By Anne Groebner

My love for dogs started when I was about four-years-old. My Dad brought home a black, long-haired and feisty cocker spaniel puppy, who we originally and creatively called “Blackie.” I greeted them at the door, but when I saw the dog, I was terrified and ran upstairs to the safety of my bed. Little did I know, in my hurry, that Blackie was right at my heels and reached the bed at the same time I did and showered me with kisses. It was the beginning of our great relationship. He and I had an understanding, When I was forced to sit at the table until I ate foods I detested, Blackie would sit under my chair and help me out when my mom left the room — It was a win/win for both of us.

We had several dogs growing up. There was Sandy, a beautiful, blonde collie mix, who I still bear the scar on my hand from helping her eat one day. She was an escape artist who hated the mail man. We would have to tie her up when he was coming so we could get our mail. It worked for a while until she ripped the fence out of the ground and we watched the mailman, followed by Sandy and the chain, dragging the fence and my mom all running down the street. Eventually, some people came to look at her who lived on a farm and, just like that, she was gone.

Our next dogs were KC (named after my parents; Ken and Carol) and snoopy, who was actually a girl, but we liked the name. They were both chihuahuas with totally different personalities. KC had longer legs and a slim body and could outrun us when she got out. Snoopy had short legs and brains. When we chased her, she would stop suddenly and we would fly past her and she would turn and run the other way. She was also the grumpy one. If she was sleeping on your lap, you didn’t move or you would witness her wrath. 

When my mom remarried, we had a dog named Ace — I could write books about Ace — he was a character! We also ended up with 13 dogs, including a deaf Dalmatian named Dale (another creative name) and “The Dude,” (who’s mother was a Cairn terrier and his father was a traveling man), 12 cats, a bird, two gerbils and a horse, all in our backyard. Fortunately, we lived outside the city limits. On top of that, our house was the hangout for all the kids in the neighborhood. My step-father, Ram, was a retired Navy Captain with some pretty strict rules, but never did he reject turning our house into party central — to the detriment of some of our neighbors who tried to kick us out. With five kids and all the animals, my mother’s boss looked forward to hearing the excuses she had for being late. Each one was a story in itself.

One day, Ram brought home a book by James Thurber, and once I started reading, I couldn’t put it down. Thurber was a writer, cartoonist and a columnist/journalist for the New Yorker. His short stories about his dogs were popular around the 1940s. He had over 50 dogs in his lifetime! In 1969, they created a television show based on his cartoons, called “My World and Welcome to It.” I never missed it! In 2013, they produced a movie based on one of Thurber’s short stories called “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” starring Ben Stiller. I think I have watched it 20 times.

Recently, during my recovery, after another short stint in the hospital, I picked up my old copy of “Thurber’s Dogs (1955),” that I found in a vintage bookstore. I still laugh at his short stories. “The Dog That Bit People” is one of my favorites. He writes Muggs is “A big, burly, choleric dog, who always acted as if Thurber wasn’t one of the family. There was one slight advantage in being one of the family. He didn’t bite the family as often as he bit strangers.” The dog bit everyone except Thurber’s mother, Mary (Mame). He tried once, but missed. Mame used to send a box of candy every Christmas to everyone that Muggs bit. The list eventually reached over 40 names.

Mame always stuck up for him, saying “he never bit anyone more than once,” she reiterated, “he has a quick temper but he didn’t hold a grudge.” Many people reported Muggs to the police, but Thurber’s father held a municipal office at the time and was on good terms with them. The officers still felt it was their duty to stop by and inquire about the dog, but Mame would tell them it hadn’t been Mugg’s fault, but the fault of the people who were bitten. “When he starts for them, they scream,” she explained, “and that excites him.”

The family took turns feeding Muggs to stay on his good side. However, if you reached toward the floor, Muggs would bite you, so they would feed Muggs on the table and provided a bench for him to stand on. 

Towards the end of his life, Muggs liked to stay outside, and no-one would come close to the house. So they had to haul their garbage down to the corner, take laundry out and bring it back in and meet the iceman a block down the street. It was hard to get him back in the house. The one thing, however, Muggs was afraid of was thunder. So when Mame wanted him in the house, she would hold a long narrow piece of sheet iron with a wooden handle on one end and shake it vigorously to make it sound like thunder. Muggs would rush into the house and hide under a bed.

When Muggs died, they buried him and, on a board staked over his grave, they wrote in Latin, “Cave Canem” which translates to “Beware of the Dog.”

Thurber passed away in 1961. He holds a place in history as one of the best cartoonists, writers and humorists of his time. There are many, many more books out there filled with his funny stories. One place I have found is Thriftbooks, an online bookstore that carries a wide selection of vintage books. triftbooks.com.



Here’s to a life full of wet kisses and snuggles from your favorite fur-lips. May you find comfort in their unconditional love…Remember, get your pets spayed or neutered, keep their vaccines up to date and please Adopt, don’t shop. There are so many animals up for adoption and so little space. Open your heart to a best friend. The rewards are so amazing.