John Sutherland on the flatulent pooch captivating the nation's children

The superstores that have revolutionised the US book trade proudly proclaim themselves to be "as large as public libraries". Like libraries, they have a distinct sociology. Students sit for hours in the coffee annexe, working on their laptops. People hog the easy chairs because the bookstores are - as Starbucks advertises itself - "safe places" in a hard world.

Like other outlets, my local Borders in Pasadena boasts a thriving children's section. "Read together," its banner instructs. Mothers (always mothers) sit on spacious pile carpets with their offspring, planting the subliminal message that "Reading is fun".

Dominating the display racks of the children's section is a series of picture books that have regularly hit the number-one spot on the New York Times bestseller lists. They showcase the heroic canine "Walter the Farting Dog". As the first book in the series recounts, Walter was brought home from the pound as a family pet for two children, Betty and Billy. An unlovely mutt, Walter's charmlessness is exacerbated by his incorrigible flatulence. Father decrees he must go back to the pound. The children protest. Setting the pattern for the series, Walter goes on to save the day. Burglars break into the house, intent on stealing the family VCR. Walter is no pit bull. The crooks tie him up and gag his jaw with duct tape. Walter musters all his powers, and breaks wind so loudly that the alarm is sounded. The VCR is safe.

In another story, the family takes a luxury cruise on the liner Sea Wind. Walter so stinks up the vessel that he is banished to the cheese store, where his smells won't be noticed among all that French muck. But not even the bulkheads can keep out his potent blasts. He is banished to a lifeboat trailing the vessel. A mighty eructation jet propels his little boat and the lagging liner back to port on time. Walter is again the hero.

In a third story (there are four so far), the family has a yard sale. A clown drops by and befriends the farting pooch. It transpires that the clown is secretly trapping Walter's noxious gas, filling his balloons with it and using them ("Hand over the money, or I burst another one!") to rob banks.

Genetically, Walter can be traced back to Harry the Dirty Dog (who gave Clint Eastwood his moniker), a children's favourite of the 1950s. But he is to Harry as Portnoy was to sexually uptight Holden Caulfield - dirtier. The Walter storylines originate with William Kotzwinkle, who wrote the phenomenally popular ET novelisations. Children identify with the alien waif in Spielberg's movie as a symbol of their own sense of unloved exclusion. The Walter books carry the epigraph "For everyone who is misjudged or misunderstood". They are in the self-esteem business; as is, for example, that other current bestseller on the kids' racks, Hooray for You: a celebration of "you-ness". Or, in Walter's case, your smelliness.

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