I love the writer James Thurber. He was a great short story writer, a brilliant cartoonist and a dog lover. I started reading him when I was just a kid in the 1950s and 60s. He’s a laugh out loud writer, but there’s always a poignant strand in his stories. He worked for the New Yorker as a writer and cartoonist for most of his career, but produced many books and anthologies. Reading his work now, I’m sometimes aware of racism, sexism and snobbery, but it was very much of that time – he died in 1962. However he was always an astute and hilarious observer of human nature. Also a wonderful observer of the animal world, especially dogs.
In my story, “The Laughing Club” I named the dog Thurber – a tiny tribute to a fantastic writer.