Dog Stories

( 2 )

Overview

Now joining Everyman’s Library—the most extensive and distinguished collectible library of the world’s greatest works—is an appealing new collection in a small Pocket Classics format, perfect for gift giving and reading pleasure.
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Dog Stories
rounds up a pack of vivid and colorful stories about man’s best friend by a wide range of great writers, from ...

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Overview

Now joining Everyman’s Library—the most extensive and distinguished collectible library of the world’s greatest works—is an appealing new collection in a small Pocket Classics format, perfect for gift giving and reading pleasure.
_____________________

Dog Stories
rounds up a pack of vivid and colorful stories about man’s best friend by a wide range of great writers, from Mark Twain and Anton Chekhov to Patricia Highsmith and Jonathan Lethem.

The richly drawn and unforgettable canines gathered here include Rudyard Kipling’s heroically faithful “Garm,” Bret Harte’s irrepressible scoundrel of a “Yellow Dog,” and the aggressively affectionate three-legged pit bull Ava, who lives in an apartment building for dogs in Jonathan Lethem’s “Ava’s Apartment.” Here are stories that touchingly illuminate the dog’s role in the emotional lives of humans, such as Tobias Wolff’s “Her Dog,” in which a widower shares his grief for his wife with her grieving pet. Here, too, are humorous glimpses of the canine point of view, from O. Henry’s tale of a dissatisfied lapdog’s escape to P. G. Wodehouse’s cheerfully naïve watchdog who simply wants everybody to get along. These writers and others—Ray Bradbury, Doris Lessing, Thomas McGuane, Rick Bass, James Salter, and Penelope Lively among them—offer imaginative, lyrical, and empathetic portraits of humanity’s most devoted companion.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Starred Review.

This motley, lovable collection is as varied as the dogs depicted within, from the savage hunters and woeful mutts of Doris Lessing and Anton Chekhov, to Lydia Millet's pampered poodle and Brad Watson's sage seeing eye dog. Tesdell's impressive choices range from traditional tales of loyal, devoted dogs by Kipling, Twain, and others, to Madison Smartt Bell's story of a man gradually becoming a canine. These entries wisely steer clear of sentimentality, nevertheless portraying their subjects with heroism and scrappiness. The ultimate opacity of a dog's mind provokes imaginative writers like Chekhov, Wodehouse, and O. Henry to project themselves into their pets. Most of these dog narrators manage prose that is beautiful, elegant, and painfully accurate about the failings of their human owners. Jonathan Lethem, James Thurber, Tobias Wolff, Penelope Lively, and many other literary luminaries make appearances here. As Ray Bradbury writes, and as this anthology wonderfully proves, dogs "collect and deliver the time and texture of worlds" in their fur.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

From the Publisher
“Twenty tales of man and devoted beast, from James Thurber’s ‘Josephine Has Her Day,’ in which a persnickety couple come to see their mutt’s overpowering attraction, to Tobias Wolff’s ‘Her Dog,’ Lydia Millet’s ‘Sir Henry’ and Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Garm,’ possibly one of the greatest love stories ever told—about the bond between a soldier and his dog.” –The New York Times

“An entertaining pack of canine-themed short stories ranging from the 19th century to the present day. . . . Editor Tesdell takes pains to avoid the hoariest doggie clichés. . . . A charming assortment of stories that give the species the respect it deserves.” –Kirkus Reviews

"Enjoyable. . . . With some exceptions, the dogs in these stories show human beings to disadvantage." —Boston Globe

Library Journal - Booksmack!
Dewey be damned! This canine collection presents 20 shorts on man's (and woman's) best friend. Featured here is an eclectic mix of authors, including members of the classic set like O. Henry, Rudyard Kipling, P.G. Wodehouse, Mark Twain, and James Thurber as well as moderns, e.g., Jonathan Lethem, Doris Lessing, James Salter, and Penelope Lively. All that in a hardcover with a ribbon marker for $15 will set tails awagging. Mike Rogers, "Classic Returns", Booksmack!, 12/2/10
Kirkus Reviews

An entertaining pack of canine-themed short stories ranging from the 19th century to the present day.

