I had no idea that Berkeley Breathed, famed writer and illustrator of one of my favorite comic strips, Bloom County, had written a book. Admittedly, it's a youth "chapter" book, but still . . . This one time, at the library, I must have been looking for an on-shelf hold in the youth department. As I perused the shelf, looking for a book whose title I can no longer remember, I saw the name "Berkeley Breathed" on the spine of a book.
My brain went, "Whaaa???"
I pulled it off the shelf, took one look at it, and immediately checked it out.
As the story begins, a man is carrying a damaged dachshund into a dog fighting ring. The dachshund thinks its time has come and has no desire to fight the dog across the ring from it. As it lays down to die (so it believes) it has a flashback to a former time. And then we get the whole story of Sam and his life.
As the story begins, Sam is at the airport, in a crate, along with other dogs, awaiting pickup by his owner, one Mrs. Nutbush. As she looks at him, she notices a tuft of fur that sticks up on his head. The Duuglitz Tuft!! This, detail, she believes, will win her the coveted championship at the Westminster Dog Show!
Well, for 216 pages, much hilarity ensues, as we follow the unlikely tale of Sam and his exploits. And the end result is utter chaos at the aforementioned Westminster Dog Show. Mr. Breathed does not disappoint in this tale, and it is so reminiscent of the days of Bloom County, down to the final scenes, as Heidy (we meet her at that same airport, too) carries Sam, who is holding a dandelion in his mouth. Who doesn't remember the beloved dandelion breaks that so often frequented our heroes of Bloom County?
I'll share a couple of quotes from the book, to give the reader an idea of the hilarity and wackiness of the story.
P. 148: "Sam let go of the wall and the three-legged dachshund and frazzled, doggy dust mop slid down the rain-soaked cable below a silver soup spoon, down into the driving storm, down toward the flooded street that led away from town and away from trouble and directly into far, far more."
P. 170: "As the small curly-haired dog tried to regain traction, he slid around toward the rear, giving the full appearance to the observing crowd that below the coat, Mrs. Nutbush's let bosom had gone rogue and begun a migration to better shores."
Of course, in both of those instances, one must read the context in order to get the full effect.
I recommend this book to fans of Bloom County, regardless of age. Perhaps fans of dog shows might enjoy it as well, especially if you find the blatant pretentiousness of such shows to be quite over-the-top.