Great dog book spreads tons of Christmas cheer

Boy, do I look malnourished in this photo!

Good thing my cousin Olivia picked up the board book version of Ho, Ho, Ho, Tucker! by Leslie McGuirk, because I've been one hungry dude.

Not that a mere board book could withstand the crunch of my capacious jaws (and, let's not forget, beautiful teeth). Anyway, the Tucker book (it's a series—how did I overlook this?) features a sweet little white terrier-type who ends up helping Santa on his rounds. He even gets his own pair of antlers. I'm certainly slim enough to shimmy down chimneys, and I actually do have a pair of antlers, somewhere among the holiday decorations that Mom's been too lazy to dig through.

My buddy Olivia—she's crazy about me—is hoping for a bunny for Christmas, but if that doesn't happen, I'll ask Santa for some rabbit ears. Anything to make that little girl happy.

Best books for baby princes and princesses

I've been taking a technology hiatus of late—I mean, does everything I do require some sort of electronic device?—and so I've been reviewing some old technology. Specifically, print. You remember. On actual paper.

My predecessor Sparky digested a vast number of reading materials. I'm more the browsing type. So my favs need to be short, super engaging, and appealing to frisky young pups.

Herewith, then, my recommendations for Will and Kate's royal babe.

#1. Archie, by Domenica More Gordon. Surely, there must be someone named Archie in the royal household who would be only too happy to whip up bespoke outfits for princely pups? And could this book be any more adorable? I think not.

Archie is a talented hound who receives an unusual gift from his auntie—a sewing machine. Soon, his creations adorn pups and owners all over town. He's just ready to take a well-deserved vacation when he gets a call direct from the palace. We'll just say that baby Windsor will surely coo at the sight of his or her great-grandmama. Plus, the kits the author sells to make fuzzy pups might give Princess Kate something to focus on besides her morning sickness.

#2. All the World by Liz Garton Scanlon. A dog is part of the fascinating group of interesting people whose lives intersect during one perfect day by the sea—biking, marketing, escaping a sudden rainshower, and meeting up to enjoy the evening. A lovely read just before sleep and a solid slice of real life for the royal baby.

#3. Speaking of sleep, my favorite activity, I simply adore Leave Your Sleep by Natalie Merchant. Some time ago Merchant set classic poems to music and released a CD. This volume includes the CD; gorgeous illustrations by Barbara McClintock imbue the poems with a lovely sense of classic fantasy. It's a must for any nursery.

Yes, speaking of sleep...

Life, death, hounds and haiku: my take on two dog books

Celebrate the dog
In poetry, art and song:
Please do so with verve.
—Tucker

I eagerly looked forward to  The Hound Dog's Haiku and Other Poems for Dog Lovers. The team of Michael J. Rosen and one of my favorite illustrators, Mary Azarian, should be a winning combination.

However, I should have realized the task of using that meditative poetic form on a canine is something like putting together Mom and T'ai Chi: some things just don't go together, at least not in this volume. Mom's a fan of Rosen's The Cuckoo's Haiku and Other Birding Poems, but this collection just doesn't capture the uniqueness of the dog. I thought the rather abstract poems could almost could have been written about any creature.

For example, the Bluetick Coonhound's poem describes the dog resting in a straw-filled house. OK, but the creature really could be anything—a rabbit, say. The notes that Rosen provides do explain his thinking around the poems, but for me, and for Mom, they just weren't doggy enough. I'd like to see the pawing at the bedding, the settling down, the getting up again to rearrange the stuffing, the circling around to tamp things down just right, and maybe the big sigh when that perfect ratio of stuffing to dog is achieved. Most of the other poems fell short for me. Too bad.

A pet's death is just about the worst thing in the world, and I thought nothing could match Cynthia Rylant's Dog Heaven. That book was so true that it made Dad cry after Sparky died. But Mom and I both approved of Barbara Walsh's Sammy in the Sky (though we don't love the title), illustrated by Jamie Wyeth. Sammy's a hound who's lucky enough to love and be loved: he's "the best hound dog in the whole world."

