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In Defense of Shaggy Dog Stories

From Whence the Nomenclature Shaggy Dog

Note: Some of these entries can be a bit on the racy side. And some should probably not be read by the more easily offended. All such posts are tagged "Adult Theme", "Politically Incorrect", or "PG-13" as appropriate.
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From Whence the Nomenclature Shaggy Dog?

The question inevitably is asked about the source of these things. Why do they call them shaggy dog stories? What was the original shaggy dog story? The following information is not definitive, but it is probably pretty close. It recreates and abridges an email conversation (late 1998) among very knowledgeable people who love the genera.

Subject: Fwd: Original Shaggy Dog Story (Long!)

David remarked: This subject came up again recently (in conversation with my wife). Have you had any success with your inquiries?

Sue asked:
I’m trying to establish what was the original ‘shaggy dog story’ which gave this class of joke its name. Can you help? I’d welcome any advice you can offer.

I replied:
Both of you have asked about the origin of shaggy dog stories. There has just been an excellent exchange of information on a listserv called P.U.N.Y. (Punsters United Nearly Yearly). I have gotten other similar answers, so what I will do is include the information here (apologizing for the length, perhaps).

One respondent (Tiff) opened the discussion:
Even though I had heard of shaggy dogs prior to finding this list, I didn’t know they had a name. Could you please enlighten on how that name came about…one can surmise that one has to wade through a lot of fluff to get to the actual dog. Do you know who coined this phrase?

My response was:
I am also very interested in Tiff’s question. The dictionary does not indicate that they end in a pun, but rather in some anticlimactic punchline. These are not what I consider to be shaggy, but rather, saggy dogs. I suppose history is against me, however.

I second Gary’s comment that the dog’s tail should be short, unless the story is inherently interesting, itself.

For the original shaggy dog, I have come across two opposite candidates. One version has a search for a shaggy dog (for some sort of reward, etc.) and after finding the shaggiest dog possible (with an endless tale of the adventures along the way and a description of how variegatedly hairsute the dog is), the response is, “Not shaggy enough!”

An alternative version goes along a similar vein to the conclusion, “Too shaggy!”

I am requesting a ride on H.M.S. Scholarship. Which of these, if either, is authentic? I would be grateful to find out (with citations, if possible).

Another’s response was:
The original “shaggy dog” story I heard as a child was a long, drawn-out story of a dog that entered a local “shaggiest dog” contest. Three judges comment on how shaggy the dog is, and the dog wins. The joke then goes to state, regional, national, international competitions repeating the three judges at every step.

At the very last competition, two of the judges again say “That’s the shaggiest dog in the whole world.” The third judge says, “I don’t think he’s so shaggy…..”

End of joke. That’s my opinion as to the origin of that particular label…

Another very helpful reply was from Stan Kegel:
There is a lot of debate over what is a shaggy dog story.

To the purists such as Lee Quinn, a shaggy dog story is a joke so long and repetitive that by the time you get to the punch line, there is such a let down that you want to throw something at the teller rather than laugh.

Here is an example of a typical shaggy dog story using that definition:

Did you ever hear the one about Frank Buck? Frank Buck was the greatest animal trapper that ever lived. He trapped animals for zoos, for circuses, for side shows, for almost anything. During his long career he made quite a name for himself as the greatest animal trapper that ever lived.

One day, like many men, Frank Buck reached the age of sixty-five and decided to retire. So, our hero bought himself a little farm in Louisville, Kentucky and settled down to live out his remaining years in the peaceful surroundings of rural Louisville. Not quite. He had just settled down and was sitting out on his back porch when the phone rang. It was the San Diego Zoo. The zoo keepers said to Frank Buck, “Mr. Buck? This is the San Diego Zoo. We realize you’ve led a long and busy life, and you deserve a peaceful retirement as much as any man on earth, but there’s this one unusual animal we need, and you’re the only man we know that can get it for us. It’s a hornless rhinoceros. Well, Frank Buck (being in retirement and all that) naturally argued a little, but finally consented to get this hornless rhinoceros for the San Diego Zoo.

