A new anthology from indie publisher Notting Hill Editions brings together more than 30 short essays on the ups and downs of dog ownership. Writers include John Steinbeck, Vita Sackville-West and AA Gill. In the extract below, editor Tracey Ullman reflects on her own furry friends

I have always been mad about dogs. They make me happy. I’ve had a great variety of dogs in my life – funny dogs, kind dogs, crazy dogs, dopey dogs. A Bichon Frise ate my baby daughter’s umbilical cord. It wasn’t attached to her at the time, but was carefully stuck inside my baby book along with her hospital ID. I left the book open on the floor to answer the phone and heard a chewing noise.

Dogs do awfully odd things and we think nothing of it and carry on feeding them and letting them sleep on pillows beside our heads. The smartest dog I ever owned was a small mixed breed called Bianca, saved from an infamous high-kill shelter in downtown LA. She was emaciated, bald, and had a bullet lodged between her lung and liver. For one so hard done by she never bore a grudge to humanity or seemed to suffer from PTSD.

As soon as I brought her home her behaviour was exemplary. She didn’t chew, bark, or pee indoors. Bianca was so poised that you felt that when you had finished reading The New York Times you should pass it on to her. And then, oh joy, we discovered she could sing. A soulful vibrato we would coax out of her by playing a didgeridoo I had picked up in Australia. There was a bit of coyote in her, I think.

Bianca lived to sixteen and has a special place in my heart. I cried into her fur when I was going through the hardest of times and got such comfort. She was my friend. It is not a lesser love we feel for these animals. Our connection with them is extraordinary.

Serendipity has sometimes brought me the dogs in my life. I went out to buy a chicken one Sunday and saw Millie outside a dog rescue centre. She was the most adorable thing I had ever seen: coal drop eyes, bristly terrier hair that you could mould into a mohawk, a tail that wagged on an angle like a broken coat hanger. She was as desirable to me as a Faberge egg. I had to take her home immediately. On my return, everyone gasped at Millie’s cuteness. My husband, who I had feared would reprimand me, lay her on his chest where she promptly fell asleep. He had found his ‘spirit animal’.

But who was Millie? Why was she found wandering in downtown Los Angeles? Why was there not a ‘Lost’ poster on every lamp post? We soon found out. When Millie awoke, she walked woozily into the hallway and started to whimper. The whimpering became louder and increasingly hysterical. Higher and higher it went, until it became a full-throated glass-shattering screech that reverberated through the hallway and the neighbourhood. ‘Millie!’ I cried, ‘What on earth is the matter?’.

She turned, and suddenly the spell was broken. Her coat hanger tail wagged and she was an amiable companion again. And that was Millie, I have never seen such distinct moods in such a small animal. One minute joyful, balancing on her back legs and covering you in kisses, the next launching herself into full attack mode at the gardener, and always returning to the hallway where her role as a master tragedian was played out.

I think mongrels must have an innate ability to attract kind-hearted humans to look after them. A lot of people are adopting dogs from foreign countries nowadays. An online description of a rescue dog in Egypt reads ‘Soraya is a street dog whose ten puppies were taken from her and drowned. She has been kicked, beaten, strangled, gassed, and poisoned, and lives near an open sewer scrounging scraps.’ A photo shows a hardened canine balancing on three legs amongst rubble. My daughter pointed out that if Soraya were a human, she would be hard as nails, and not someone you would fly over to share your life.

Why are we so soft-hearted when it comes to dogs? I think the reason is quite simple: dogs can’t speak. They don’t tell you you’re ugly, dressed inappropriately, or have bad breath (their own is usually quite terrible). And they offer unconditional love and loyalty, no matter how badly we behave.

Adapted from On Dogs: An Anthology (Notting Hill Editions, £14.99), edited by Tracey Ullman. To buy a copy click here.