A Lot of Words About Snoopy's Siblings

Amateur cranky old men believe that pop culture was best when they were a kid. Real pros think that pop culture peaked before they were even born. 

I spent much of my childhood reverently re-reading The Peanuts Treasury, a best-of compendium of Charles Schulz’s amazing newspaper comic, published in 1968, a decade before my birth, and reprinting strips from the years 1959-1967. The work in The Peanuts Treasury is all terrific, and yet it’s not even from my favorite Peanuts era. For that, you’d have to go back to 1950 thru 1955, or the “Snoopy is a quadruped years.”

These days, if you think about Peanuts at all, you probably imagine later Snoopy, with his voluptuous, bee-stung snout, standing up, on clownish hind feet, smiling, as if to say “I learned to walk upright so I could sell you insurance, motherfucker. Have YOU thought about the advantages of MetLife?”

It was not always thus. Early Snoopy’s snout and feet were much tinier, and, well… doglike. I daresay it was a much cuter design – which I venture not to body-shame all the huge-snouted out there, but because he looked like a puppy, and there’s not much that can be done to make puppies cuter. And, like a regular puppy, early Snoopy kept all four feet on the ground. To paraphrase the Riddle of the Sphinx, Snoopy walked on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and continued to walk on two legs in the evening, because it was good for merchandising. 

I want to be clear: plenty of great stuff came after Snoopy took Frankie Valli’s high-pitched words to heart and walked like a man. When Snoopy was a puppy, he thought like a puppy, and when Snoopy grew feet like a man, he put away puppyish things. That's when he took on the fantasies of a man, like hunting down The Red Baron in a Sopwith Camel; or wearing shades, as college student “Joe Cool.”  You know, the classics. 

I wouldn’t ever want to lose these flights of fancy, like Snoopy imagining he was behind enemy lines, singing the British music hall hit “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” (a sentimental tune about missing the Irish town of Tipperary that became a marching song for soldiers in WWI, a reference I definitely, 100%, got as a kid, and did not just think that “Tipperary” sounded funny for a dog to sing to himself).

Still, Snoopy’s mutation into a biped was a sign of trouble on the horizon . When Snoopy was a dog, he was part of the ensemble. He had his role – in orbit around Charlie Brown’s big (block) head. He was Charlie’s dog, just like Lucy was his bossy frenemy, or Sally was his sister, or Linus his philosopher best friend, or Franklin was a heartfelt stab at racial equality in search of a character. 

However, once Snoopy took center stage, it messed up the balance, as often happens with breakout stars – whether it’s in the form of Urkel changing a show about a middle-class Chicago family into a show about a cheese-craving stalker, or Ramona Quimby screaming “Get out of here, you old hag! What kind of name is Beezus anyway?!” and All About Eve-ing her older sister down the stairs to land in a shattered pile beside her boyfriend, Henry Huggins.  

When Snoopy became a star, the balance of the Peanuts universe was upended. It stopped being a strip about good ol’ Charlie Brown, and became a comic that was often about Chuck and the gang, but also far-too-frequently about Snoopy and Woodstock’s shenanigans, because Schutz thought there was something inherently funny about a dog and a bird hanging out. The sad thing is he was SO close to inventing unlikely animal friends. If he’d just focused on cute dog-bird photos instead of “funny” dog-bird comics he’d be the godfather of a thousand Instagram feeds.

This period was the Peanuts of my youth, and the reason I preferred the comics from before I was a constantly-bawling-from ear-infections baby. And yet, even Snoopy’s ascendance was only a harbinger of the worst element of later Peanuts:

Snoopy’s siblings.

In the early days, Snoopy purported to be an only dog, but early Snoopy was also a dog of mystery. In some strips from the 1950’s he doesn’t even seem to belong to Charlie Brown. Instead, he’s usually seen in the home and/or company of Patty – not Peppermint Patty, mind you, just normal ol’ non-minty-fresh Patty.