So, the next day he went down to his boat on the shore (this was before the days of airplanes), sailed across choppy seas, and landed in Africa, where he went a hackin’ and a choppin’, and a choppin’ and a hackin’ through the jungles of Africa ’till he met Tarzan. Now Tarzan was painting stripes. However, you couldn’t tell whether they were white stripes on a black zebra, black stripes on a white zebra, or black and white stripes on a clear zebra. So Frank Buck went up to Tarzan and said, “Tarzan, I hate to bother you while you’re so busy, but there’s this one unusual animal I need. Would you happen to know the whereabouts of a hornless rhinoceros?” Now Tarzan, being so busy and all that, naturally was a little upset. But he put down his brush, pointed to a bush, and said, “Ugh!” And ‘lo and behold, out walked this hornless rhinoceros!

So, Frank Buck captured the hornless rhinoceros, thanked Tarzan (who had, by this time, gone back to painting the zebra), and went a hackin’ and a choppin’, and a choppin’ and a hackin’ back through the jungles of Africa, back down to his boat on the shore (this was before the days of airplanes), sailed back across choppy seas, and landed in America. The next day, he delivered the hornless rhinoceros to the San Diego Zoo, and went back into retirement on his little farm in Louisville, Kentucky.

Well, three days later Frank Buck was sitting out on his back porch when the phone rang. This time it was the Chicago Zoo. The zoo keepers at the Chicago Zoo said, “Mr. Buck? This is the Chicago Zoo. We hate to bother you, seeing as you’re in retirement and all that, but there’s this one unusual animal we need and only you can get it for us. It’s a short-necked giraffe.” Well, Frank Buck (being in retirement and all that) naturally argued a little, but finally consented to get this short-necked giraffe for the Chicago Zoo.

So the next day, he went down to his boat on the shore (this was before the days of airplanes), sailed across choppy seas, and landed in Africa, where he went a hackin’ and a choppin’ and a choppin’ and a hackin’ through the jungles of Africa ’till he met Tarzan. Now, Tarzan was painting stripes. However, you couldn’t tell whether they were black stripes on a white zebra, white stripes on a black zebra, or black and white stripes on a clear zebra. So, Frank Buck went up to Tarzan and said, “Tarzan, I hate to bother you while you’re so busy, but there’s this one unusual animal I need. Would you happen to know the whereabouts of a short-necked giraffe?” Now Tarzan (being so busy and all that) naturally was a bit peeved, but he put down his brush, pointed to a bush, and said, “Ugh!” And ‘lo and behold, out walked this short necked giraffe!

So Frank Buck captured the short-necked giraffe, thanked Tarzan (who had, by this time, gone back to painting stripes), and went a hackin’ and a choppin’, and a choppin’ and a hackin’ back through the jungles of Africa, down to his boat on the shore (this was before the days of airplanes), sailed across choppy seas, and landed in America. The next day, he delivered the short-necked giraffe to the Chicago Zoo and went back to retirement on his little farm in Louisville, Kentucky.

Well, three days later, he was sitting out on the back porch when the phone rang. This time it was the Smithsonian Zoo. The zoo keepers said, “Mr. Buck, we realize you’re in retirement and all that, but there’s this one unusual animal we need, and only you can get it for us. It’s a trunkless elephant.” Well, Frank Buck (being in retirement and all that) naturally argued a little, but finally he consented to get this trunkless elephant for the Smithsonian Zoo.

So the next day, he went down to his boat on the shore (This was before the days of airplanes), sailed across choppy seas, and went a hackin’ and a choppin’, and a choppin’ and a hackin’ through the jungles of Africa ’till he met Tarzan. Now Tarzan was painting stripes. However, you couldn’t tell if they were black stripes on a white zebra, or white stripes on a black zebra, or black and white stripes on a clear zebra. So Frank Buck went up to Tarzan and said, “Tarzan, I hate to bother you while you’re so busy, but there’s this one unusual animal I need. Would you happen to know the whereabouts of a trunkless elephant?” Now Tarzan, totally peeved, broke his brush over his knee, threw the brush into the bushes, pointed to a bush and hollered, “Ugh!” And, ‘lo and behold, out walked this trunkless elephant!

So Frank Buck captured the trunkless elephant, thanked Tarzan (who had by this time picked up a chipmunk and was painting with its tail), went a hackin’ and a choppin’, and a choppin’ and a hackin’ back through the jungles of Africa down to his boat on the shore (this was before the days of airplanes), sailed across choppy seas, and landed in America. The next day, he delivered the trunkless elephant to the Smithsonian Zoo, and went back into retirement on his little farm in Louisville, Kentucky.

