Kipper’s Book Club: The Reivers (1962) by William Faulkner

A nice story about a mischievous young fella stealing a car and taking a rollicking road trip—what’s not to like? Well, how about all the unnecessary prejudice against Canines? Apparently, a dog is “a parasite . . . a sycophant . . . . He will debase and violate his own dignity for your amusement.” It sounds like Old Man Faulkner’s been at the moonshine again—which is neither very dignified nor very amusing. No Pup-litzer for you, Billy Boy!

The History of Mr. Kipper: Part 4, Maintaining My Heritage

You can take the Kipper out of Tennessee . . .

Dogs in the News: The Lab-a-Lion

Click This Link for The Lab-a-Lion

 Here’s a great story about a dog with a serious identity crisis: he thinks he’s a lion! At least he takes "pride" in his appearance, even if he is a copycat. 
 

 

The History of Mr. Kipper: Part 3, Amping Up the Cuteness

After a few weeks of my high-octane puppy routine, I noticed that my forever parents were looking a bit frazzled, so I tried playing it adorable for a while, just to remind them why they adopted me in the first place. It worked: they took me on a picnic!

A Kipper by Any Other Name

When I first came into the world, people tried calling me “Montana” and “Truman”—but it wasn’t until I found my forever home that my folks instantly recognized me as the Kipper I most surely am. As for the other Kipper, he stars in one of my all-time favorite TV shows: very chill-axing after a hard day’s romp. Here's a classic episode courtesy of YouTube, a heart-rending drama about a resourceful young dog’s battle with insomnia. Enjoy!  
Click here for Kipper: Sleepless Night

The History of Mr. Kipper: Part 2, Wherein I Get Adopted and Show My True Colors

I’ve noticed that the first thing inquiring minds want to know is: what kind of dog am I? The short answer is: freaking adorable! Otherwise, the best guess is that I’m a divine cross between a labradoodle and some kind of terrier—or maybe just the result of an intergalactic Wookie-Ewok coupling. 

I might have been all dandruff and big-eyed vulnerability when you picked me up at the adoption event, 
but this is the real me: 
I’m KIPPER!

The History of Mr. Kipper: Part 1, Ballad of the Sad Canine

This is where my story begins: me as an eight-week old fugitive from Tennessee getting a mug shot in Illinois. 
And who could resist this furry mug?

Kipper’s Book Club: Pudd’nhead Wilson by Mark Twain

I was looking forward to this one: the story of a dude with a head for pudding (and, I assume, a nose for pie). Now you’re talking Kipper’s language, my friend! Alas, just a few pages in, the whole story was ruined by a gratuitous anti-dog diatribe: "there is nothing more pathetic than to see one of these poor old childless couples taking a menagerie of yelping little worthless dogs to their hearts.” Oh really? I say that there’s nothing better than some puppy-lovin’ for the old folks! For shame, Mr. Twain, for shame. Two paws down.

Nature Calls

I keep looking outside, hoping to see the bluebird of spring, but instead I only see the sodding geese of winter. Last year at this time, I was lapping cool water while basking in the warm sunlight. Oh, fickle Mother Nature, why do you torture a young dog so?! There's still eight inches of snow on the ground--how am I supposed to get a leg up to deal with the call of nature in these conditions? I got stuck in a drift the other day and had to be rescued by my mum. Can you imagine the mortification: a pillar of the canine community being carried in the house by his mother? How can I show my face around the fire hydrant? Oh, spring, come back to me--I promise long walks in the park and a lot of heavy breathing. You know you want me too.