Things Your Dog Doesn't Want You to Know: Eleven Courageous Canines Tell All

Things Your Dog Doesn't Want You to Know: Eleven Courageous Canines Tell All

by Jeff Johnson

ISBN: 9781402263286

Publisher Sourcebooks

Published in Calendars/Animals, Calendars/Humor & Comics, Humor & Entertainment

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Book Description

"Things Your Dog Doesn’t Want You to Know" answers the questions that dog owners have asked for centuries. The book is a collection of 115 humorous essays that reveal the truth behind some of the most baffling canine behavior, their hopes and dreams, their grudges and pleasures, and what they really think about us humans. Peppered with lively, clever stories and visually appealing photographs, "Things Your Dog Doesn’t Want You to Know" is a verbal and visual delight that is laugh-out-loud funny. If you have dogs, love dogs, or have ever been baffled by a dog, this book is a must-have.

Sample Chapter


By Axelrod (The Yellow Lab)

I know this is a sore subject. You’ve held this against me for like a coon’s age, which I think is three to five years, unless the raccoon is trying to take a short cut through our yard. Then it’s less.

I’m not stupid. I knew it was a bad thing from the moment you walked into the house and said the word “bad” over and over again. By the way, why did you automatically think it was me? Not once did you turn and look at each other and ask, “Honey, did you eat the sofa?” No, you just assumed it was Axelrod.

Okay, it was Axelrod. But there’s an explanation.

I didn’t do it because I was angry that you were gone so long that day. I’m not the kind of dog who thinks about anger and revenge. Honestly. Revenge would require long-term thinking. I’m not good at that.

And it’s not because I was bored. I actually started eating it just a few seconds after you walked out the door. Besides, I’m bored a lot. Sometimes I wish I had fleas or ticks because at least that would give me something to occupy my mind during those long, lonely stretches.

I think if you have to blame someone for the sofa, blame yourself. After all, you’re the guys who brought home the really huge chew bone with the rawhide. Remember? That chew was almost as big as me at the time. And when I started eating it, you both laughed and took pictures.

It took me a while to finish that bone. Then the sofa came into the house and how was I to know? That chew is made out of rawhide. And rawhide is like leather. And the sofa was made out of leather—or something kind of like leather. I thought you wanted me to go for it.

Honest mistake. Won’t do it again. I guess the rule is, if you guys sit on it, it’s not a chew.


By Sophie (The Cocker Spaniel)

I shouldn’t be telling you. This is a closely guarded secret in the dog world, a secret so big it could change the world as we know it. A huge scoop. And yes, I am aware that “scoop” has two meanings.

When we started doing this walk thing, I was young. You brought along the tiny treats and I was a good girl and then we went home. And then one time I got distracted. Before I knew it, we’d gone around the block twice. What a discovery. I could actually control the length of the walk. In theory, we could go forever, maybe as long as Sherman’s march. (Sherman is the basset hound down the block with hemorrhoids. He can be out there for hours.)

Those first long walks were magical. We would go and keep going and you would sweet-talk me like it was you who wanted the tiny treat, not me. Then I finally pooped and you got so excited, like I’d just sat and rolled over and played dead all at the same time.

As time went on, I got a little bolder. How long could I drag this walk thing out? Not forever, after all. At some point, you lose your patience and just take me back inside. Then a little while later, nature calls and I have to do the whole hiding-the-poop-under-the-table trick, which never works. I don’t know why I even try.

So we came to this kind of compromise, the kind where you don’t know it’s a compromise and I try to time out just how long your patience is. I’ll sniff around and squat a few times and keep walking. And you’ll keep your eye on my rear end like it’s some kind of wrapped-up birthday present.

Now that I’m getting up there in dog years, the game isn’t quite as much fun. The acting isn’t really acting anymore. It does take me awhile to get my business done. And the nice thing is you’re just as patient as when I was a puppy.

Maybe even a little more so. That’s nice.


By Tinkerbell (The Chihuahua)

First off, I don’t know when I was born. Honestly. My eyes were closed and I had no idea if I was still in or out, except that at one point it stopped being crowded. So I missed my original birthday, which I don’t think is all that unusual.

Also, I’m not sure exactly when a year has gone by – or seven years as you like to put it. “Hey, everyone. Tink is like 28. Like middle-aged. That’s funny.” Well, I’m not 28. I’m a vibrant four-year-old. But that’s not my point entirely.

My point is we don’t celebrate birthdays. If you really want to know, we celebrate naps and escaping from the backyard and the death of cats. Remember that time I altered the leather on your favorite shoes and you locked me in the closet and I altered the straps on your second favorite shoes? That wasn’t because you forgot my birthday the day before. No. They were just ugly. I was doing you a favor.

Also, I couldn’t resist the irony of you punishing me for the first shoe crime by locking me in your shoe closet. That’s why I ate the second pair, even though I wasn’t in the mood.

So, about yesterday’s party… I guess I liked the attention and all my friends coming over. But it wasn’t much different from a hundred other playdates, except maybe for the tent in the backyard and the doggie cupcakes with the lighted candles. And later on, of course, the fire truck and the water hoses.

But all that other stuff – before the flaming tent and the water… oh, and before the bleeding, screaming clown – some of that early stuff was lame. Like making us do karaoke. And hair extensions. They just don’t look natural on me.

Oh, about the clown incident. The dogs had this bet going about whether that was his real nose. And whether those were his real shoes. And, tell me, really, what kind of clown shows up wearing his own nose and shoes? I mean, losing a bet like that is enough to drive you rabid. Anyway…

Next year.


Excerpted from "Things Your Dog Doesn't Want You to Know: Eleven Courageous Canines Tell All" by Jeff Johnson. Copyright © 2012 by Jeff Johnson. 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 solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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