In assembling the 20 stories in this collection, editor Tesdell takes pains to avoid the hoariest doggie clichés—no Marley-ish melodrama or Lassie-like derring-do here. But even the most serious authors seem to employ dogs for a narrow range of literary purposes, usually as a way to amplify human foibles. In Jonathan Lethem's "Ava's Apartment" (an excerpt from his 2009 novel, Chronic City), a three-legged dog mirrors the emotional incompleteness of the story's protagonist, a dissolute rock critic. P.G. Wodehouse's hilarious "The Mixer" is narrated by a dog caught up in a hamfisted burglary scheme that's upended by his sense of loyalty and generosity. And the dog walker in Lydia Millet's "Sir Henry" is befuddled by simple human interactions, so smitten is he with the moral purity of his charges. The dogs are rarely menacing—though stories from Patricia Highsmith and Ray Bradbury take gruesome turns—but in Tesdell's hands, dogs and melancholy tend to be close companions. That's most pronounced in Doris Lessing's "The Story of Two Dogs," in which the relationship between two farm dogs declines in relation to the affection they receive, and it's also apparent in the dialogue a widower has with his companion in Tobias Wolff's "Her Dog," and in the funereal hunting trip Thomas McGuane describes in "Flight." This anthology isn't a persistent downer, but the comic pieces are slightly less common: In addition to the Wodehouse tale, the collection includes a James Thurber classic, "Josephine Has Her Day," a study in dog-owner loyalty, Anton Chekhov's "Kashtanka," in which a dog runs off with the circus, and best of all Mark Twain's "A Dog's Tale," in which a dog's feat of heroism reveals the foolishness of the pet'sowners. Alas, the most recent of that batch of stories was published in the 1920s, suggesting that the funny dog story may simply be a thing of the past.

Though a little on the somber side, a charming assortment of stories that give the species the respect it deserves.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307593979
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 10/5/2010
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 1,385,802
  • Product dimensions: 4.90 (w) x 7.30 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Diana Secker Tesdell is the editor of the Everyman's Pocket Classic anthologies Christmas Stories, Love Stories, Dog Stories, Cat Stories, Horse Stories, New York Stories, Bedtime Stories, Stories of Art and Artists, Stories of Fatherhood, Stories of Motherhood, and Stories of the Sea, and of the Everyman's Library Pocket Poet anthology Lullabies and Poems for Children.

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Read an Excerpt

Mark Twain

A Dog's Tale

I

My father was a St Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian. This is what my mother told me; I do not know these nice distinctions to myself. To me they are only fine large words meaning nothing. My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them, and see other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she got so much education. But, indeed, it was not real education; it was only show: she got words by listening in the dining-room and drawing-room when there was company, and by going with the children to Sunday-school and listening there; and whenever she heard a large word she said it over to herself many times, and so was able to keep it until there was a dogmatic gathering in the neighborhood, then she would get it off, and surprise and distress them all, from pocket-pup to mastiff, which rewarded her for her trouble. If there was a stranger he was nearly sure to be suspicious, and when he got his breath again he would ask her what it meant. And she always told him. He was never expecting this, but thought he would catch her; so when she told him, he was the one that looked ashamed, whereas he had thought it was going to be she. The others were always waiting for this, and glad of it and proud of her, for they knew what was going to happen, because they all had experience. When she told the meaning of a big word they were all so taken up with admiration that it never occurred to any dog to doubt if it was the right one; and that was natural, because, for one thing, she answered up so promptly that it seemed like a dictionary speaking, and for another thing, where could they find out whether it was right or not? for she was the only cultivated dog there was. By and by, when I was older, she brought me home the word Unintellectual, one time, and worked it pretty hard all the week at different gatherings, making much unhappiness and despondency; and it was at this time that I noticed that during that week she was asked for the meaning at eight different assemblages, and flashed out a fresh definition every time, which showed me that she had more presence of mind than culture, though I said nothing, of course. She had one word which she always kept on hand, and ready, like a life-preserver, a kind of emergency word to strap on when she was likely to get washed overboard in a sudden way — that was the word Synonymous. When she happened to fetch out a long word which had had its day weeks before and its prepared meanings gone to her dump-pile, if there was stranger there of course it knocked him groggy for a couple of minutes, then he would come to, and by that time she would be away down the wind on another tack, and not expecting anything; so when he'd hail and ask her to cash in, I (the only dog on the inside of her game) could see her canvas flicker a moment — but only just a moment — then it would belly out taut and full, and she would say, as calm as a summer's day, 'It's synonymous with supererogation,' or some godless long reptile of a word like that, and go placidly about and skim away on the next tack, perfectly comfortable, you know, and leave that stranger looking profane and embarrassed, and the initiated slatting the floor with their tails in unison and their faces transfigured with a holy  joy.

