How to Collect Dog Books

If you love dogs and you love books, the combination is irresistible.

Your shelves may be overflowing. But how are those many books organized, and were they acquired with method or by serendipity?

Perhaps you've just bought your first puppy training manual for the best friend you've been dreaming of all your life. How many more behavior and training books will your young companion inspire you to acquire, and will you be hooked on the subject, and reading about it, long after you and your dog have learned how to behave to each other’s satisfaction?

Chances are we all have more books than dogs, so why not collect the former with as much care and curiosity and sheer unbounded delight as we expend on the choice of the latter?

On our online catalog, the Dog Lovers Bookshop table of contents lists books under more than 200 headings, most of which are subjects of potential interest to collectors. Here are some of the collectible topics I'll be discussing in the weeks ahead:

Authors

Artists

Childhood favorites

Domestic dog breeds

First editions

Genres galore

Legacies

Publishers

Signed editions

Time and/or place

Titles

Wolves and other wild canids


But where to begin? Probably with an early collecting adventure of mine that spanned 22 years, and a few references to dachshunds.

What's your special interest in dog books? And how are you pursuing it?

At Junior's Tree

I've been to see the squirrels. I've told them about Phoebe. At Junior's Tree, I found the squirrel who trusted us. He learned, when both he and Phoebe were new to the ways of the park, that Phoebe's interest in him was wholeheartedly friendly and that I, under her influence, was equally harmless.

We met Junior early in Phoebe’s introduction to squirrels. He fell out of a tree, his yelp as long and dramatic as his plunge into a privet hedge. His parents rescued him, bundling him up the trunk as Phoebe wimpered and I reassured her. She watched as the three squirrels vanished far above our heads.

We met regularly thereafter, watching Junior master his squirrel skills and become a confident, robust, and thoroughly engaging character. He often greeted us with a chirp and an extended paw, which I report only because there were occasional, and astonished, witnesses.

One dawn last spring, we came upon Junior pawing through a patch of newly risen seedlings. He paused, seemed to notice us, and went back to work. We didn't move or make a sound. Soon Junior tugged two shoots from the ground, roots intact, carried them toward us in his mouth, and placed them across my feet. Standing beside me, Phoebe crooned and wagged. I thanked Junior as he darted up his tree. Those gifts grew on our balcony all summer.

I can no longer go home from an encounter with Junior or any of our other fine squirrels and read about them to my friend Phoebe. So after I announced that their canine admirer and student had died, I read to the squirrels, a few entries about them from Phoebe B. Dackel's journals.

Phoebe learned so much from those squirrels. And I learned so much from Phoebe. In our parting, she reinforced the lesson I’ve been tutored in by many beloved dogs: the bond is unbroken, our good-byes are merely physical, the insuperable tragedy would be if we had never met.

“Thank you” to all you dear, kind people and dogs who have commented on Phoebe. She would reply with her heartiest “woof!” and her sensible “let’s get on with our day” gestures, which always steered me back to the books that needed mending, or cataloging, or packing and shipping, when what I really wanted to do was give her another dozen hugs. While I worked I often talked to her about the stories that awaited us when work was done. I’m not entirely alone when I open those books.

A Bookshop Dog's Journal: Part VI

Four years ago today, Phoebe and I met; we adopted each other, and the bond grows day by day. It was a bitterly cold Friday. Phoebe left the shelter wearing a red-and-white-striped wool sweater rescued by a staffer from a heap of castoff garments. Phoebe wore that same sweater again today, a bitterly cold Wednesday. What was the fate of the dog whose sweater became Phoebe's? We'll never know. We hope that dog is still with us, safe and warm, with a spiffy new sweater and someone to love who loves that dog more than anything in the world.

Dogs who end up in shelters need more protection than sweaters, of course. So Phoebe's message today is simple: please adopt and please support the agencies that assist homeless animals. Phoebe sent her annual donation this morning. Is there a better way to celebrate our good fortune, Phoebe and I wonder, than by helping other dogs and people unite?

It's been a busy day for Phoebe. Squirrel patrol, a tennis ball rescue made daring by the weight of leaves and twigs beneath which the lost was found, and a full complement of bookshop duties. She had her naps, too, which are such appealing events that I feel reinvigorated just by being in the same room with my snoozing friend.

The forecast calls for our cold day to turn into an even colder night. Phoebe and I will bake dog biscuits. Embraced by that comforting aroma -- it ranks with chocolate and baking bread in the pantheon of classic kitchen pleasure scents -- we'll curl up with our favorite pillows and fleece throws and commune, with each other and some of the books we love best. I'll read aloud to Phoebe. She'll doze on and off and wake to ask with a sweet nuzzle for another story. She'll wear that sweater she wore out of the shelter on our bedtime walk. When I tuck her in for the night, I'll thank her, for on this special day a family was born four years ago. I’ll thank her for being my dog.

