Alfred A. Knopf, 2012
Humans aren’t the only ones to suffer from eating disorders, heart disease, addictions and many other ailments. In Zoobiquity, cardiologist Barbara Natterson-Horowitz and journalist Kathryn Bowers examine the range of diseases and conditions that commonly afflict both people and other animals, including dogs.
Horowitz’s revelation that species-spanning commonalities exist was sparked when she was called to the LA Zoo to help a female Emperor tamarin (an adorable South American monkey) who was experiencing heart failure. She thought that making eye contact and cooing to her tiny patient was the best way to comfort her. Then a vet stepped in and warned her against doing that, telling her she might inadvertently kill the small primate by inducing “capture myopathy.”
Horowitz wasn’t familiar with the term, but quickly learned that this fatal condition can develop when an animal is caught by a predator and experiences a sudden surge of a stress hormone. Unfortunately, this reaction can also be triggered when an animal is held, stared and cooed at by a heart specialist! The eureka moment came when she recognized a connection between capture myopathy and a human cardiac condition, Takotsubo cardiomyopathy (broken-heart syndrome), which can be brought on by a variety of “intense, painful emotions … [that] set off life-threatening physical changes in the heart.” She was surprised to realize that a phenomenon veterinarians had known about for decades hadn’t been identified in humans until 2000. So she set out to see if other human diseases had counterparts in the animal kingdom. She began her inquiry by posing the simple question: “Do animals get [fill in the disease]?”
In each chapter, a human disease or disorder is described and then the animal counterpart is presented. They start by looking at fainting, something that one-third of adults have done at least once in their lives. By questioning vets, they found that dogs also experience “vasovagal syncope”—i.e., faint—in response to everyday activities “like barking and jumping … some canines faint when they’re aroused to sudden activity after being at rest.” And like us, some dogs faint when faced with a needle. In both cases, the reason has to do with a “fight or flight” response in which blood pressure rapidly decreases. In turn, the brain “shuts the system down by fainting.”
In the chapter “Grooming Gone Wild,” they look at human self-injurers (including Princess Diana and Colin Farrell) and compare them with dogs who obsessively lick and gnaw at their bodies in almost in trancelike state. It has been found that some compulsive behaviors in dogs, like this one, are genetically based. Whether OCD in humans and the canine equivalent (CCD) are the same disorder is something that has yet to be determined, but Horowitz puts forth a compelling case for a connection.
This book also gave me many insights, including why dogs thrive on reward-based training. It all has to do with neurocircuitry, which, we learn, is similar in most species, including our own. Basically, this system rewards fitness-promoting behaviors, such as foraging, hunting, “interacting with kin and peers,” mating, escape—behaviors that increase species survival. The authors characterize the rewards as a “chemical-dispensing apparatus stocked with tiny capsules of natural narcotics” such as opioids, cannabinoids, dopamine, oxytocin, and many others. As the authors note, accessing these chemicals is one of the most “potent motivators in animals, including us.” Even slugs have a dopaminergic system that controls the search and consumption of food. As animal expert Gary Wilson explains, “External treats in the form of food and congratulatory sounds are, in effect, bridges to the animal’s brain.” Simply put, good dog training is “driven by pleasure circuits.” Positive, reward-based learning is more effective than dominance- or coercive-based methods because it’s in tune with the way we and our dogs are wired.
This is a truly fascinating look at the similarities between us and other animals. We are not alone in our experience of a spectrum of physical and emotional disorders—among them, chlamydia, depression, bullying and risk-taking among adolescents. The list is long, and exploring it makes for engrossing and enlightening reading.
Jennifer Arnold believes in dogs, and that the opportunity to engage in relationships with them is a gift. In order to realize the full potential of that gift, she asks a crucial question: “What do dogs want and need … and why does it behoove us to give it to them?” She then proceeds to answer it with chapters on canine health, safety, training and bonding, among other topics. Like her first book, Through a Dog’s Eyes, this one is something of a grab bag of information, but one well worth reading for its gentle, good-natured guidance and insights garnered from two decades spent raising and training service dogs for Canine Assistants.
