While cogitating on something else today, I recalled this, which I had the book version of when I was a kid. Every time I would read Snoopy, Come Home, I would cry, and I am only a little ashamed to admit that even now, decades later, just thinking about this book makes me verklempt.
Oh, sure, the cover looks serene, but inside, it’s as much a tearjerker as Charlotte’s Web. I defy anyone to read Snoopy, Come Home (or watch the movie, below–this version has Greek subtitles, so you can brush up on your foreign language skills) and not weep openly.
And if you can, sir or madam, if you can make it through Snoopy, Come Home without bawling, then you were either whelped jaded and cynical into this world, or else years of physical and/or psychological cruelty and torment at the hands of troglodytes turned you so. In either case, I mourn for your shindered and tattered soul.
Now iffn you’ll excuse me, I need a tissue. There’s…there’s something in my eye….