The Gift of Book Care

Here's a thought for last-minute gift-giving for the book lover: it doesn't require shopping or wrapping or shipping, and it's right there at your fingertips. It's a gift of time and attention, and the recipients are not just people you care for but books that need care.

You may know someone whose books and shelves would benefit from a simple dusting. Whether that someone never thinks about it or never gets around to it, books deserve this most basic courtesy. And it's a courtesy that benefits the spaces those books live in, and everyone else who lives there, too. Maybe a friend or family member has spoken about wanting to reorganize their books, but can't decide on strict alphabetical order by author or shelving by topic. Offer to help with the tasks and decisions, or to undertake them on your own. Chances are your offer will be considered unusual if not outright unique. Revel in it! The work can be done at a leisurely pace, perhaps an hour or so every second Thursday evening or whatever suits all concerned. It's a grand opportunity for coffee and pastry or wine and cheese, catching up on the latest scuttlebutt or just shooting the breeze.

Can't imagine making such an offer? Have you ever walked a friend's dog? Gotten the mail or some groceries for a neighbor? Then helping someone take care of their books should be in your repertoire. It may take a little longer than those other acts of kindness, but since when does friendship come with a stopwatch?

It's a gift you can give yourself, too. And don't forget to reward yourself with a big bag of new books.

A Bookshop Dog's Journal: Part V

Phoebe has a suggestion for everyone who wonders what to give the dogs they love for the holidays: the simple gift of stories.

If you already read to your dog, you're on Phoebe's list of best humans ever. If you've never read to your dog, why not try it one day soon? Add it to that list of New Year's resolutions and trust your dog to keep the new bond it creates growing every time you two great friends, reader and listener, settle down for another chapter in the stories of your lives.

You've got everything you need. Your favorite cuddle venue is the ideal place to start. You'll find a few minutes to spare for a trial run, and who doesn't benefit from more private time with a pal? Worried that you'll feel silly? You can count on a dog's discretion; if you feel foolish your partner will make the foolishness just plain fun.

You can, of course, impart stories without literal reading. You already talk to your dog. So tell your dog a story, some anecdote from your youth or the mystery of this morning's missing car keys. Every dog's life can speak volumes, too, if you'll lend it your voice. Phoebe loves to hear me recount how she found Theodore, her toy lizard. And who doesn't enjoy pure fancy? Phoebe and the Carl Schurz Squirrels is an epic to which we add a fantastical chapter almost every day.

But what Phoebe prefers is formal reading. She seems to consider my books comparable to her tennis balls. We're both collectors, and we share what we cherish.

What to read? It doesn't have to be War and Peace and Puppies. Begin with the TV listings, the latest sports scores, or the kids' report cards. Aim for some of the classics of canine literature. But a page or two of that novel or memoir on your bedside table, or a holiday favorite, can get you going. One of the beauties of reading to your dog is that you can pick up any story anywhere, whenever it's convenient, and your audience will love you for it.

Shipping Books: Some Dog-Inspired Advice

Pack a book as if it's sentient.

Most of the books I pack are older books about members of the family Canidae, so I tend to use my dog brain and imagine that I'm settling an aging pooch into a safe and comfortable traveling case.

My point is this: If you're shipping books this holiday season, you probably want them to please their recipients. Getting carefully wrapped books to their destinations in pristine condition is part of the pleasure you're sending. So even if books aren't sentient, those who love them are. And book lovers notice and lament bumped corners and other rough-and-tumble wounds that books can sustain in transit.

Books travel best in boxes. "The book sits not on the bottom of the box but on resilient packing material: crumpled newspaper, packing pellets, layers of bubble wrap. As you look down into the carton at the wrapped book, can you see space (at least an inch, or three centimeters, is ideal) on all four sides? Once the book is resting on the packing material underneath it, it's time to tuck it in -- as you would tuck up a baby in its crib or a puppy in its basket, not with blankets or your old sweater but with crumpled newspaper or bubble wrap. When the box is closed, it should touch, not the wrapped book, but the packing material placed atop it."

After the carton is sealed, take another precaution. "Reinforce all carton edges with a heavy-duty sealing tape. Helping the carton keep its shape helps the book travel safely."

Tempted to ship in padded envelopes? Fine, but please take a few extra steps for the sake of those lovely books you've chosen. "Once the book is wrapped, cut cardboard slightly larger than the book... The cardboard must be clean and dry, thick and unbending. Place the book between the cardboard sheets, and secure them with tape... Now wrap the cardboard-secured book in another layer of wrapping, such as several sheets of newspaper. Try the envelope on for size, and if the wrapped book moves, take it out and wrap it again. Keep wrapping the cardboard-protected book until it fits snugly and does not move in the envelope."

