Never Have Your Dog Stuffed
In 1943, seven-year-old Alan Alda was diagnosed with polio. At the time, polio was one of the world’s most dreaded diseases, viewed by many people as a kind of modern-day plague. When a case of polio was diagnosed in a community, it was common for frightened parents to keep their children away from swimming pools, movie theaters, and other public places where the odds of contracting the viral infection would be increased. There was no cure for the disease, and there would be none for more than a decade, when Jonas Salk’s first effective polio vaccine became available in 1955.
Alda’s father was Robert Alda, a singer and actor who eight years later would win a Tony Award for his role in
More than a half century later, as Alda began to write his autobiography, he recalled an excruciatingly painful treatment regimen—originally developed by Sister Elizabeth Kenny—that involved the application of steaming hot woolen blankets to his legs and a stretching of the leg muscles that caused the young lad to feel as if his limbs were being ripped off.
Within a year, Alda was polio-free. And even though Alda’s parents were assured that their son was no longer contagious, the boy was declared off-limits by the parents of almost all of his former friends. In an attempt to raise the spirits of their increasingly lonely child, Mr. and Mrs. Alda one day surprised Alan with a large black cocker spaniel. There was an instant connection between boy and dog, who was soon named Rhapsody (the name chosen because Alda’s father had just landed his first movie role, playing the composer George Gershwin in a film biography titled
At age eight, when Alda’s spirits had improved enormously, fate delivered another crushing blow. His beloved Rhapsody died suddenly—and painfully—after eating chicken bones that had been discarded with some leftover Chinese food. The next day, Mr. Alda and his son wrapped the dog in a blanket and carried him to a dry riverbed near their house. As they started to dig a grave, tears began streaming down Alan’s cheeks, and by the time the hole was finished, he was crying uncontrollably. The distraught father, not sure what to say, ultimately proffered the first thought that occurred to him: “Maybe we should have the dog stuffed?” Alan, who couldn’t bear the idea of seeing Rhapsody tossed in a hole and covered with dirt, agreed: “Okay, let’s stuff him!”
Later in the day, Alan and his father found themselves in a local taxidermy shop, trying to describe their dog’s personality and explain his favorite expressions. Six weeks later, the dog finally arrived—but it was far from the Rhapsody that Alan remembered. The stuffed animal was totally unrecognizable, now looking almost like a rabid dog about to lunge. Visitors to the house began to avoid the living room, where the dog had been placed. And when the dog was banished to the front porch, postal workers and delivery people refused to go anywhere near the house. Alda was only eight, but he was learning his first major life lesson:
As the years passed, the notion of stuffing a pet dog became a kind of metaphor for Alda, reminding him that it was a mistake to cling to the past, no matter how much he wanted to, and that he must accept the changes that life presented, no matter how difficult. Alda shared the story—and the life lesson—in his 2005 autobiography, appropriately titled:
Book titles that begin with the word
More than a decade after his discovery, Mowat chronicled his experiences in a 1963 book that was subtitled
The title was borrowed from a centuries-old saying that has long communicated an important life message:
From the very beginning of the film industry in America, movies have also been given neveristic titles, many borrowed from popular catchphrases:
Song titles beginning with the word
“Never Let the Same Dog Bite You Twice”
This is the title as well as a recurring lyric in one of Tucker’s most famous songs, originally sung in the 1920s and preserved on her