Three days later, he was sitting on his back porch when the phone rang. However, this time it was a wrong number. So the next day, Frank Buck had his phone disconnected and lived happily ever after. Moral: … Tarzan stripes forever.

[Punster that he is, Stan couldn’t avoid the previous punchline. He continues, however.]

For the purists, this was the original shaggy dog story:

Once upon a time, way up in the very north of Canada, there lived a trapper named Sam. He was a poor man, but a great reader, who shared his hard and lonely life with several well-thumbed adventure yarns and a large shaggy dog called Rover.

Now Rover wasn’t much of a dog as purebreds go, his pedigree having taken many a turn for the worse. You’d be hard put to say whether he was mostly terrier or wolfhound or husky. But he was big and likable and, because of the cold climate, had a really exceptionally thick shaggy coat.

One day, as Sam tramped along his trap lines, he called in at another trapper’s hut. The hut was empty but, on the table, was a newspaper. Not a very up-to-the-minute newspaper, but a lot more up-to-date than anything Sam had read lately. So he fell upon it eagerly and read it from cover to cover. And there, on the back page, an item caught his eye. It said that, way down in the southern part of the country, an eccentric millionaire was offering half his fortune if only someone would bring him his dying wish, a really shaggy dog.

This piece of news had a startling effect on Sam. Here at last was a way to make his fortune. It was obvious! No more struggling through bitter winters. No more loneliness and hardship. He would simply head south with big, oh-so-shaggy Rover and the ailing millionaire would be a happy man. And so, of course, would Sam.

Carefully he tore the item from the newspaper and placed it in his innermost pocket. Whistling for the dog, he hurried to his own cabin and there made preparations for his journey. It would be a long haul through some of the worst of the winter months, but he could do it!

And so, with packsack and snowshoes, and Rover on a makeshift lead, he headed south.

(At this point you should add your own horrific tales of icy crevasses, blizzards, starvation, polar bears, thin ice, thick snow- anything to make the journey as difficult and as courageous as possible.)

Weeks passed as Sam and Rover, footsore, frostbitten and fuddled from lack of food, fought their way nearer and nearer to the millionaire’s deathbed. Would they find his house? Would he have found another dog? Would he still be alive? Urgently, Sam made inquiries at each trading post or small homestead he passed.

“My word, that’s a shaggy dog you have there!” folks remarked whenever he stopped.

As he drew nearer to civilization, he learned with great relief that the search for a dog continued and that the millionaire’s mansion lay at the top of a steep hill just visible on the horizon.

Up they climbed, tired and tattered, arriving eventually at the huge oak-studded front door. Raising a weather-beaten hand, Sam tugged at the wrought iron bell-pull. Distantly the bell clanged. The door opened and a butler stood in the doorway.

“I’ve come about the shaggy dog story in this newspaper,” said Sam, carefully drawing out the clipping from his innermost pocket and offering Rover’s lead to the manservant.

Silently the butler withdrew with the dog. Sam listened to his footsteps cross the vast hall and ascend the massive circular staircase. He waited patiently on the doorstep, dreaming of the luxury soon to be his. At last the butler reappeared. Solemnly he handed back the dog.

“Not that shaggy ,” he said, and shut the door.

However Gary Hallock (and others such as Alan Combs) use the term shaggy dog story to describe any story told so that you can end it with a pun. Another term for this type of story is a groaner. Here is the story that gives the name shaggy dog story to this type of pun:

In the days of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, a young, recently promoted Knight, Sir Notalot, joined that august body just as they were about to go out on yet another of their interminable forays after the Holy Grail. He ran, panting, into the court to find King Arthur alone and he said, “Sire, what must I do to join the other knights on their quest?” King Arthur said “Well, first you must get yourself some armour – it is dangerous out there!” So Sir Notalot went off to the chief armorer and said “I need armour to go in search of the Holy Grail, what can you offer me?” The Armorer said “Well, I can do you the bespoke stainless steel all-over protect-all with expanding cod-piece for 100 livres, the same model in galvanized iron for 80 livres or the fully rusting chain mail for 60 livres Poor Sir Notalot could not afford any of these options, so he said “What can you do for 20 livres?” The armorer said “If you care to go round the back of the Frog and Bucket you will find a large pile of discarded pewter ale tankards. Collect as many as you can and bring them back here and I shall fashion them into armour for you.” So, Sir Notalot went to the inn and collected all the pewter mugs he could carry and took them back to the armorer. This good man then proceeded to batter the tankards flat and hang them on strings around Sir Notalot’s neck until his whole body was covered. The only problem was that Sir Notalot clanked at every step. Sir Notalot walked back to the court – clankity, clankity all the way. He walked into King Arthur’s presence to show off his new armour and the King said “This is all very well, but you need a fine charger to ride with the other knights when they leave tomorrow” Sir Notalot then went to the farrier to see what he could offer. The farrier said “Well, I have this fine white charger at 100 livres or this slightly smaller dappled mare at 80 livres or…” Sir Notalot said “OK, cut the crap, what have you got for 20 livres? That is all I have and I must leave with the other knights tomorrow” The farrier thought for a moment and said “I do have this magnificent Saint Bernard dog which has recently been repossessed since the owner couldn’t keep up with the brandy consumption – will that do?” Sir Notalot paid over the money, jumped onto the dog’s back and galloped back to the King, dragging his feet in the dust as he went, with his armour clanking along, draggity, clank, draggity, clank. He reached the King, who said, “Just in time, the others have gone that way,” pointing to the East. So, Sir Notalot charged out on his St Bernard, clanking and dragging his feet. at that point it started to rain and the water ran inside the hammered pewter pots and down Sir Notalot’s legs, soaking the St Bernard as well. And then the rain was so heavy that the road started to flood and the clankity-drag noise became more of a sort of a clankity-sploosh noise. And then the thunder and lighting started. Eventually, Sir Notalot reached the inn where the other knights had stopped for a rest. He rode up to the door and said to the inn-keeper “Hail, inn-keeper, have you a room?” And the inn-keeper said “No chance – I am full with these round-tablers” In despair, Sir Notalot said “But surely you have somewhere I can shelter from the storm?” and pointing to his St Bernard he said, … “You wouldn’t send a knight out on a dog like this?”

Personally, I was raised calling these shaggy dog stories but get so much mail telling me I’m wrong when I call it such, that I have given in and just call them groaners (Stan Kegel)

In reply to my query about which ending was proper, Stan Kegel posted:
I know that Bennett Cerf back in the forties used the “Not that shaggy” punch line but I don’t think the joke was original with him. I, too, have seen the same joke with both endings. I like the “not that shaggy” better as it is more anticlimactic.>>

And, “finally”, this posting from Gary Hallock: At the risk of totally alienating everyone from the PUNY list, I’m forwarding the following example of what someone mentioned yesterday as possibly the prototypical shaggy dog story. I really don’t want to encourage more postings of such longwinded or non-original material to the PUNY list but since this story was the topic of earlier conversation, I felt obliged to share it. You are not obligated to read this one, but nevertheless, in all it’s glory, here it is.

GARY (do as I say, not as I do) HALLOCK

Once upon a time there was a small boy who had a very shaggy dog. Now it came to pass in those days that a great shaggy dog contest was to be held to select the shaggiest dog of all. The small boy was very excited by this news and he asked his parents if he could enter their dog in the contest. His parents had no great hope of their dog winning the contest; however they were very fond of the small boy so they said, “Yes, you may enter your dog in the contest”.

The contest was arranged in a series of elimination rounds. In the first round all of the dogs in a single block would be judged and the shaggiest would be selected. The winners of the city block contests would then be matched in a precinct contest and so on and so forth.

The City Block Contest

And so it came to pass that the small boy and his shaggy dog were entered in the city block contest. When the small boy saw the other dogs his hopes were dashed because there were some very shaggy dogs there. However he looked at his dog and said to himself, “My dog is very shaggy, too.”, and he took heart. The shaggy dogs were paraded around in a ring where three grim unsmiling judges dressed in black sat on high. Each dog was stopped in turn and each dog was carefully considered by the three judges. It seemed like forever until at last the small boy and his shaggy dog came before the judges. The three judges looked at the dog for ever the longest time. The audience grew still with anticipation. Finally: