Fireside Books: There's exciting news for book lovers. Fireside Books in Parksville now has a second location in Port Alberni. The BookWyrm - used books are just $5 or less. The BookWyrm, on the corner of Redford and Anderson, opens seven days a week from 10 to 5, building your personal library for less. Fireside Books at 464 Island Highway East in Parksville is a book dragon's dream come true. Browse their extensive collections seven days a week. Both locations make growing your personal library easier than ever. New and used books and so much more. Order online at firesidebooks.ca and pick up at either location. Details available online.

The Ballad of Peter & Gracie: Peter and his dog raced here and there, through fields so wide, with dreams in their pockets and stars as their guide. Everyday's an adventure under the open sky. In their world of stories, time just flies by.

Peter McCully: Peter woke up on the first day of July to the smell of pancakes and the sound of Gracie's claws clicking up and down the hallway outside his door. He didn't need an alarm clock. He had a fluffy white miniature American Eskimo dog instead, and Gracie had decided that today, of all days, was far too exciting for sleeping in.

"Okay, okay," Peter laughed, throwing off his blanket. "I'm up." Gracie spun a happy circle on the rug and gave one sharp bark, which Peter had long ago learned meant something like, "Let's go. Let's go. Let's go." Downstairs, his mum was flipping pancakes shaped like maple leaves. His dad had already laid out two small Canadian flags on the kitchen table, one for Peter to wave and one slightly smaller that fit into a little holder clipped to Gracie's harness.

"Happy Canada Day," his mum said, sliding a maple leaf pancake onto his plate. "Happy Canada Day," Peter said back, though as he sat down, he realized something. "Wait. What is Canada Day, actually? I mean, I know there's a parade in Parksville and music down at the park, but what are we celebrating?" His mum smiled and sat down across from him with her coffee.

"That's a really good question. Canada Day is the day our whole country celebrates becoming Canada. A long, long time ago, back on July 1st, 1867, a few separate colonies joined together to form one country with one name for the very first time. That day is called Confederation, and Canada Day is the birthday of that idea."

"So it's like a giant birthday party?" Peter asked. "Exactly like a giant birthday party," his dad said, sitting down with his own plate. "Except instead of one cake, the whole country gets flags, parades, and barbecues from Vancouver Island all the way to Newfoundland." Gracie, who had been sitting very patiently under the table for a piece of pancake to fall, let out a small woof, as if to remind everyone that dogs deserve birthday cake too.

"No maple syrup for you," Peter said, scratching behind her ears. "But you can come to the parade. You get to wear a flag." After breakfast, Peter's mum clipped the little flag holder onto Gracie's harness, and Gracie pranced around the living room like she had just been crowned Queen of Canada Day. Peter pulled on his red T-shirt, grabbed his own flag, and the whole family drove from Coombs to the Parksville waterfront, where the town's Canada Day parade always began.

Already the street was filling up. Lawn chairs lined the curb. A man in a kilt was warming up his bagpipes near the community hall. And somewhere down the block, someone was testing a microphone with a crackly, "Testing one, two. Can everybody hear me?" That made Gracie's ears swivel like little radar dishes.

"There's Mrs. Donaldson," Peter said, spotting his teacher from school standing near the curb with her own little flag. She waved, and Gracie wagged so hard her whole back end wiggled. They found a good spot outside Fireside Books. Peter pressed his nose almost to the bookstore window for a second, looking at the display of summer reading books stacked up behind the little paper maple leaves before his dad gently tugged him back toward the curb.

"We should come back after the parade," Peter said. "We'll see," his mum said, which Peter usually understood meant yes, but let's not promise anything in front of the dog, who will absolutely remember. "Parade's starting," his dad said. Down the street came the colour guard first, carrying the Canadian flag, the British Columbia flag, and a flag for the local First Nations community groups taking part.

Everyone on the curb stood a little straighter and clapped. "Why do they carry more than one flag?" Peter asked. "Because Canada Day is made up of lots of different communities and peoples," his mum said. "Canada Day isn't just one story. It's a lot of stories from a lot of different people, people who all live here together.

Some of those stories go back thousands of years, long before 1867, and it's important that we remember that, too." Peter thought about that as the local fire truck rumbled by next with its lights flashing and its siren. Gracie barked at the siren, one short indignant woof. Next came the Parksville Pipes and Drum Band, marching in step, their kilts swinging, and then a float from the Parksville Curling Club shaped like a giant curling rock.

Behind them came a row of kids on bicycles decorated with red and white streamers and playing cards clipped to the spokes so the wheels made a clattering, whirring sound as they rolled past, ribbons fluttering from the handlebars. "I wanna do that next year," Peter said, already imagining his own bike covered in red streamers.

"We'll decorate your bike together," his dad promised, "maple leaves on the wheels and everything." Right behind the bicycles came a marching band from one of the local schools, trumpets and trombones blaring out a tune that made half the crowd clap along. Gracie tilted her head all the way to one side, trying to decide whether the trombones were friend or foe.

A man dressed as a giant beaver walked along the parade route, waving and posing for photos, his big foam tail dragging slightly on the pavement behind him. Gracie was deeply suspicious of him in a way that made the whole family laugh. She planted her paws and let out a low, serious growl until Peter knelt down next to her.

"It's okay, Gracie. That's just somebody's costume. It's not a real beaver." Gracie wasn't entirely convinced, but she allowed the giant beaver to walk by without further comment, watching him the whole way down the street with one suspicious eyebrow raised the way only a twenty-pound dog with very strong opinions could manage.