Now, you might think I could disagree with that statement, but I know that to a child, their dog is the best. That's the way it should be. And it's OK to grieve when that best-loved creature is gone. Jamie Wyeth's paintings add much beauty and emotion to this story. Paws up.

Another pet-people book? Pitooey to the plethora!

I'm a contemplative kind of guy and don't do puppy cute.

You know that the genre exploring the dog-human bond from the human standpoint needs to be over when even I say, "Enough!" That's how I felt when I read reviews of Jill Abramson's book, The Puppy Diaries, so that while her tale may be perfectly fine, and I'm sure very sweet, I just can't take any more.

Apparently, Bruce McCall feels the same way. In the Nov. 14 New Yorker, in a Shouts & Murmurs column titled Pet Books Proliferate, McCall takes off on a quote from Abramson's book and explores people's deep relationships with a special earthworm, a withered spider plant, and an extremely cute potholder. All meet a sad, but touching end.

Now, I'm fascinated by science's attempts to demystify the canine psyche. I'm all for research. But no more cutesy memoirs, please. However, don't you think there's room for a book exploring the canine-human bond, from the canine perspective? I certainly do.

Star pups of the big screen: the inside scoop

Does anyone remember Rin-Tin-Tin? The canine film star of the 1920s and 30s, who reportedly had his chance at an Oscar snatched away because of his canine status, is the subject of a book being published tomorrow by Susan Orlean, which recently was excerpted in The New Yorker–check out this blog post on the Aug. 25 piece.

Movie star or no, I'm not a fan of German Shepherds, to put it mildly. In fact, whenever I see one, I let out a nonstop alarm bay that gives the same effect as our shouting smoke detector—you can't wait for it to stop, and your ears hurt like crazy afterwards.

I actually am crazy about dog books, although the subtitle, The Life and the Legend, seems to amplify things a bit much. Then again, at that time, famous dogs like Rinty were trumpeted in the press, feted and fawned on everywhere they went. Plus, he's still remembered after all these years, though I guess the TV show helped. (Of course, the original Rinty didn't star in those episodes.)

Turns out the Shepherd star in Harry Potter and the Prisoner from Azkaban isn't faring as well as Rinty. Berry, who played Padfoot, is up for adoption in the UK with German Shepherd Dog Rescue. He's being fostered right now, and I hope he soon has a home.

Speaking of pet adoption, take a look at my mom's blog post on how she made one of the smartest decisions of her life by adopting moi. It can be found at the Long Ears Blog, published by Coonhound Companions, a site that promotes adoption of hounds like me. Of course, none could possibly be as handsome, or as smart, but still...all pups deserve a loving home. I have to admit that Olivia, who graces Coonhound Companions' home page, is very, very lovely, and brilliant, I'm sure. She sure is a lucky girl, too—truly saved from a horrible fate.

So the next time I see a Shepherd in my neighborhood, I'll just pretend that my alarm baying is really just a shout-out for pet adoption. It's a good thing.

The story of Balto—highs and lows

I'm crazy for dog stories, but I have high standards. One of the best in a long time is about that megahero, Balto, by virtuoso nonfiction author Meghan McCarthy. Do I need to say that Balto is one of the dogs on the sled team that brought life-saving serum to Nome, Alaska, to stem a diptheria epidemic? And that the route is now immortalized in the Iditarod race each year?

The Incredible Life of Balto is unique not only because McCarthy can take detailed historical info and distill it to its fascinating essence, but also because McCarthy doesn't leave Balto simply basking in glory. She reveals the Black Beauty like story behind this hard-working dog: neglected and relegated to a sideshow. But, like Black Beauty, Balto finds loving care toward the end of his life.

Thanks, Meghan, for telling the whole tale, and making it so special. Even though I'm not-so-secretly very, very afraid of Siberian huskies, I can appreciate Balto and his team's dedication. Next time I see the husky who lives in my neighborhood, I'll make sure he hears about it. So will everyone else, because my alarm bay is so loud, I wouldn't be surprised if my sound waves traveled all the way to Alaska.

One fish, two fish, three fish—too many fish!

Last year's babies. They're much larger now, and even prettier.

Big fish in a small pond: that's the case here. And the problem: they all are big, leaving barely any room for me to take a drink.

Remember Henry Huggins? Author Beverly Cleary's eponymous creation yearned for guppies—and he got them, jars and jars and jars of them. (He also wanted a dog, Ribsy, which is why this book is one of my favorite reads of all time.) Time for another definition: the adjective eponymous has to do with a person giving their name to something. So in this case, Henry Huggins is the title of the book and the name of the main character. Got it?

So the Huggins-like fish population explosion happened this way: Two years ago, we started with five small comet fish from Russell's Garden Center in Wayland. Last year, those five small fish had grown exponentially, and they produced more than 60 babies. We thought we gave most of them away, more than 40 three-inch babies to a friend with a big pond but hardly any fish.

On the lookout for fish at Morses Pond. Less colorful, but still fun to scare.

But, you know, a pond can be dark, and fish are excellent at hiding.

Of course, I knew there were more fish in there, but since I still had plenty of open water to lap, I didn't make a big deal of it.

Come spring, though, those babies—more than 20—surfaced, and now they are almost as big as their gigantic parents. They're also eating their way through plenty of expensive bags of Hikari Gold pellet food.

So if you need some fish, let me know. Gorgeous fish to a good pond only, within baying distance, so that would be Wellesley or Natick. I'll personally deliver them. Then, I'll go home and take a good long drink.

Tales of devoted dogs and faithful friends

Did you read the touching tale of the Navy SEAL dog who laid by his owner's coffin and heaved a huge sigh?

The story of Jon Tumilson, one of the 30 Americans heartbreakingly killed in Afghanistan, and his Labrador, Hawkeye, has to make everyone recognize the importance of the human-canine bond.

Two great children's books, Hachiko Waits by Leslea Newman, and Hachiko: The True Story of a Loyal Dog (and the movie, Hachi) tell the story of a pup who met his professor owner every afternoon at the Shibuya train station in Japan. After his owner died at work, the Akita waited at the train station, for 10 years, until his own death. A statue of Hachiko at the station commemorates the relationship.

We dogs are faithful, loyal, and smart. We remember. We wait. And we love our human families.

Rescue dogs of 9/11

The New York Times features gorgeous portraits of courageous rescue dogs, now retired, who worked to find victims of the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.

Photographer Charlotte Dumas beautifully captures the nobility and dignity of these highly-trained canines who love their work.

Her book, Retrieved, which features these photos and more, will be published in September. Check out her website to learn more about her and her other work photographing dogs, wolves, horses and other fascinating animals. Her book can be preordered at www.theiceplant.cc

New Year's resolutions? Bah, humbug!

Lest you, dear reader, think I'm totally single-minded and selfish, I present some evidence to the contrary: not only did I receive Christmas gifts, I actually gave some.

First, the details of my holiday: I spent Christmas away from my family, at the fabulous home of Liz, as in Pet Sitting by Liz. There, I rested, gnawed at bones, and played in Liz's spacious yard. I had many canine companions with whom to socialize, as you can see from the party pix on Liz's Facebook page. And while I missed my family, the one-armed Jesus in our nativity, the wild opening of presents, and my own beds, Liz had plenty for me to try out. Beds, I mean.

So I received my gifts rather late. I, however, was thoughtful enough to ask Santa to bring mine in his pack when he visited grandma's. Here's what I selected: for Dad, extra-warm gloves so his hands don't freeze on our extra-long walks; for Mom, Alexandra Horowitz's book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs, See, Smell, and Know (she's got us dogs down pretty well, plus the cover photo is of a hound, not as cute as me, of course); for my sister, a 2011 fold-your-own zombie calendar (I just love everything from thinkgeek.com). She said that I pick the best presents!

As for New Year's resolutions, I'm not sure I need any. And if you're thinking diet, resolve to think no more.

Halloween howling: be heard!

