Readers of any age who have wondered why dogs sniff each others’ rear ends upon meeting may not credit Sturges’ rhymed, not-quite-serious explanation, but will be nonetheless entertained by it. It seems that once, just before a major canine confabulation could vote to exterminate all felines, a cat that had crept in disguised shouted “Fire!”—creating such confusion that the fleeing attendees, all of whom had hung up their tails at the door, “grabbed whichever wagger / was on the nearest hook.” And ever since, dogs have checked every wagger in sight, “ ’cause it just might be his own!” Ishikawa fills pastel pages with variously-clad, asymmetrically featured doggies of many breeds (plus that one ringer), many with hilariously mismatched trailing ends, eying one another but never seen actually applying nose to butt—unusual delicacy in these literary times of farting dogs and histories of poop. The cats may come out on top this time, but just wait. (Picture book. 7-9)
