing. I passed on the opportunity. I did check and there was such a publisher. It appeared valid. At least they had a website!
I conversed with some of the later callers, but I again passed up their great opportunities. I tested one by telling the person I realized the book was not in the category of Caldecott winners. I asked the person if they agreed since they knew children’s books so well. It was clear the person did not know what I was referencing.
Butch was a little dog that had more personality than most dogs. His mother was a registered Dachshund who met a traveling dog. When we got him, he looked like his mother. As he grew, he began to get black stripes. He became a brindle wiener dog. People would stop in their tracks, take one look at him, and exclaim, “That is the ugliest dog I have ever seen.” I wrote about him in 1972 when I took some writing classes. The original title was, “Butch, The Ugly Dog.” With passing years, the title became politically incorrect. I changed the title, did some editing, and in 2013 self-published the book. My granddaughter, Sara, did the illustrations. My intention was to tell my great-grandchildren about the amusing little dog who brought us so much joy. After publication, I read the book to kindergartners and first graders in the area and gave books to libraries. I told more stories about Butch on a blog on my website. I enjoyed the time with the book, and then I moved on to other things. The book was never expected to generate income.
The last caller had such an accent I could hardly understand him. I did understand that a publisher had discovered the book and felt it had great potential. I hung up the telephone before getting the name of the dubious publishing company. I passed up another wonderful opportunity to become wealthy.
Caldecott Medal is an annual award for children’s picture books.