All Henry the dog wants is a tail—like Grady, who has a tail “like a baseball bat,” or Pip, who can tie her tail into a bow, or Larry, whose tail sticks straight up. The archly whimsical text takes Henry, a brown-and-white Australian shepherd, first to a tailor, who buttons a long black tail to his hindquarters, then to a wagonmaker, who can’t make Henry’s new tail wag but who can sell him a wagon, then to Battery Park in New York City, where Henry picks up a battery for his tail—with disastrous results. Feiffer, illustrating his daughter’s text, provides liquid ink-and-watercolor cartoons, Henry’s mood evident in every line, perspective emphasizing his unhappy slink. This tale of a tail is exceedingly slight, however, its punny jokes the sort that adults think kids would like but that aren’t quite on the mark. Henry’s decision in the end to be happy with his tailless self will surprise no one, though there is some satisfaction in the snooty Larry’s acknowledgement that Henry’s “not so bad without a tail.” A handsome enough effort, but nothing special. (Picture book. 3-6)
