Thomas Dunne Books; $24.99
When a Western soldier goes off to war in a hard-bitten country like Afghanistan, he prepares himself for heat and dust, danger and hostility. He is expected to put his emotions on hold, trust no one, get the job done and get out. But if he is an animal lover, with a couple of pampered hounds waiting back home, it is impossible for him to ignore the hungry packs of dogs who linger outside every military outpost, desperate for food and just as eager for human companionship.
I know this because I manage a small animal shelter in Afghanistan, and I receive dozens of emails each month from foreign servicemen and -women who have adopted a local dog or cat — sometimes a terrified new mother with pups or kittens, sometimes a scarred Shepherd being forced to fight — and are frantically trying to save it before their deployment ends and they are whisked off in a helicopter, leaving their best friend behind to its fate.
One of the first such messages I received, more than four years ago, was from an Englishwoman named Lisa whose husband, a sergeant with the British Royal Marines, was desperately trying to rescue a group of dogs in Helmand, a remote province where British forces were fighting daily battles with the Taliban. After numerous emails and phone calls, several harrowing journeys and frustrated rescue attempts, three of the dogs and 13 puppies finally reached our shelter in Kabul.
I realized it had been a miraculous escape, but I knew only the barest outlines of the story until much later, when I read One Dog at a Time by Pen Farthing, whose wife had called me back in 2006. What he and his fellow marines endured to save the dogs amid firefights and mortar attacks, what they confronted in official disapproval and local animosity, and what they gained from the affection and gratitude of the dogs of their particular war, make a vertiginous and inspiring memoir of compassion amid combat.
The most moving passages are those in which Farthing confesses his own ambivalence and anguish. How can he win the “hearts and minds” of Afghans when he finds a frenzied, cheering crowd of policemen egging on two bloodied dogs to fight? How can he make a split-second choice about which dogs to squeeze into a truck to safety, and which to leave behind? How can he worry about a stray mutt when his fellow marines are dying, when Afghan villages and schools have been reduced to rubble?
“Maybe deep down, I was just missing life back home and looking after these dogs was my way of pretending I was somewhere else,” Farthing confides at a low moment, when he realizes he may have to abandon the pack of once-wary creatures he has seduced with food, shelter and belly rubs. Although caring for the dogs keeps him and his fellow marines human in a hellish time and place, he also experiences a frustration I too know well: the visitor’s inability to change a society where fear, neglect and abuse of animals are widespread.
In the end, the exhausted and injured marine made it safely home with just two of the Helmand dogs, Nowzad and Tali. A third, Jena, came to America and now visits me at the beach every summer. Most of the puppies succumbed to a virus, and the other grown dogs were lost to the desert, perhaps also dead by now. But the title of this valiant book declares a practical philosophy I also share, and that Farthing and I — though we have never met — both carry on in our continuing Afghan missions. You try, you fail and you focus on saving one dog at a time.
Pen Farthing can be reached at nowzaddogs.co.uk. Pam Constable can be reached at kabulcritters@ gmail.com.
The Experiment; $15.95
Paul McGreevy’s love of dogs shines through in A Modern Dog’s Life: He loves the smell of dogs’ feet (and advises readers to take a sniff), advocates hu-mane training methods and takes an uncompromi s ing l y strong stand against choke chains.
Readers will enjoy McGreevy’s many practical suggestions. To make sure clients positively reinforce their dogs, he tells them to “make your dog’s tail wag.” Included among his points are the importance of novelty in terms of toys and canine playmates, ideas for making visits to the vet more pleasant, and using the possibility of a walk to motivate dogs to perform desirable behaviors.
McGreevy covers many of his topics with attention to the science behind them. For example, he discusses research related to the meaning of barking as well as the importance of physical contact for establishing bonds between people and dogs, and his consideration of current investigations into paw use and canine laterality (“handedness”) was fascinating. I would have liked the names of the scientists who conducted the research and citations of the original work.
He is particularly engaging when he talks about how dogs learn, and his explanations of overshadowing, stimulus control, omission training and secondary reinforcers are excellent, as is his summarization of the current status of many areas of dog training and major changes that have occurred in recent decades.
However, on occasion, McGreevy makes statements without citing evidence. Here are some of the comments that left me with doubts: Dogs don’t get bored eating the same food day after day because they swallow it so quickly. They can’t taste the difference between one snack and another. They are more likely to be aggressive toward male visitors because they anticipate that males are more likely to create trouble and threaten resources. They can’t tell whether or not another dog is intact.