Tonight is Worldwide Howl at the Moon Night, and I say, why should tonight be any different? At least I'll have some others joining me in song, so my howls (or bays, to use the proper term) won't be so obvious.

Fat chance.

Anyway, I'm glad that others will try to express themselves. Today I read The Dog Who Cried Wolf by Keiko Kasza, about a pup named Moka who reads a book about wolves and runs out to the woods to get back to his roots.

Unfortunately, when he does realize his dream of howling at the moon, some wolves howl back, and scare the fur off of his little self!

Because I can howl, or rather, bay, anytime I want, I have no such desire to take off and live au naturel. Besides, in all my hikes through the Hunnewell Woods, I've never seen a king-sized bed.

City Dog, Country Frog: what were they thinking?

OK, I've been avoiding this topic all summer, but it's really gotten under my skin. You think I'd love it: a foxhound lovingly treated by the brilliant watercolorist Jon J Muth, combined with text by the exceedingly clever Mo Willems.

Despite countless ads in the New Yorker and glowing reviews, my take on it is this: this effort simply does not work. First, deep and sincere thanks to Mr. Muth for deciding to highlight my distinguished breed. I often complain about the missed opportunities to showcase my, I mean, our handsomeness. Yet, since when is a hound a city dog? A hound is nothing but a country dog! Even Mom must admit that one reason I garner so much attention is because of my rarity here in Swellesley. My family is known for tackling tough cases when it comes to canines, so they didn't mind my country manners (read: none) too much. The owners in the book, though they never make an appearance, must have been awfully glad to get that hound back to the country.

Ok, so right dog, wrong book. The story simply makes no sense. It also has no connection to the Aesop fable The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse, one of Mom's favorites.

In this effort, a dog meets a frog and they become friends. Hounds are extremely kind beings, true. I have not only two rabbits in my pack but a gazillion fish and three frogs. Although I receive my liquid refreshment from our outdoor pond, I would never dream of harming those amphibians. Somehow, I don't think they'd be great playmates, either.

And, frogs overwinter without any trouble at all, so why does this frog not reemerge in spring? We are not told. In one truly frightening picture, the hound's face is distorted to become frog-like as he remembers his friend. Then, once the reader has absorbed the fact that the frog is gone, the dog makes a new friend, just like that, with an even unlikelier creature. Tadpole's Promise by Jeanne Willis does a better job of addressing the cruelties of nature, friendship, and loss. Unfortunately, it seems to be out of print.

My favorite dog book du jour doesn't deal with any of the above heavy topics, but the joy of reading: Dog Loves Books by Louise Yates. Completely adorable, just like me.

These words inspired by H. D. Thoreau

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately..." (Henry David Thoreau, Walden)

Actually, I went to the woods because Mom and Dad took me there on my morning walk. And I am very deliberate during my time there. In fact, Henry David himself says that there's nothing like a bit of exercise to get the creative juices flowing.

Being naturally rather introspective, I consulted my two-volume set of Thoreau's journals (rather criminally discarded by a New Jersey public library which shall go unnamed) for August 19, 1851: "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live! Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow...The writing which consists with habitual sitting is mechanical, wooden, dull to read."

There you have it: the perfect argument for every writer to have an annoying, lovable pup who has only the writer's best interests (plus his own, of course) at heart, when launching himself at the writing chair. The goal: to put both writer and pup in motion.

If you need more instruction on moving, the September Runner's World has tons of info on running with dogs, including the pros and cons of running with a leash, top dogs for running with humans, things to buy for your running dog (why no high-endurance treats on the list? I'm always thinking food).

Somehow, my noble breed is not one recommended for running with humans. The problem? Humans seem to like run in a straight line! Sparky, my beloved brother Dalmatian and an excellent running companion, was fine with that. Me, perhaps because of my contrarian nature, am not.

Warning: evacuate, evacuate! Or, the dog who cried wolf

Have you ever read The Dog Who Cried Wolf by Keiko Kasza? It's one of my favorites, about a dog who yearns to join the wolves, and when he does, is so darn scared that he can't wait to get home. He spends a lot of time howling, and so do I.