You may not recall flavorless Patty because “not being memorable” is kind of her thing. She’s the girl with the light brown bob and the plaid dress, and not much else other than her mean-girl friendship with Violet. It’s wild to me that Schulz decided to have two characters named Patty – almost an admission that version 1.0 didn’t really pop. “DON’T WORRY!” I imagine him screaming to the syndicates. “I’LL ADD A FLAVOR-BASED NICKNAME TO NEW PATTY, SO EVERYONE WILL KNOW SHE’S THE ONE WITH ZING!” I don’t know why he yelled so much in my fantasy. Probably hard of hearing.

Anyway, that doesn’t teach us anything about Snoopy’s siblings; it just lets us know that when it comes to the Peanuts gang, Snoopy was the town Lacey Chabert – constantly trying to make fetch happen. Because Patty wasn’t even his first owner! His first owner was a girl named Lila, who adopted him from Daisy Hill Puppy Farm (which sounds like something that should be shut down by the cartoon ASPCA). 

Readers met Lila in 1968, when she exchanged pen-pal messages with Snoopy, asking him to visit her in the hospital, while she recovered from an unknown illness. Snoopy visited, then returned to a confused Charlie Brown, who called up Daisy Hill to figure out who this “Lila” was who so bewitched his dog. He learned that Lila had adopted Snoopy before him, but returned said dog, like a cartoon Lena Dunham, because her apartment building didn’t allow pets. (And this is how you know that Snoopy is nicer than me, because if someone adopted me for a day, then un-adopted me, I’m not going to go visit them in the hospital. It’s like, I’m sorry, dude – good luck with your gallstones or whatever, but we hung out for like five hours. I’ve got imaginary German pilots to get shot down by.) 

You might remember this storyline because it eventually got recycled into the second Peanuts movie, Snoopy Come Home. However, in the movie version, Lila tries to guilt Snoopy into staying, after she’s released from the hospital, and the only thing that prevents this is the “No Dogs Allowed” sign at her apartment. Seeing as that was literally the problem the first time, I can only assume she was in the hospital for amnesia. 

“Now we’ll never be apart, Snoopy!” she cried, forgetfully. “Back then I had to give you away for some reason that I can’t recall, but this time there’s no power on Earth, including any apartment ordinance that will… No Dogs Allowed?! … Oh. Riiiiiiight.”

Before Lila can Memento-tattoo “No Dogs Allowed” on her arm to prevent future adoption attempts, Snoopy books it, proving that even a good dog has his limits. “It was nice catching up, Lila, but I’d never be happy in an apartment, anyway. That round-headed kid gave me a doghouse that’s bigger on the inside. Once you’re used to Tardis living, you can never go back.”

We do see Lila again, in the 1991 television special Snoopy’s Reunion, which is also the only time all seven of Snoopy’s siblings are together with him. Remember the siblings? It took me a while, but I got back to them. You thought I forgot, but I was foreshadowing, which is a fancy writer’s word for when you convince a reader to keep going through a bunch of irrelevant nonsense, on the promise you’ll get to the point eventually.

Despite Snoopy mentioning seven siblings, we only ever meet five in print – Molly and Rover are exclusive to Snoopy’s Reunion and we don’t learn much of anything about them, other than they can play the mandolin and steel guitar respectively. It’s good to see dogs branching into the less-popular stringed instruments, rather than all insisting they wanna look cool and play bass. Another brother, Andy, also debuted in Snoopy’s Reunion, and would later turn up in the comics as well. There’s not much to say about him, other than that he’s basically what Snoopy would look like if you tried to draw a picture of him while also using one of those old-fashioned weight loss machines that jiggles you with a big belt. 

Olaf, Marbles, and Belle were introduced in 1989, 1982, and 1976. Olaf, chubbiest of the siblings, is nicknamed “Ugly Olaf,” because the siblings adhere to unrealistic beagle body (or “Boggle”) standards. He wears the sort of hat that makes you remember “Oh yeah, Charles Schulz was born in Minnesota.” If Olaf has never literally uttered the words “uff da,” he certainly drinks his black coffee from a mug with it written on the side. 

