Thank you for the Christmas gift you gave me.

Author: Charles M. Schulz
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-01-01
Features: For Snoopy, who was born in 1950, his last major turning point as a person (dog) occurred in 1960. He bravely stood up and no longer walked on all fours without dignity. He began to think independently and was no longer the little round-headed boy's appendage. He found that sleeping on the roof allowed him to better showcase his talents, and even if he fell, he could say such famous lines as, "Life is often rudely awakened from a good dream." Over the next 40 years, Snoopy contentedly embraced the role of "the greatest dog in the world." Except for rare occasions, he generally believed that "dogs" were indeed a species unrelated to him. And he was the World War I pilot, the meticulous writer, the cool guy strolling on Sunday afternoons, a verbose lawyer, though his activities rarely went beyond the backyard, with followers merely four clumsy birds. His camping dream was no more than eating some instant white cake, but that didn't stop him from going to the moon, organizing large-scale military offensives, or having a few drinks in a Parisian tavern. In short, apart from his deep-seated hatred for cats, he showed no trace of being a "dog," and Charlie Brown had to despair of enduring this companion's arrogance, insensitivity, and relentless determination. Look, even when starving at night, Snoopy still displayed a baronial dignity and pride. Over the past few decades, at least 355 million people worldwide have followed his life every day, yet it never affected his nonchalant attitude. For 50 years, the American Charles M. Schulz had been drawing comic strips nonstop, idolizing Picasso but still being considered an eternal artist was a one-sided wish. Moreover, for many years, this unassuming old man's greatest desire was simply to be accompanied by these little men and dogs. The daily comic strips could not carry the true pursuit of intellect and emotion. He inherited the tradition of serial columns from Balzac, Alexandre Dumas, and Charles Dickens, but apart from talent, the form and space he had were much smaller. On those idle afternoons, those disheartened and lonely nights, there was nothing more comforting than reading about Snoopy. You watched these little guys' troubled childhoods, Charlie Brown grieving over football and kites, a little dog facing the eternal dilemma—he wanted to be everything but ultimately remained a dog. Within the small frames, though the plots were ordinary and repetitive, you never grew tired of them, just as Snoopy never refused another plate of cookies. What is it that entices us? Since the late 1960s, Schulz intentionally limited Snoopy's shine because this little beagle was so charming and even guided the development of the comic. From Charlie Brown's frustrations, we saw the reality of life, the helplessness and mediocrity we faced, but Snoopy turned daily life into a series of real adventures: a dry swimming pool became the English Channel, a pointed roof became a fighter jet, and all the residents of Peanuts Village became Snoopy's supporting characters, their only purpose being to highlight this extraordinary little dog. The bespectacled Snoopy, like the blind Borges, practiced "strong imagination creating reality." Schulz preferred Charlie Brown, while Snoopy carelessly shone. Please put on your flight helmet, and we will follow our comic hero on an exciting adventure. Look at him—he truly is an amazing little dog.