However, my howling, officially called baying, is  highly musical. On the other paw, our home's combined smoke/carbon monoxide alarm, is not. Ours is a supposedly highly evolved model, which actually speaks. Speaks, however, does not quite describe the combination of booming alarm and sharp-toned voice shouting "Evacuate! Evacuate! Smoke in the dining room!" Or, its variation, "Evacuate! Evacuate! Carbon monoxide in the basement!" The thing is so darn loud and scares me out of my skin, plus it always chooses to express itself at 2 a.m., just when I'm in my deepest sleep.

Of course, all of my sleeps are deep.

The thing is, after this outrageous brouhaha, while everyone runs frantically around trying to find out whether there actually is any cause for alarm, very quietly it will say, "carbon monoxide level 0 ppm."

In other words, never mind.

Here's the problem: this alarm is just like the boy who cried wolf. Remember that tale? Of course, when a wolf really appeared, no one cared. Here's an idea, First Alert: use a hound dog's bay for the real thing. I have two: one is the alarm I give when that awful Siberian Husky comes near; one's my plaintive, play with me wail. I suggest using the plaintive wail for the testing sound; the Husky warning for the real thing. That will shake things up. I can assure you: people will pay attention.

Goodbye, Alison Morris!

One of my greatest admirers (although they are legion) is leaving her post at the Wellesley Booksmith, where she has been the children's book buyer, and dog welcomer, for nine years. Alison is just the greatest, and I was so distraught on my last visit that the impossible occurred: I forgot to raid the biscuit bin!

Even though Margaret, Rebecca, Barry and Deb asked whether I had been proffered my entrance and exit extortion fee, I was just so scattered I could not collect. You would think she was moving to Timbuktu rather than Tribeca, but even though her able colleagues will pitch in to do her job, she has brought incredible energy, vision, good naturedness and intelligence to the post. Not to mention her writing those legendary captions to go with my photos of Big Stuffed Bear, with whom I love to cuddle.

Alison has transformed the Booksmith into a powerhouse of children's literature. Her judgment is excellent: lots of great dog books and an uncanny ability to match books to readers. Also, an uncanny ability to know when I am hungry. Which is always, except when I think of Wellesley without her.

By the way, Alison loves me so much she even mentioned me in her Publisher's Weekly blog, Shelf Talker, and included my photo! I love her! Will I ever recover?

Cugini from the Old Country

So, my post on little old Italian ladies must have struck a chord—Rossini, or Vivaldi, perhaps—because suddenly Mom has reconnected with her cugini from Florence and Rome. I hope they weren't terribly offended by my stereotype of such esteemed women.

Speaking of esteemed women, Mom's longtime friend Susan Van Allen also has written about Italy and why women love Italy. Her book, 100 Places in Italy Every Woman Should Go, is an insider's guide to the art, the flavors, the beauties, the dogs, the shopping that makes Italy special. I made up the dogs part, but there are an awful lot of elegant hounds in those Italian paintings.

Check out her book and blog at susanvanallen.com. It's bellissima!

Remembrance of dogs past

There's a sweet op-ed piece acknowledging the pain of losing a pup and the connection between the new dog and the old in the Boston Globe today ("The Secret Messages on the Dog Bed" by Elissa Ely).

Having never lived in a home (my manners were atrocious, unless you think that standing on tables and knocking lamps over is OK—what did I know?) before I settled in here in ol' Swellesley, I gave Sparky some space. First I slept in my crate. Then I graduated to the guest room. Now, I start off in the guest room, or my crate if I'm scared, then around midnight head to Sparky's old chair in my folks' room.

Let's face it: I'm really too big to fit in there properly, although it's amazing how tiny I can make myself. But Sparky liked it, and my folks are used to having a dog there. It's cozy, worn, and I can check on my parents. As for secret messages, I think it's more like telepathy. We couldn't be more different, but we have lots in common.