Marbles is recognizable from his mottled ears, his intelligence, and his total rejection of Snoopy’s fantasy life. He’s the character in a movie about a whimsical man-child who’s like, “Brother, I love you, but when are you going to stop pretending to be a flying ace and take dad up on his offer to be manager of the bait shop? That’s good money! Even in your dreams, it’s not like you win against the Red Baron. He shoots you down every time! What the hell kind of fantasy is that?” He’s not here for Snoopy’s bullshit, which makes him the best brother by default.

Belle is the only female sibling to appear in the strip, and – as is true in an unfortunate amount of pop culture – her being a lady represents the totality of her character. She’s “the girl,” and (in the time-honored tradition of “the girl” cartoon characters) her femininity is represented by her looking just like the “standard” male, but with longer eyelashes and an occasional pink bow. 

The most interesting thing about Belle is that she has a teenage son, whom Snoopy does not like. We know Snoopy doesn’t like Belle’s son because he writes Charlie Brown a letter saying so, which Charlie reads aloud.

I think we need to pause to let the implications sink in. If Charlie Brown reads Snoopy’s letter, this means Snoopy canonically can communicate in English, which I know is something I just need to accept, and honestly I’m mostly cool with it, in the same way I’m fine believing that Hobbes in Calvin and Hobbes is simultaneously real and imaginary… except there’s something very stark about seeing Charlie Brown read a letter where Snoopy’s throwing shade at his own nephew that makes you say, “What’s this dog’s deal? Did he learn to write English just to get catty behind his sister’s back?” And the only reason Snoopy seems to dislike his nephew is that he looks exactly like Snoopy, except tall and skinny, which Snoopy says makes his nephew look like the Pink Panther, but I think he looks more like what would happen if some old issue of National Lampoon from 1972 drew a Peanuts parody about Snoopy dodging the draft, or something. 

Let’s stop beagle-footing around. Snoopy’s siblings are weird and unpleasant. They all look like off-model Snoopy, as if they’ve fallen into some kind of cartoon dog uncanny valley. Whenever they show up, there’s never much in the way of a payoff. They just kind of stand around blankly, as if the very idea that a dog would have siblings is a joke, rather than kind of an assumed condition of dog birth. Charles Schulz himself said that he regretted introducing Snoopy’s siblings into the strip, because it made Snoopy’s place in the strip less special. 

Were I interviewing Charles Schulz, this is the point at which I would put on my battered old trench coat, saying, “Ah, that makes sense. That makes sense, Mr. Schulz. You certainly have an answer for everything. I’ll be sure to tell the missus. She’s your biggest fan. Sorry to bother you sir.” Then I’d shuffle towards the door, muttering “All right. All right.” while patting multiple pockets, as if to make sure I had my keys. I’d open the door, about to step out, only to whirl around, saying, “Just one more question sir… If you regret Snoopy’s siblings, then how do you explain Spike?” 

Because in the 80’s, Schulz would devote full weeks at a time to Spike, Snoopy’s desert-dwelling sibling with the fu manchu whiskers, as he adopted a tumbleweed or got stuck to a cactus or something. Turns out, Schulz would probably have had an answer to my Columbo cosplay – in an interview with Mississippi University Press, he said that Spike worked as long as he “stayed out in the desert.” Personally, I’d argue that if you have to quarantine one of your characters so that they, in effect, are in a separate strip, talking to themselves? Your character isn’t really “working.” Then again, I’m not a legendary comics genius, so who knows.

Spike may not have been great for the strip, but he holds a special place for a devoted trash panda like me, due to his starring role in one of 1988’s strangest bits of cultural detritus, the 50-minute live action/hybrid animated special, It’s the Girl in the Red Truck, Charlie Brown.