And it was the same with phrases. She would drag home a whole phrase, if it had a grand sound, and play it six nights and two matinées, and explain it a new way every time — which she had to, for all she cared for was the phrase; she wasn't interested in what it meant, and knew those dogs hadn't wit enought to catch her, anyway. Yes, she was a daisy! She got so she wasn't afraid of anything, she had such confidence in the ignorance of those creatures. She even brought anecdotes that she had heard the family and the dinner-guests laugh and shout over; and as a s rule she got the nub of one chestnut hitched to another chestnut, where, of course, it didn't fit and hadn't any point; and when she delivered the nub she fell over and rolled on the floor and laughed and barked in the most insane way, while I could see that she was wondering to herself why it didn't seem as funny as it did when she first heard it. But no harm was done; the others rolled and barked too, privately ashamed of themselves for not seeing the point, and never suspecting that the fault was not with them and there wasn't any to see.

You can see by these things that she was of a rather vain and frivolous character; still, she had virtues, and enough to make up, I think. She had a kind hear and gentle ways, and never harbored resentments for injuries done her, but put them easily out of her mind and forgot them; and she taught her children her kindly way, and from her we learned also to be brave and prompt in time of danger, and not to run away, but face the peril that threatened friend or stranger, and help him the best we could without stopping to think what the cost might be to us. And she taught us not by words only, but by example, and that is the best way and the surest and the most lasting. Why, the brave things she did, the splendid things! she was just a soldier; and so modest about it — well, you couldn't help admiring her, and you couldn't help imitating her, not even a King Charles spaniel could remain entirely despicable in her society. So, as you see, there was more to her than her education.

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Table of Contents

O. Henry, “Memoirs of a Yellow Dog”
Jonathan Lethem, “Ava’s Apartment”
Rudyard Kipling, “Garm—A Hostage”
Ray Bradbury, “The Emissary”
P. G. Wodehouse, “The Mixer”
Patricia Highsmith, “There I Was, Stuck with Bubsy”
Mark Twain, “A Dog’s Tale”
James Thurber, “Josephine Has Her Day”
Anton Chekhov, “Kashtanka”
G. K. Chesterton, “The Oracle of a Dog”
Brad Watson, “Seeing Eye”
Tobias Wolff, “Her Dog”
Lydia Millet, “Sir Henry”
Madison Smartt Bell, “Barking Man”
Bret Harte, “A Yellow Dog”
Doris Lessing, “The Story of Two Dogs”
Rick Bass, “The Hermit’s Story”
Thomas McGuane, “Flight”
James Salter, “My Lord You”
Penelope Lively, “Black Dog”

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First Chapter

Dog Stories


By Diana Secker Tesdell

Everyman's Library

Copyright © 2010 Diana Secker Tesdell
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780307593979