When your parcels are ready to go, safeguard your shipping labels with clear, heavy-duty tape.

Gift suggestions at Dog Lovers Bookshop include our own guide to giving books good homes and long and happy lives: The Care and Feeding of Books: A Simple Repair Manual for Book Lovers, from which the quotations above are taken. The book is available in hardcover and paperback editions, and its authors, Dog Lovers Bookshop's owners, will be happy to inscribe copies with the personalized message of your choice. There are not only easy-to-follow instructions, but also some tales of the bookselling exploits of dachshunds Houdini and Rose. It was dogs, after all, who helped us learn how to take good care of books.

Socks Appeal

By the time Phoebe and I reached the park last Sunday morning, our seven book-and-sock encounters had taken on the aura of minor if not yet forgettable fable. At least that was their effect on me. Wiser than I, Phoebe turned her attention, and mine, to the squirrels. Our neighborhood eastern grays rewarded us with more eager interaction than we had elicited earlier from mere bipeds; Phoebe was entertained, and I was saved from disappointment. It was a delightful long walk. And by the time we turned for home, I knew that my passion for books might excuse my pelting leash- and coffee-toting passersby with questions about their personal libraries when they wanted to empty their pets and fill themselves with caffeine. What was inexcusable was the hour; next time I query dog walkers about their book care habits, it will be much later in the day.

That conclusion reached me, as if from another world, just as Phoebe and I reached an intersection and a red light. While we waited to cross, a woman and a terrier joined us. We had met earlier. We greeted each other again. I didn't say a word about books.

We were patting each other's dogs when the woman said, "Tell me again how you dust a book with a sock."

My surprise I suppressed; the fable might yet produce a moral and a convert. So as Phoebe and the terrier nuzzled and wagged, I launched into my dusting speech and pantomime. I slipped an old sock over one hand, pulling a book from a shelf and opening it, holding the text block, wiping the top edge gently and in one direction, careful of a dust jacket's position, and was about to discuss the merits of removing the jacket for thorough cleaning of the book's entire being and what care the jacket might need when the woman gestured to her dog.

"That sounds like the way I brush her. She loves it."

"Books love it, too," I proclaimed. "The cleaner they are, the longer they last." A terrible generality for a Sunday morning on a street corner, but I had an audience, and the dogs were still content with each other's company. We let the traffic light change more than once, and talked more about taking care of books and dogs. The woman confided that bathing her dog had been something she once dreaded; now she looks forward to it. And she does have some books that mean a lot to her, and maybe she should give this idea of dusting them some thought, and maybe even a try. I suggested that it's one of those things that's worse to contemplate than undertake. "Go home and dust two books," I urged.

"Three," she countered, and I think I heard a lovely little flare of defiance. I had underestimated her resolve. We parted, when the dogs permitted, as if we had crossed something more expansive than York Avenue.

Of the other people I accosted last weekend, I can report only that Phoebe and I have seen all six of them and their dogs in the days since, and no one crossed the street when they saw us coming. That's all the encouragement I need to try again.

All About Buzet

Our days among books begin with long walks. It wasn't long after dawn today when Phoebe and I were bound for Carl Schurz Park for exercise, a long stroll along the East River, squirrel patrol (Phoebe is emphatically pro-rodent, a happy pathology we share), and some social petworking (even dogs with a presence on the Internet enjoy personal encounters). About an hour and almost two miles later, we were back among our books, Phoebe curled up in bed beneath my desk, where I set to work.

On our walk we had reviewed our plans for the day. Top of the list was to check in with our colleague Buzet. We consult with Buzet almost every day. We couldn't run a bookshop or maintain our personal library without Buzet.

Buzet is indispensable to us, and always nearby. Phoebe's official book business perch is beneath one desk; Buzet's, under another. We're a happy family business.

Buzet and Phoebe have more in common than workday propinquity. Both came to me by wonderful chance, and when I needed them desperately. I have Dachshund Rescue to thank for Phoebe, and a generous man at a nearby wine shop for Buzet's presence on the team.

Phoebe came from Brooklyn; Buzet, all the way from France, from the historic Lot et Garonne region of the scenic southwest, courtesy of Les Vignerons de Buzet.