You may recall another film from 1988, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, which remains perhaps the high water mark of live action/animation combos. Even now, more than 30 years since its release, it looks terrific. It’s the Girl in the Red Truck, Charlie Brown, on the other hand… does not. Perhaps the difference is that the former was directed by Robert Zemeckis, who (whatever the artistic quality of his work post-Cast Away) is a technological wizard, whereas Spike’s showcase was directed by Walter C. Miller who had a long television career focused mostly on awards shows, less-successful (outside of 70s youths’ sexual fantasies) Sid and Marty Krofft project Electra Woman and Dyna Girl, and specials like George Burns Celebrates 80 Years in Show Business, George Burns’ 90th Birthday Party: A Very Special Special, and George Burns 95th Birthday Party. (Burns made it 100, so I’m not sure why Miller wasn’t tapped for George Burns’ I Bet You Weren’t Expecting Another One: A Centennial Celebration.) 

Anyway, the point is, Miller had a storied career, but he wasn’t necessarily the obvious pick for a complex technical challenge. Heck, he would probably agree, having said of the project “I never shot so much plain brown dirt in my life.”

And there’s a lot of dirt. The special starts with the titular girl kicking up clouds of it in her titular red truck, as she drives by Spike, who lives alone in the desert, where his morning pancakes are stolen by tumbleweeds. His lonely life consists of listening to French foreign language tapes, and sleeping in his sparsely-furnished apartment inside an arm of a saguaro cactus – a shocking rejection of relative scale, unequaled for 31 years, until Cats, when Mungojerry and Rumpleteezer dropped by to steal diamond rings they somehow wore like bracelets.

Spike’s somewhat sad bachelor existence is upended when the girl’s truck breaks down, and Spike helps her… fix it? By falling into the engine? It’s kind of unclear. The girl (whose name is Jenny) invites Spike to come with her. First stop: a remote diner where a lone waitress stares out the window, with venetian blinds casting shadows across her face, as she quietly mutters about the bus to Phoenix across the street, and how she should be on it, as if Jenny’s red truck took a left turn out of Peanuts and drove straight into a scene from Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. Second stop: Jenny’s home, where they play frisbee for approximately fifteen hours, while a Casio keyboard demo plays. Okay, not fifteen hours, but did I mention that we’re 20 minutes in? 20 minutes, and all that’s happened is our main characters have met one another and gone to a diner, where they fail to eat anything.

I’ve already written about this longer than anyone could plausibly care, but let’s just say this special is “weird.” It’s basically about Spike falling in love with this human woman, played by Charles Schulz’s daughter, in the space between a breakup with her shitty boyfriend and when she gets back together with her shitty boyfriend.

The runtime is filled out with a lengthy scene where Spike skate-dances in a roller-rink, before getting chased by hunters on a nighttime coyote hunt. He’s eventually saved from a shooting death by Jenny and her semi-repentant-but-still-unappealing beau, but he rejects a life with them out of hurt (romantic?) feelings, instead returning to his lonely bachelor life. It’s important to note that, even the parts of the above synopsis that sound – to a modern viewer, familiar with “children’s” entertainment – like they’d be slapstick or frenetic, are instead sad, upsetting, and paced like Yasujirō Ozu on quaaludes. 

Peanuts was famous for being bittersweet, of course, but even when it was more wry or wistful than funny, Schulz always remembered that panel four was supposed to have a punchline. Plus, when we were hanging with Charlie and the gang, the sadness of childhood provided a relatable grounding. You knew where you stood. Meanwhile, what is anyone supposed to make of a TV “special” about a sad, mustachioed desert dog, whose unrequited love for a human woman is depicted in a series of plotless vignettes, before the emotional hammer falls and he’s alone again (naturally)? 

I guess we can take it as a testament to Schulz’s love for his daughter – a woman he tried to help achieve her dreams of acting stardom by pairing her with a dog; and as a testament of Schulz’s love for that dog, who remains one of the most baffling characters in his otherwise-brilliant strip. And if, to borrow a line from Shakespeare, he loved both “not wisely, but too well?” So be it.

We’ll always have those early strips.

For earlier posts, check out the archive. In my other life, I’m a podcaster. Listen to my show The Flop House, here. In my other other life, I’m an Emmy-winning comedy writer. If you’re looking to staff, get in touch! And if you love the newsletter, you can always consider tipping me, by enrolling in the paid tier!