To be completely honest and upfront, I must say that I am and always have been a big fan of Beverly Cleary’s many middle grade fiction books. I don’t think that the characters–Henry Huggins, Beezus and Ramona Quimby, and all the rest of the crew on Klickitat Street—are egregiously disrespectful or naughty or that they provide bad role models for children. It doesn’t bother me that they use the words “dumb” and “stupid” frequently, as children did in the 1950’s and 60’s, before those became bad words, not to be uttered by good children. Stories aren’t meant to be treatises on good behavior in disguise; they are meant to be stories that help us understand the world around us and ourselves and others and sometimes make us laugh (or cry).

So, in spite of the fact that I am not a dog person, I loved reading this deceptively simple story about Ribsy, “a plain ordinary city dog, the kind of dog that strangers usually called Mutt or Pooch. They always called him this in a friendly way, because Ribsy was a friendly dog.” The book, appropriate for ages seven to eleven, tells the story of how that friendly dog, Ribsy, who belonged to the boy Henry Huggins, got lost and found his way home. It could be allegorical: Ribsy is like all of us humans who get lost sometimes, partly because of our own stupid mistakes and partly through no fault of our own. Ribsy searches diligently for Henry at first, but a dog’s memory is inconsistent. Sometimes Ribsy forgets all about Henry Huggins and his true home. Then, something happens to make Ribsy remember that Henry is his true owner and that he needs to get home.

So, yes, an adult reader (like me) could find allegory or lessons in the story, but I think most people will just enjoy Ribsy for what it is, a funny dog story, and one in which the dog protagonist does not die or suffer serious injury. Ribsy wanders about, looking for Henry, in a world that’s mostly friendly to him because he’s a friendly dog. There’s always someone around to share a sandwich or a hot dog with Ribsy until he finally manages to get back to Henry.

Our twentieth century world is a scary place, and maybe children do need to encounter dragons and monsters and even the suffering of animals in books where they can learn how to face those dangers and griefs inside a story. But the world can also be a friendly place, and full of humor, and helping hands, and joyful reunions. And maybe we need to see that side of things even more than we need a vision of the darkness. Ribsy, published in 1964, during my own childhood, recreates that friendly world in which a stray dog could wander into a classroom at the local elementary school, take up residence in the second grade, and be fed and loved for a while before going off on his way home.