Perhaps of greatest value is McGreevy’s coverage of problems that arise because too little emphasis is placed on breeding for temperament. He eloquently discusses medical and behavioral issues that result from the unfortunate combination of closed breed books, breed standards open to interpretation, and breeding for success in the show ring rather than for qualities that are desirable in pets whose main “job” is to be companions.
McGreevy writes in a conversational style that makes for pleasant reading, and clearly wants the best for our canine companions in this crazy modern world. My favorite of McGreevy’s remarks reveals just how charmed he is by dogs: “[M]ost dogs have the true Olympic spirit: taking part being more important than actually winning.”
Random House; $23
Intensely moving, without a hint of sentimentality, Let’s Take the Long Way Home — part memoir and part biography of a friendship — should be read and cherished by Bark readers. Gail Caldwell is a fiercely private, independent, talented writer (with a Pulitzer Prize for criticism) and a dog enthusiast. So, when a dog trainer commented that she reminded her of another Cambridge writer who also had a new puppy, and added that she should try to get together with her, Caldwell wisely heeded the advice. What followed was the making of a remarkable relationship with Caroline Knapp (author of Pack of Two), one based not only on personality similarities but on the trust each of them — both reserved women — placed in the other, allowing them to open up and choose to take the “long way home” together.
Be prepared for tears from the book’s opening, which starts with Knapp’s death and the observation that “grief is what tells you who you are alone,” to its end, which closes with the knowledge that “the universe insists that what is fixed is also finite.” But this isn’t a maudlin tale, nor is it overtly expository like many memoirs can be; rather, it is revelatory, joyous and inspiring. Caldwell expertly draws the reader into her story as a hard-driving feminist from Amarillo, Texas, who saw “drinking as an anesthetic for highstrung sensitivity and a lubricant for creativity,” then realized that surrendering her addiction was a “way to get back all your power.”
When Knapp enters her circle, Caldwell notes (reflecting on the first of their many long dog walks), “Even on that first afternoon we spent together — a four-hour walk through late-summer woods — I remember being moved by Caroline: It was a different response from simple affection or camaraderie. … I found it a weightless liberation to be with someone whose intensity seemed to match and sometimes surpass my own.” Both shared deep bonds with their dogs — Caldwell with Clementine, a Samoyed, Knapp with Lucille, a Shepherd mix — both had stopped drinking at age 33, and both had early health problems. They also traded sports passions — Caldwell’s for swimming and Knapp’s for rowing. But, “everything really started with the dogs.” The two women reveled in unlocking the mysteries of canine behavior and in the triumphs earned through polishing their training skills. Theirs was a tight, close friendship, the kind that calls to mind Polonius’s counsel to “grapple them [friends] to thy soul with hoops of steel.” Caldwell generously allows the reader into their most intimate moments, including when Knapp learned of the cancer diagnosis, her last months in the hospital, and the brief reprieve when Knapp married her long-time companion, Mark Morelli, with Lucille as their ring bearer and Caldwell as her “humble handler.”
On a personal note, I must share with you the jolt I felt when I read about Caroline in the hospital, telling Gail that the only assignment she hadn’t been able to finish was one I’d given her (“a dog lover’s magazine” in the book). Caroline was slated to contribute to our first anthology, Dog Is My Co-Pilot. I was thrilled when she offered to write an essay and eagerly awaited it; news of her death (which I learned of through a New York Times obituary) came the day her essay was due. As Caroline asks Gail, “What am I supposed to write about … the only thing worse than losing your dog is knowing that you won’t outlive her?”
As it is, with Caroline Knapp’s Pack of Two, and now with her best friend’s enthralling “pack of four” memoir, both their stories will endure, classics that outlive us all.
Quill Driver Books; $25
The past decade has seen a steady increase in the number of pet nutrition books on the market, all geared toward helping people learn more about commercial diets, natural feeding and how to provide optimal nutrition for our companion animals. One of these offerings, Not Fit for a Dog!, written by three distinguished veterinarians, takes this literature to a new level. A thoughtful look at the larger problem of food sourcing and safety, it offers plainspoken advice on how to address the challenge of feeding our dogs (and cats) well.
