My Dog Skip

My Dog Skip

Willie Morris

Ellen Morris

Dink Jenkins

Jack Morris

Big Boy Wilkinson

Henjie Henick

Spit McGee

Junior Smalls

Millard

Army Buddy

Mrs. Jenkins

Mr. Jenkins

Aunt Maggie

Sammy

Grandmother Mamie

Grandfather Percy

Hunter #1

Rivers' Friend

Man on Street

Woman on Street

Barney

Mrs. Applewhite

Miss Abbott

Accordion Boy

Bible Boy

Snake girl

Armpit Boy

Waldo Grace

Lt. Hartman

Hunter

Baseball Coach

Umpire

Spectator

Spectator

Veterinarian

Pump Jockey

Older Willie

Older Spit

Older Henjie

Older Big Boy

Narrator (voice)

Skip

Old Skip

Towns People

Major

Moose, the dog who plays Skip, is best known for playing Eddie in the sitcom Frasier (1993). He died of natural causes in June 2006.

Six Jack Russell terriers, including Moose and his son Enzo the Dog, played Skip.

One of Willie's friends in the movie is named Spit McGee. This was also the name of one of Willie's cats as an adult, and his life is featured in the book "My Cat Spit McGee".

When Willie and Skip first go to the movies, there is a girl and two boys sitting on the front row. After the camera cuts to a different shot and then back, the two boys have been replaced by 2 more girls.

When the boys scrimmage with a football, Willie's jeans have an elastic waistband in back (at around 11 mins), which would not be possible during the wartime rubber shortage. In the 1930's lingerie began appearing with elastic, but it was unavailable during the war.

Dink's letters home talk of being in France, yet the Allied invasion did not take place until 1944.

Willie Morris: [writing a letter to Dink] How long does it take mail to get from here to Europe?

Big Boy Wilkinson: Deserters, puppy dogs and now girls. Guess we were wrong about you, Willma.

Narrator: Old Skip was 11, and feeble with arthritis, but he never lost that old devilish look in his eye. He made my room his own. Came across an old photo of him not long ago. His little face, with the long snout sniffing at something in the air. His tail was straight out, pointing. Eyes were flashing in some momentary excitement. He always loved to be rubbed on the back of his neck. And when I did it, he'd yawn and he'd stretch, reach out to me with his paws, as if he was trying to embrace me. I recieved a transatlantic call one day. "Skip died," Daddy said. He and my mama wrapped him in my baseball jacket. "They buried him out under our elm tree," they said. That wasn't totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.