When the beaver paused to wave directly at Gracie, she let out one small huff just to make her feelings known. After the parade finished at the far end of the street, the family drifted toward the community park, where tables had been set up for a barbecue, face painting, and a stage where a local band was tuning up guitars.

Red and white balloons bobbed everywhere, and someone had strung up a banner that said, "Happy One Hundred and Fifty-Ninth Birthday, Canada," in big letters. "Is Canada really a hundred and fifty-nine?" Peter asked, squinting up at the banner. "This year, yes," his mum said. "Though the land and the people who have lived here have stories that go back so much further than that.

Canada Day celebrates when the country got its name and its government, but it isn't the whole story of who lives here." Peter nodded slowly and filed that fact away to bring up unexpectedly at dinner sometime in the next few weeks. They found a patch of grass near the stage, and Peter's dad got in line for hot dogs while Gracie flopped down in a small triangle of shade, her flag still proudly clipped to her harness, watching the crowd with great interest.

A volunteer in an orange Canada Day T-shirt came around handing out little paper flags to anyone who didn't already have one, and a few kids nearby were getting their cheeks painted with maple leaves and rainbows. A girl about Peter's age came over, drawn by Gracie's fluffy white fur. "Can I pet your dog?"

she asked. Peter said, "Her name's Gracie. She's an American Eskimo Dog, even though she lives in Canada." The girl laughed. "That's funny." "I know," Peter said. "I think it's because the breed started in other countries a long time ago. But Gracie's never really lived anywhere except right here on Vancouver Island, so I think that makes her Canadian, or at least an Islander."

Gracie, sensing that she was the centre of attention, rolled over for a belly rub, which both children were happy to provide. As the afternoon wore on, the band played, kids ran through a sprinkler near the playground, and Peter got a small maple leaf painted on his cheek, even though Gracie sniffed at the face painting table with deep suspicion and refused to go anywhere near it.

"Fair enough," Peter told her. "I wouldn't want paint on my face either if I were a dog." When the sun began to dip lower and the sky turned a soft orange-pink over the ocean, a man with a microphone asked everyone to gather in close on the grass for the sing-along. "Come on," Peter's mum said, spreading their blanket out near the front.

"This is my favourite part." Peter sat down between his parents with Gracie curled against his leg, and all around them, families settled onto blankets and lawn chairs as strings of little white lights came on in the trees above the stage, twinkling like the sky had gotten an early start on stars. The band played "O Canada," and the whole park stood up together, hands over hearts, voices rising up into the cool evening air.

Peter sang as loud as he could, and even Gracie, standing at his feet with her flag still proudly clipped to her harness, lifted her chin and let out one long, solemn howl that made the people nearby laugh kindly. "I think she's trying to sing, too," the girl said from earlier, settled nearby with her own family.

"She's probably the only dog in Parksville who knows the words," Peter said proudly. After that, the band played on, and volunteers came round to hand out glow bracelets that clicked on with a soft snap and lit up red and white in the dusk. Peter put one on his wrist and very carefully around the base of Gracie's tail, where it bobbed along like a tiny lantern every time she wagged.

"Now you really do look like a Canada Day dog," Peter told her, and Gracie thumped her glowing tail against the blanket in agreement. It kept getting darker, and one by one, stars began to appear above the tree line. "That's the first star I've seen tonight," Peter said, pointing. "Make a wish," his mum said. Peter thought about it carefully and decided to wish that next Canada Day would be just as good as this one.

Gracie, for her part, seemed to be wishing mostly for a piece of somebody's hot dog bun, but Peter decided that counted, too. The band finished with one last cheerful song, and the whole crowd clapped and cheered, and a few kids near the back waved their glow bracelets over their heads like tiny fireflies.

Peter watched the lights bob through the park and decided that Canada Day was a strange and wonderful kind of birthday. Not just one story, but a whole pile of stories all happening on the same warm summer night, in the same park, under the very same stars. "Happy Canada Day, Gracie," Peter said, wrapping his arms around her as the music faded and the crowd on the grass began, slowly and happily, to fold up their blankets and head for home.

They walked in the cool evening air, Peter's flag rolled up under his arm, and Gracie trotting along beside him, her glow bracelet still bobbing softly at the base of her tail. Porch lights glowed up and down the street. "The best birthday party I've ever been to," Peter said, yawning, "and I didn't even get any cake."

"There's always next year," his mum said, laughing. By the time they got home, Peter was too tired to do much more than brush his teeth and climb into bed. Gracie hopped up at the end of the bed, circled twice, and flopped down with a contented sigh, her flag finally unclipped and resting on the nightstand where Peter could see it.

Her glow bracelet still glowing faintly in the dark like a tiny, patient nightlight. "Good night, Gracie," Peter murmured, already half asleep. "Happy Canada Day." Gracie answered with the softest woof of the whole day. And outside, the last few stars kept right on shining over Coombs, as if Canada itself were saying good night.

The Ballad of Peter and Gracie: Peter and Gracie, the finest of friends, with tales of wonder that never end. In the pages of books or stars above, they find their magic in laughter and love.

Fireside Books: There's exciting news for book lovers. Fireside Books in Parksville now has a second location in Port Alberni. The BookWyrm - used books are just $5 or less. The BookWyrm, on the corner of Redford and Anderson, opens seven days a week from 10 to 5, building your personal library for less. Fireside Books at 464 Island Highway East in Parksville is a book dragon's dream come true. Browse their extensive collections seven days a week. Both locations make growing your personal library easier than ever. New and used books and so much more. Order online at firesidebooks.ca and pick up at either location. Details available online.