Not Fit for a Dog! covers a lot of territory, including a review of commercial pet food ingredients, with a focus on what to watch out for; a detailed exposé of the 2007 pet food recalls; problems with prescription diets and why they may not be optimal solutions; and an important overview of chemicals in the environment — toxins that infiltrate not only pet foods, but our foods as well. The authors also take an in-depth look at genetically modified foods and their potential problems. Throughout, two overarching points are made and reinforced: that our own and our companion animals’ myriad health problems are largely preventable through diet, and that problems with food safety are universal. These are points that cannot be made too loudly or too often.
And herein lies the strength of the book: It links multiple topics in ways that shed new light on the subject of companion-animal health. For those new to holism, this book provides an overview of several key issues as well as strategies for challenging the existing paradigm by patronizing local farmers’ markets, growing one’s own food, buying organic products, minimizing toxin exposure in the home and seeking holistic veterinary care. Recipes are included, with supplement and substitution suggestions to help provide nutrient balance as well as fresh, palatable ingredients. Though I would like to have seen more resources for consumer education in canine nutrition — a list of books, sites and tools for furthering owner knowledge and fluency in canine diet would have been helpful — it represents an impressive effort.
In his introduction, veterinarian Richard Allport writes, “If I was able, I would lock every veterinary student and practicing veterinarian in a room with a copy of this book and not let them out until they had read it from cover to cover.” As a canine nutritionist who deals every day with health problems related to poor diet, I would take this a step further and say that I’d like to lock all dog owners in a room until they’ve read this book. Knowledge is indeed power, and this book is a powerful and important resource.
Broadway Books, $23.99
First, a confession: I did not expect this book to win me over. A confirmed cynic, I naturally am on guard against the sentimental or prosaic. But, contrary to my intentions, I fell for the story, its characters, and veterinarian Nick Trout’s insightful writing.
Love Is the Best Medicine is Trout’s second book. His Tell Me Where It Hurts: A Day of Humor, Healing, and Hope in My Life as an Animal Surgeon has been loved by many Bark readers; it offers a behind-the-scenes glimpse into a typically hectic and fascinating day in the life of a veterinary surgeon at Boston’s Angell Medical Center. Love Is the Best Medicine takes a different tack, delving deep into the lives of two exceptional dogs and the people whose lives they affect, not least Dr. Trout’s.
The narrative follows the medical plight of two parties: Helen, a stray elderly Cocker Spaniel with the good fortune to cross the paths of Eileen and Ben Aronson; and Cleo, a Miniature Pinscher with an unusual and enduring gift, whose owner, Sandi Rasmussen, possesses an incredible generosity of spirit. But at its essence, Love is bigger than the story of these two dogs and their people; it is a meditation on benevolence, selflessness and guilt. It is an acknowledgment of the power inherent in an acute bond between a pet and her person. It is what happens when a scientist accepts that this power has the capacity to heal.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the one problem I found: On two occa- sions, the author refers approvingly to Cesar Millan. Dr. Trout would do well to check in with the American Veterinary Society of Animal Behavior, the American College of Veterinary Behaviorists, and the Society of Veterinary Behavior Technicians (among others), all of whom have spoken out against the punishment-based methods used by Millan.
Love Is the Best Medicine will likely cause tears, but not from any manipulative pulling of heartstrings. The tears — not to mention chills — come in response to acts of kindness performed by exceptional people and animals. And, while Helen and Cleo truly are extraordinary dogs, and Eileen and Sandi extraordinary dog guardians, they also represent us — when we open our hearts and give away what is so freely given to us.
Oxford University Press, 274 pp., 2008; $110
In Dog Behaviour, Evolution, and Cognition, Ádám Miklósi has done what nobody else has even dared to try, and he does it brilliantly. This book is the first to compile and analyze the research that delves into the mysteries of the domestic dog. It provides an excellent and thought-provoking review of the scientific literature in a variety of areas: evolution, domestication, study methodologies, senses, communication, personality and development.
This book will be the reference on these subjects, and more, for years to come, probably until the happy day when the new research it inspires warrants a second edition. The book presents a unification of information and ideas from the diverse fields of ethology, genetics, zoology, psychology, archeozoology and anthrozoology. A great strength of the book is its constant focus on what we actually know as a result of rigorous scientific inquiry as opposed to what we think we know, based on the unsubstantiated beliefs and anecdotes that are prevalent in the world of dogs. The author points out many cases in which current research has revealed information at odds with the common wisdom. In a similar vein, he reports on the paucity of knowledge about agonistic behavior and aggression and calls for more research, which will be surprising, as many people believe that more is known about these subjects than is actually the case.
