I wager most Webb readers have driven down to Harrisburg from our area — cruising along that lovely stretch of Route 15 beside the broad and tree-lined Susquehanna River.

Among other things, you can often spot bald eagles on this drive (more on those later!). But perhaps you’ve also wondered about that odd-looking bookstore right next to the highway in Liverpool.

Situated in a large yellow house about 60 miles south of us, Grumpy’s Used Books doesn’t look like much from the outside; but inside, it’s a jam-packed labyrinth holding somewhere around 30,000 volumes. The place is among my all-time favorite spots for used books; and I make the pilgrimage twice or thrice a year — though lately, I’ve tried to limit myself to just a couple of titles. (Running out of room in my house — and, to be honest, time in my life!)

On a recent visit, I checked out with three good picks: a paperback mystery by the estimable British master Anna Clarke; a student dictionary with teacher helps; and the fanciful, slender, self-published story of a crab named Sam — signed by the author.

(This was, incidentally, after waiting in line behind a large Amish family that left with over $300 worth of reading — mostly old kids’ books for their excited brood.)

As I was heading out, the proprietor, Mike Mioff — a friendly fellow despite his store’s grouchy monicker — pointed me to several new bins that had just arrived. These were mostly military history; but tucked among them was another dictionary. (By now, readers know that I collect these helpful tools.)

This was a pretty priceless find: Bryan A. Garner’s Dictionary of Modern American Usage, covering grammar, punctuation, spelling, stylistic matters and — principally — numerous distinctions between such pairs as affect/effect, farther/further, that/which and flaunt vs. flout.

I am still so thrilled with this last-minute pick that I plan to focus on it for our next several columns about “Weird Words” — of which Garner offers many: whilom, tmesis, defalcate and corrigendum, to name a few.

So far, my favorite section is the one called “Animal Adjectives.”

All ending in -ine, these include familiar terms like canine, for dogs; feline, for cats; and of course, serpentine for snakes. While I knew some of the rarer ones like ovine (sheep), ursine (bears) and bovine (cows), I was surprised to see more than 50 altogether.

And they all derive from the original Latin for that given animal — as with canis, meaning “dog” (from which we get kennel). Likewise, the Latin equus has given us not only equine, but also equestrian and even the prehistoric horse eophippus.

Others include avine, referring to birds in general — with subgroups as follows: Accipitrine (hawks; related to the genus-word accipiter). Anserine (geese). Hirundine (swallows). Corvine (crows — again, related to the better-known corvid, a broad category of common birds). Likewise, passerine refers to sparrows, but is also a vast order that includes more than half of all living birds. Larine refers to gulls; pavonine to peacocks; picine to woodpeckers; and the jaw-breaking struthionine to ostriches.

For me, the most eye-opening bird-word was aquiline. Most often used to describe a sharply curved nose, it literally means “eagle-like.”

Three others connect to the zodiac: cancrine, for crabs — related of course, to the zodiac sign Cancer (the disease is named for its tendency to gnaw away at the body — sort of like claws); piscine (for fish — a la Pisces); and taurine for the ox or bull.

A few more that may sound familiar:

Lupine for wolf; cervine for deer (they’re in the family Cervidae); ermine for weasel; leporine for the hare (which is in the genus Lepus); and vulpine for fox.

And to finish with some of the more outlandish: lumbricine (earthworm); viverrine (mongoose); soricine (shrew); zibeline (sable); and scolopendrine (centipede).

And all these animal-words constitute just one entry in Garner’s fascinating 1998 book — from which I’ll mine more from in future weeks.

With additional plugs for Grumpy’s, too!