(FORTUNE Magazine) – Muriel Siebert, the doyenne of discount equities brokers, was driving out onto Long Island one Friday night when her car, a vintage Mercedes 350SL, got a flat tire. She pulled to the side of the road and stopped, desperately hoping for help. Within minutes a van pulled in behind her. Four men, who seemed to her to be people of dubious intentions, climbed out and started moving toward her car. Siebert locked the doors and gripped the wheel firmly.

The men couldn't see inside the car, but as the boldest of them stepped forward, there came from the Mercedes the most god-awful snarling and snapping of canine jaws imaginable--followed by the repeated launch of muzzle, fangs, and claws against the passenger-side window. It was as though the hounds of hell had been unleashed on the Long Island Expressway. The men jumped back, ran a confused retreat to the van, and fled. Within the Mercedes, doggie fury cooled to an occasional yap.

"She probably saved my life," sighs Siebert, referring to Monster Girl, her four-pound 12-ounce longhaired Chihuahua. "I told her, 'Monster Girl, from now on, wherever you want to eat or pee, that's fine with me.' "

James Thurber, who maintained six real dogs and hundreds of imaginary ones, once described the bond between the canine and human worlds as not only beneficial but inevitable. "It did not take man long--probably not more than a hundred centuries--to discover that all the animals except the dog were impossible around the house," he wrote. "One has but to spend a few days with an aardvark or a llama, command a water buffalo to sit up and beg, or try to housebreak a moose, to perceive how wisely man set about his process of elimination and selection."

In Thurber's case, his heart belonged to a pooch named Christabel, about whom he noted, "There is only one flaw in my poodle's honor: She has been known to steal a fried-egg sandwich from me and then tell my wife that I gave it to her."

In the next few pages you'll meet dogs with as much personality, and good looks too. There's Mad Max, the mild-mannered golden retriever who enriches the life of Ben & Jerry's CEO Bob Holland, who is leaving his job at the end of October. And there's Seco, the German shepherd who resides with Dwayne Andreas, CEO of Archer Daniels Midland. Seco, Andreas recalls with great fondness, once came upon a delivery man in the yard and, without puncturing his skin, flipped him neatly onto the grass and sat on him.

The most public of the lineup is Ernest, a Bernese mountain dog owned by Seagate Technology CEO Al Shugart. Ernest is running for the U.S. House of Representatives, from California's 17th District, and this is a serious matter to Shugart. He points out that, given the personal qualities of most politicians these days, Ernest's illiteracy and illegitimacy ought to be considered advantages.

These are by no means the only fine dogs treasured by corporate honchos. There's Ted Turner's beloved black Labrador, Chief, and Ralph Lauren's revered sheepdog, Rugby. TCI Chairman John Malone travels with seven pugs, and Mattel President Jill Barad proudly owns a Lhasa apso named Molly.

No doubt many of you out there have little use for animals; you will never understand what all the fuss is about. And cat people will, of course, consider these executives' affections misplaced. But all who know the simple joys of canine love will find soul mates in the following pages.