It is rare to enjoy reading such an information-packed book cover to cover, but that was my experience with this one. English is not the first language of this Hungarian author, but there is no need for concern—quite the contrary, it would be wonderful if all who wrote in our language were so eloquent and clear. Coming from the European tradition of excellence in ethology and ethological writing,Miklósi’s research and perspective emphasize the value of studying dogs in their natural environment.He makes the case that dogs are a wonderful subject for scientific study outside of the laboratory, and encourages both a comparative and an interdisciplinary approach. Scientists and non-scientists alike will take pleasure in perusing not only what is known about the dog, but also, how we came to know what we know from scientific study. The stories of the observations and experiments that have shaped our knowledge make compelling reading and also allow readers to understand the most likely directions for fruitful future research.
The nature of the relationship between people and dogs is a topic that will no doubt continue to lend itself to productive study. The scientific perspective on the roles dogs have in the lives of people —Do they act as friends? As children? As pack members?—is truly fascinating. Similarly, anyone who has ever loved a dog will be riveted by the sections covering attachment issues between our two species, the complex and variable nature of the human-dog relationship throughout history, cooperative behavior by dogs in relation to people, communication between the two species, behavioral differences by dogs in response to perceived attention or inattention from a person, canine social competence, and how humans and dogs interact socially.
Another especially interesting area concerns domestication as an evolutionary process, including the idea that changing views on human evolution inform our understanding of the domestication of dogs. Related to the mutual evolution of our two species is our ability to communicate with one another without specific training. For example, the ability of untrained humans to decode the meaning of dog barks, with or without experience of the individual dogs and breeds in the study. A further subject of great interest was Miklósi’s emphasis on the behavioral flexibility of the members of the genus Canis, both genetically and phenotypically, and the implications of this flexibility for evolutionary processes, including domestication. Using the comparative method —considering the domestic dog as one species within an intriguing group of animals—allows for greater insights into canine evolution.
The one criticism I have is that the index could be more complete. It does not include all of the scientists who are mentioned in the text, nor all of the terms. I hope that this can be improved in future editions, as a more complete index would make the book even more valuable as a reference.
In summary, scholars and anyone else who is serious about understanding dogs will want to read this book. If you haven’t, you’re not up to date on one of our favorite subjects: the behavior, evolution and cognition of the domestic dog.
Henry Holt & Co., 368 pp., 2008; $27.50
As chronicles of human progress, histories can illuminate and inspire— or they may show how little our species has changed across centuries. Literary scholar Kathryn Shevelow has it both ways in her lively recounting of the events and trends that culminated in the first English anti-cruelty law in 1822. Eighteenth-century England really was “hell for horses” and other beasts who had the misfortune to cross paths with its people.Abuses spanned the social spectrum, from bear-baiting enjoyed by the working classes to the fox hunts of the elites—the latter were only more genteel if you happened not to be their object. Children routinely practiced appalling creature cruelties, with apparent impunity.
At work, too, animals fared poorly, from older equines consigned to labor before the crushing weight of overloaded carts—and thence to starvation while penned for slaughter—to canine vivisections routinely performed in the name of science.
Harsh treatment was justified by such disparate arguments as hallowed tradition, the need to develop callow youth into the Empire’s hardened warriors, Cartesian philosophy equating animals with machines and even Scriptures that granted dominion over the animals. Indeed, early Christian leaders, from the apostle Paul to Thomas Aquinas, provided no comfort for the meekest. Even St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, counseled “respect” for them, but stopped short of compassion.
Further, although animals, as chattel, enjoyed no legal rights regarding their treatment, they could be convicted of crimes and punished in the various fatal fashions of the day. Professor Shevelow describes the particularly grim fate of one Mary Hicks, whose physical affection for her pooch was successfully prosecuted. She was forced to watch him hanged before joining him on the gallows. Such punishments were common enough to define expressions like the rueful “hangdog look.”
But other social forces were at work, portending better days for dumb brutes. Urbanization begat pet-keeping—lap dogs thus gained new status as lovable companions.Advances in taxonomy suggested less separation between humans and other species, and even animal curiosity shows demonstrated to their broad audiences that there was substantially more going on in the animate brain than Descartes believed. Ethicists grafted a “stewardship” obligation onto the biblical “dominion” argument, and reform movements like Abolitionism were philosophical kin to animal advocacy. Finally, there was a dawning recognition that, far from cultivating valor, early animal cruelty more often devolves into serial violence against fellow humans in adulthood.