This hound's from the pound

Fave new read: Dogs by Emily Gravett. Found it yesterday at Wellesley Booksmith where I snagged three treats. Clearly, Barry was not on duty to limit my consumption.
    At first glance the cover pup looks like a basset hound, and I jealously thought, what is it with the fascination with these ill-proportioned hot dogs? Any time a hound is suggested in a children’s book, it’s always a basset. (see, for example, The Hound from the Pound; Lunchbox and the Aliens, and a  forthcoming Clive Cussler story that I’ll pass on. Sleep, Little One Sleep by Marion Dane Bauer, unfortunately out of print, has the cutest cover painting of a basset ever.)
    So groan, groan, even though one of my favorite pals, Padi, is an honorable member of the breed. Her mom is children’s author Barbara Barbieri McGrath, famous for her M&M-brand counting books. My mom’s non-candy favorite is The Little Green Witch, based on ye olde tale of the little red hen. Mom identifies a little too closely with that one. (BTW, tried snagging an M&M’s laced cookie last night—not bad, except that it was followed by Mom’s fingers down my throat.)
    Everyone says that Padi and I look alike, and we do—except that my legs are about two feet longer than hers. She’s a good sport, even dressing up like an actual hot dog on Halloween and baying at her parents' display of a big stuffed basset stuck in an enormous web that would intimidate even hard-working Charlotte. Check out Padi's pix on Barbara's home page.
    Anyway,  I noticed there was something very feathery about the cover dog’s ears, so I opened up the wraparound cover to learn this hound is an amalgam of sorts—not at all a purebred, but that’s OK. A basset is depicted inside, and so is a very nice-looking Dalmatian—tail a bit too long in the leaping scene, but great Sparkyish spots—and, wonder of wonders, an actual foxhound! Not truly wondrous, because Emily Gravett lives in England, where there are tons of my shorter-legged and –eared brethren. Also, she knows her foxhounds: I’m on the page of dogs that don’t bark.
    So there.
    Checking out the inside of the UK edition on emilygravett.com, I noticed that the language of one spread was changed for the U.S. market from “stroppy” (scary bulldog) and “soppy” (puffball). Good move. Good book!

Doggie Blues

"Yesterday's kisses are still on my lips..." Feeling a bit Billie Holliday-bluesy lately, with my mom and sister spending February vacation doing some college tours. Why they ever would want to leave home, I just can't understand.

Talked to them a couple of nights ago and gave them kisses through the phone. I'd been watching out the window for hours, waiting for them, Hachiko-style, when Dad finally suggested we call. It was, after all, Valentine's Day.

(Remember Hachiko, the dog in Japan who faithfully waited for his professor to come home each evening on the train? The movie, with Richard Gere, had a limited release in December;  I would rather read the book: either Pamela S. Turner's picture book Hachiko: The True Story of a Loyal Dog, or Leslea Newman's Hachiko Waits.) Anyway, I'm sure they'll be home soon and I will not have to suffer that fate.

The visits led Mom to reminisce about her days at The College of William and Mary in Virginia. Specifically, she recalled that her major had its own, very handsome, brick building (of course, being in Williamsburg) which was named, presciently enough, Tucker Hall!

My sister told me that she said hello to the Marquis de Lafayette while she trekked through Lafayette College's campus. The Marquis, you remember, is practically my great-great-great etc. etc. etc. grandfather, along with ol' George Washington, who had the smarts to breed the Marquis' gift of hounds with his own dogs, producing, voila, moi! Brilliant man.

Newton Centre harvest fair today!

Mom is singing with her new choral group, Basically Broadway, around 2ish in Newton Centre at the city's Harvest Fair. I helped her practice last night, especially with the low parts and the "doo-do, doo-do, doo-do, doo-do" sections on Can't Take My Eyes Off of You. I have to say, I sounded pretty good!

That reminds me of one of my favorite books, The Dog Who Sang at the Opera by Marshall Izen, based on the true story of a Russian wolfhound who insisted on sharing the great stage at the Met. I love the book, but I prefer the original cover illustration which had the hound front and center. We hounds, not only do we love to warble, we crave attention!