Mark Twain

A Dog's Tale


I

My father was a St Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian. This is what my mother told me; I do not know these nice distinctions to myself. To me they are only fine large words meaning nothing. My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them, and see other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she got so much education. But, indeed, it was not real education; it was only show: she got words by listening in the dining-room and drawing-room when there was company, and by going with the children to Sunday-school and listening there; and whenever she heard a large word she said it over to herself many times, and so was able to keep it until there was a dogmatic gathering in the neighborhood, then she would get it off, and surprise and distress them all, from pocket-pup to mastiff, which rewarded her for her trouble. If there was a stranger he was nearly sure to be suspicious, and when he got his breath again he would ask her what it meant. And she always told him. He was never expecting this, but thought he would catch her; so when she told him, he was the one that looked ashamed, whereas he had thought it was going to be she. The others were always waiting for this, and glad of it and proud of her, for they knew what was going to happen, because they all had experience. When she told the meaning of a big word they were all so taken up with admiration that it never occurred to any dog to doubt if it was the right one; and that was natural, because, for one thing, she answered up so promptly that it seemed like a dictionary speaking, and for another thing, where could they find out whether it was right or not? for she was the only cultivated dog there was. By and by, when I was older, she brought me home the word Unintellectual, one time, and worked it pretty hard all the week at different gatherings, making much unhappiness and despondency; and it was at this time that I noticed that during that week she was asked for the meaning at eight different assemblages, and flashed out a fresh definition every time, which showed me that she had more presence of mind than culture, though I said nothing, of course. She had one word which she always kept on hand, and ready, like a life-preserver, a kind of emergency word to strap on when she was likely to get washed overboard in a sudden way — that was the word Synonymous. When she happened to fetch out a long word which had had its day weeks before and its prepared meanings gone to her dump-pile, if there was stranger there of course it knocked him groggy for a couple of minutes, then he would come to, and by that time she would be away down the wind on another tack, and not expecting anything; so when he'd hail and ask her to cash in, I (the only dog on the inside of her game) could see her canvas flicker a moment — but only just a moment — then it would belly out taut and full, and she would say, as calm as a summer's day, 'It's synonymous with supererogation,' or some godless long reptile of a word like that, and go placidly about and skim away on the next tack, perfectly comfortable, you know, and leave that stranger looking profane and embarrassed, and the initiated slatting the floor with their tails in unison and their faces transfigured with a holy  joy.

And it was the same with phrases. She would drag home a whole phrase, if it had a grand sound, and play it six nights and two matinées, and explain it a new way every time — which she had to, for all she cared for was the phrase; she wasn't interested in what it meant, and knew those dogs hadn't wit enought to catch her, anyway. Yes, she was a daisy! She got so she wasn't afraid of anything, she had such confidence in the ignorance of those creatures. She even brought anecdotes that she had heard the family and the dinner-guests laugh and shout over; and as a s rule she got the nub of one chestnut hitched to another chestnut, where, of course, it didn't fit and hadn't any point; and when she delivered the nub she fell over and rolled on the floor and laughed and barked in the most insane way, while I could see that she was wondering to herself why it didn't seem as funny as it did when she first heard it. But no harm was done; the others rolled and barked too, privately ashamed of themselves for not seeing the point, and never suspecting that the fault was not with them and there wasn't any to see.

You can see by these things that she was of a rather vain and frivolous character; still, she had virtues, and enough to make up, I think. She had a kind hear and gentle ways, and never harbored resentments for injuries done her, but put them easily out of her mind and forgot them; and she taught her children her kindly way, and from her we learned also to be brave and prompt in time of danger, and not to run away, but face the peril that threatened friend or stranger, and help him the best we could without stopping to think what the cost might be to us. And she taught us not by words only, but by example, and that is the best way and the surest and the most lasting. Why, the brave things she did, the splendid things! she was just a soldier; and so modest about it — well, you couldn't help admiring her, and you couldn't help imitating her, not even a King Charles spaniel could remain entirely despicable in her society. So, as you see, there was more to her than her education.

Continues...

Excerpted from Dog Stories by Diana Secker Tesdell Copyright © 2010 by Diana Secker Tesdell. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

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Sort by: Showing all of 2 Customer Reviews
  • Posted October 19, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    this enjoyable collection combines dog and book

    This twenty short stories anthology focuses on the relationship between canines and their best friends, humans. The entries include a who's who of literature going back to the nineteenth century (but no Jack London). All the contributions are well written as they range the pack of doggy tales of the tails. O'Henry provides his usual twisting story "Memoirs of a Yellow Dog" as does Bret Harte in his "Yellow Dog"; though the settings are quite far apart. Fans will enjoy meeting the three-legged pit bull Ava who owns "Ava's Apartment" (by Jonathan Lethem) or encountering P. G. Wodehouse's "The Mixer" who just wants everyone to get along together while unable to comprehend why not. Whether it is the Case of the "Black Dog" by Penelope Lively or the amusing whimsical James Thurber's "Penelope Has Her Day", canine lovers (and fans of short stories in general) will relish reading tales like Mark Twain's "A Dog's Day" and a wonderful entry by Ray Bradbury. Dog Stories is a strong entertaining compilation as Groucho once mused: "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read"; this enjoyable collection combines dog and book.

    Harriet Klausner

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 22, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

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