It remained for brave individuals to seize on these trends to improve the lot of animals in an organized way. Margaret Cavendish, Alexander Pope, Rev.Humphrey Primatt and MP Richard “Humanity Dick” Martin may not be as familiar to readers as Bentham or Gandhi, but they each stood staunchly against the flow of popular opinion, and thereby altered its course. Indeed,Martin championed the first limited anti-cruelty legislation, which passed on its third introduction over a 30-year period. He also co-founded the first SPCA.
So, Homo sapiens clearly made progress in the law and ethics pertaining to other species. But arguments against this groundbreaking legislation may have a familiar ring for contemporary animal advocates. It was variously claimed that Parliament should limit its debates to more important human matters, that bloodsports were traditional and harmless, and that this was a gateway bill to other intrusions on British culture and even diet. There were also serious concerns about enforceability, especially as regards out-of-sight food animals. And it should come as no surprise that the all-too-human SPCA soon bickered itself into factions.
Throughout this saga, Dr. Shrevelow weaves material organized roughly by subject,with specific incidents and other tales of British life of that time, across the bounds of social class. And we get a sense of the heroics and foibles of the tale’s several protagonists, especially Humanity Dick. Anglophiles and fans of history will especially enjoy the book, and those who have accepted some part of the relay pass from these pioneers will be alternately impressed with their pluck, heartened by their success and a bit discouraged that we seem to be fighting similar battles today.
Skyhorse Publishing, 120 pp., 2008; $12.95
Since Carol Lea Benjamin and I share the (unofficial) world’s record for “Most Border Collies tucked under a café table in Greenwich Village,” I am not an impartial reviewer. But I know Carol’s dogs, and dogs are the test of any dog trainer.More on her dogs later.
Carol Lea Benjamin’s Mother Knows Best derived from her brilliant intuition that we should train our puppies as their dam trains them. Mother Knows Best is one of the two or three best-selling training books ever written—and has helped owners train hundreds of thousands of dogs.
Mystery fans will also be familiar with Carol Lea Benjamin’s Shamus award– winning series starring detective Rachel Alexander and her dog Dash.
She’s an International Association of Canine Professionals Hall of Famer, and has won countless honors from the Dog Writers Association of America.
See Spot Sit is a dramatic evolution from Mother Knows Best. It’s the first dog training book which instructs with cartoons. Carol’s charming, funny cartoons illustrate, amplify and comment upon her simple, practical training advice.
Tip #59: “Teach your dog to walk at your side.…Walking on a leash shouldn’t be a tug of war. If your dog pulls ahead, turn and walk in the opposite direction. If he lags behind, crouch and call him to you, arms held open for him.”
Tip #85: “Hang out with your puppy. The time you spend with him early on —training, playing, watching and learning— will pay you back more than you might imagine.” Trainers often suggest you play with your dog. Carol tells you how to play with your dog.
Tip #91: “Throw the ball far but not high. Dogs can get injured if they jump too high.”
Tip #93: “Play dead. Choose games and tricks that your dog does or can do naturally.Watch your dog at play. Does he love to bark? Teach him ‘speak,’ ‘count,’ ‘add.’…Is he light on his feet? Born to jump? Teach him to jump over your leg, over a stick or through a hoop.”
Carol lives a human/dog intimacy most dog owners (and many dog trainers) can scarcely imagine. Carol spends every minute of every day with her service dogs, Dexter, Flash and Sky (in training).When Carol’s swimming at the gym, Flash lies quietly at poolside. In restaurants, hotels or flying to Paris, he’s at her feet.
Carol Lea Benjamin explores her unique experience with simple and—I repeat—practical tips to enrich your dog bond. She’s no ideologue, and never badmouths trainers with different methods. Carol Lea Benjamin is only concerned about you and your dog.
Now, about that shared world record: Carol; her husband, Steve Lennart; and I had dinner outdoors at Pastis. Like most Greenwich Village cafés, the tables are jammed together and are so minuscule we scarcely had room for three plates up top and three sets of feet underneath. When we finished and rose to go, our three Border Collies emerged. The waitress was startled. “I didn’t know there were dogs under there,” she said.
If the sight of plastic bottle and cereal boxes makes you gleefully run for the recycling bin, please resist the urge to deconstruct Eco Dog’s cardboard cover. Tempting though it may be, you’ll find the pulpy contents well worth saving and reusing. Co-authors Jim Deskevich and Corbett Marshall enthusiastically share their favorite all-natural options for your dog’s diet, grooming, health care and home environment.