I won't pretend that Buzet is not a carton, composed of strong cardboard with a discreet marbleized effect to a pale exterior, with more height than width, with a prominent coat of arms that still catches my eye every day, just as it did one fateful afternoon, about a week before I met Phoebe. "Recycling?" I asked, and pointed to Buzet, whose trajectory toward a heap of cartons undergoing disassembly halted, then reversed. "This is one great carton," said the man at the wine shop. I thanked him, and held out my arms to Buzet as I would just days later to Phoebe.

Buzet cuts a handsome figure under his desk. Buzet may indeed be a carton, but he is not idle.

I admit it: I think of Buzet as a guy. He does some of the heavy lifting at Dog Lovers Bookshop; he takes a load off my mind by improving the condition of inventory, which in turn contributes to customer satisfaction. Buzet does something I can't do without help. He destinks books. That's why most mornings Phoebe and I visit with Buzet and the fine old books in his care.

This morning we opened his top flaps, still sturdy after almost four years, folded open one of the archival-quality plastic bags inside, and extracted a book that has spent seven days confined with a solid air freshener. I closed Buzet, with thanks for his help, and Phoebe's, for she had come to my side to watch, her nose agile and eager. I opened the book, poked my nose into the gutter, and sensed improvement. So today I didn't return the book to the bag and the carton. I set the book open on a bookstand, and we got on with our day.

After Phoebe's midafternoon walk, it was time to sniff that book again.

The hours and a pleasant breeze through open windows have dissipated the air freshener's aroma. When I poke my nose into the book's gutter this time, I smell nothing offensive; a week ago, my eyes crossed, and Phoebe left the room. The book will stand where it is overnight. There will be another sniff test tomorrow. Chances are, the book will be refreshed, ready for a new home. If the awful musty smell has begun to recur, back the book will go, and Buzet will shelter it until we get lasting improvement. It's a method I've used for more than a decade; it has yet to fail.

Everyone who has books that smell bad can have a Buzet. It can, of course, be a receptacle without a name. In brief, it should be clean, dry, close-fitting if not necessarily airtight, as commodious as your smelly books require to be housed comfortably. A solid air freshener is just one of the scent-affecters that can do the job. It's a low-tech, low-cost, environmentally acceptable method. Add patience, and it works. It's evidence that technique need not be an obstacle to giving books basic care, and destinking is just one of the basics. It's certainly my pets' peeve because I've noticed over the years how dogs often react to books that smell bad. If you don't destink your books for yourself, do it for your animal friends.

The main obstacle to most book care, I'm convinced, is attitude. "I don't know how" and "I don't have time" can be rendered meaningless.

Before I learned technique, I learned attitude. Without an attitude that encouraged ("I can do this!") and focused on results ("what an improvement!"), for me the constant need to help books smell better would become onerous, at best a bore. Personifying a carton helps me follow through with a task that might otherwise never get crossed off book life's endless to-do list.

Maybe I'll go out and buy a bottle of Buzet's wine. A toast in his honor, and to all life's helpful cartons, sounds like a very good idea.

Next time: My Sock Drawer and Yours: The Book Connection

A Head, a Tail, and a Spine

Books and dogs have so much in common. To start, just consider their physical form: A dog has a head, a tail, and a spine, and so does a book. That a book needs routine care may not be as obvious.

Dogs, of course, usually participate in their own care; they can all, to some extent, groom themselves. But books can't groom themselves; they need us: our intervention, our good intentions turned into actions. It was from a lifetime of caring for dogs that I learned how to take care of books. Sounds like just another chore, doesn't it? I think of it as a mission. You give the dog you love the best possible care, don't you? Learn to give the books you love a little attention, too, and they'll be better companions, whether they merely grace your shelves or curl up with you for a good read.

I know I'm not alone in equating books and dogs with happiness.

I've always been most content as a reader with a dog nestled under my arm; dogs, I believe, enhance my comprehension, and when a dog like my dear Phoebe enjoys being read to, the experiences is even more pleasant. As a writer, I've always done my best work with a dog at my feet. When I'm selling books, I'm at my most competent with a dog at my side. And when I'm cleaning and repairing a book that's had a bad accident, or suffers from age-related infirmities or neglect, it's the patience dogs have taught me that promotes a steady hand and positive results.

I think there's inspiration in books and dogs, considered as a unity, that deserves more credit. I know I rely on it daily.

In future posts (at least once a week), I'll tell you why I rely on that inspiration, with examples and ideas and dreams of a better world for books as well as dogs; practical advice on what you can do for books in your home, business, and community; and stories of the dogs with whom I've shared the realm of books. I'll report on my upcoming book (a sequel to The Care and Feeding of Books Old and New: A Simple Repair Manual for Book Lovers) and other publications. And I'll share some of Phoebe's adventures, with highlights from a bookshop staff dog's daily journal.

Next time: All About Buzet