During the hot summer months, most dog owners rely on a chemical flea preventative. Deskevich and Marshall remind us that our dogs are surrounded by potentially dangerous chemicals from home cleaning products, cars and the air outdoors. So does it make sense to put more chemicals directly on their fur? They suggest nontoxic alternatives for shampoo and flea repellents. I made the herbal flea powder and it proved effective for my five dogs. Plus, the smell was more pleasant than commercial flea repellents and it cost far less.
Dogs like to explore with their mouths, so we buy toys to keep them busy and save our furniture. Tragically, some toys are made with toxic materials and can cause liver and kidney damage, or possibly cancer. Thanks to Eco Dog, you can make your own nontoxic toys at a fraction of the price of most commercial dog toys. The Braided T-Shirt Bone won me over with its sheer simplicity and its smart way to get rid of old T-shirts. My dogs enjoy carrying their “bones”around or tucking them into a couch corner as a pillow.
What I find most appealing about Eco Dog is the way it’s organized into easy, budget-friendly projects.Wanting to do right by our dogs, ourselves and the environment as a whole can be overwhelming. But Eco Dog breaks it down into simple steps that anyone can follow. It also makes you feel good about making natural choices for your dog that will boost his health and longevity, and perhaps that of your human family as well.
Broadway, 304 pp., 2008; $22.95
The first time I read Dr. Nick Trout's book, I curled up in a corner at my local bookstore, chin on my chest with his book in my lap for hours. It was the second time in my life I’d fallen for a veterinary surgeon.
It’s not hard to conclude, then, that what follows will be a largely positive review of Tell Me Where It Hurts. Sure, the subtitle’s a mite contrived, as is the day-in-a-life format Dr.Trout practically apologizes for in his opening bid for his readers’ sympathies. And even if he seems overly eager to make us fall in love with his brand of quirky wit, in the end it’s okay…he’s a surgeon, after all, and even those of the veterinary variety temper their legendary surgical egos with no small dose of charisma.
I mean that as no sly slur, really. All vets love to be loved—present company included. This flaw is part of our innate charm, I think—a forgivably innocuous Achilles heel borne ofmuch client adulation and early success in life. If surgeons offer a bit more bluster than most, well, that’s quite all right—especially if their pomp lives up to its promise.
In his post as veterinary surgeon at Angell Animal Medical Center in Boston, the subject of this memoir, Dr. Trout is uniquely qualified to lead an informative expedition into veterinary medicine’s heart of darkness. After all, his day job is a taxing amalgam of interpersonal skill, medical expertise and technical talent played at the profession’s highest levels.
Instead, Trout trades what might have been a trip down a river of gloomy reality for a veterinary romp in the tradition of the genre’s undisputed genius, James Herriot (of the “All Creatures…” series fame). Exchanging bucolic, 1950s England for 21st-century suburban Boston, UKborn and educated Dr.Trout convincingly recalls everything we ever loved about his countryman, while never letting us forget that this is a thoroughly modern read.
In fact, it would seem that in his urgency to update the master, Dr. Trout manages to raise every notable issue affecting contemporary veterinary medicine—from the feminization of the profession to pet health insurance and the risk of suicide that comes with the territory.Chapter by chapter, he crams it all in, leaving no pet medical stone unturned and no newsworthy animal issue behind.
In the end, Trout relies on his scathing humor and glorious British irreverence to pull out a surprisingly insightful, often hilarious take on himself, his profession, his colleagues, his clients and his patients —in that order. That he does so without raising hackles speaks to his prodigious gift for being downright, self-deprecatingly funny. Yet, in so doing, I can’t help feel his bantering style cuts far from the bone.
But perhaps this more critical opinion is the casualty of a second read. The first go-round breezed by like a busy day at work—one free of responsibilities, as in the voyeuristic, somewhat sadistic pleasure we guiltily succumb to when listening to a smart colleague rant cathartically after a very rough day (preferably over beers at a nearby watering hole).
The second read? I guess I wanted more than a colleague’s easy dissection—some bite, if you will, no matter how droll—if I was going to have a go at the same material again. “Gimme dirt, buddy!” I yelled at the pages (rest assured, in the privacy of my own home this time).
But then, I’m a vet and Dr. Trout’s experiences resonate so well with my worldview of veterinary medicine that I guess I can’t help it if I want a little more Conrad and a little less Herriot in my literature. And, truth be told, I get the vet surgeon spiel every night from the first one I fell for. Thus, I’ve since learned to be critical, even of genius.
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