Rex, a small German Shepherd at the heart of Mike Dowling’s new memoir, Sergeant Rex, ranks as the longestserving military working dog (MWD) in the Marine Corps. In this thoughtful account of their shared tour of duty in Iraq in 2004, Dowling shows Rex to be impressively brave, competent, even funny in the way only a dog can be. But canine courage is an old saw. Dowling is neither the first soldier to write well about dogs in the Middle East — pick up Royal Marine Pen Farthing’s moving bestseller, One Dog at a Time, which covers his rescue efforts for the strays of Afghanistan — nor the first to venerate the canines of combat. (William Putney’s Always Faithful and Lisa Rogak’s The Dogs of War are the standard- bearers in this department.)
What’s confounding and original about Mike Dowling’s narrative is how genuinely he writes about protecting Rex, all the while embroiling him in situations of brute violence and deadly risk. Deployed as one of the first 12 Marine dog teams embedded with infantry units since the Vietnam War, Rex and Dowling were successful in their assignment to sniff out IEDs (improvised explosive devices, or bombs). Rex alone unearthed hundreds of caches.
This track record no doubt contributed to a Pentagon task force’s conclusion that MWDs are better bomb detectors than any military technology, by far. The armed forces have taken note MWDs on active duty rose from 1,800 in 2001 to 2,700 in 2011, with about 500 dogs being trained each year. With their unparalleled sense of smell, dogs are functionally suited to the task. Physically and mentally, however, they experience some of the same maladies as their human counterparts. Though the military does not make statistics readily available, dogs are also suffering from a canine form of PTSD and traumatic injury, as well as dying in considerable numbers. So when Dowling “speaks” for Rex through italicized interjections of die-hard zeal and ooh-rah patriotism on missions in the most dangerous areas in and around Fallujah and Baghdad, it’s difficult to believe his assertions that he has the dog’s best interest in mind. After all, every dog in the military is drafted without consent.
Dowling, a voluntary soldier, writes about the U.S. military cause with pure enthusiasm. A capable dog handler, he nurtures Rex’s skills. He loves this dog, and cares for him with unassailable constancy. That much is apparent. But Dowling conflates Rex’s interest in doing the job before him (for the reward of a game of ball) with a conceptual allegiance to the American values these soldiers are defending. In one harrowing scene, Dowling brings Rex, who is already injured, along on a mission anyway. “A barrage of blasts” rattles their vehicle and “Rex goes jittery as hell. He keeps glancing at me with a look of real pain on his features.” In another scene, Rex fixes his protector with “a lonely, frightened gaze, like he’s convinced he’s been abandoned.” In yet another, Rex urinates out of fear. No matter how faithfully allied Dowling is with his dog in combat, these scenes are nevertheless excruciating for an animal lover to read.
Early in the book, Dowling reflects on setting out for their first mission. “Rex trusted me 100 percent, in that unique bond between man and dog. Yet he had no choice in my taking us to war, and he had no idea of the dangers we were flying into.” Everything Rex accomplishes, everything he survives — Dowling is right: Rex does deserve a Purple Heart for his courage. And Dowling deserves the acknowledgment he has earned too. But a medal for military service would mean nothing to a dog. He would not understand why he was receiving it.
Celebrated veterinarian and author Nancy Kay, DVM, a winner of the Animal Welfare and Humane Ethics Award, is back with another excellent guide to help you f ind top-notch health care for your dog. Organized as a set of twelve reasonable things you can expect from your vet, Your Dog’s Best Health brings clarity to many murky issues for pet owners Should I expect 24-hour care for my dog when he’s hospitalized? Is it considered appropriate to ask for cost estimates up front or a second opinion? Written with Kay’s trademark humor and intelligence, this book provides all the reassuring answers to questions you were afraid to ask.
This is a truly lovely book, both in its writing and illustrations, about the love between a little girl and the “best hound dog in the world.” It is also a story about the death of a dog, written in a clear, non-sentimental way that makes it an appropriate choice for the introduction of this difficult topic to a young reader (actually, it’s suitable for a reader of any age). The illustrations beautifully express the joy that a dog’s friendship brings, and the poignancy of memories that will last forever. This is a rare achievement in a children’s book.
A second book from influential behaviorist and trainer Pamela Reid, Dog InSight brings together more than 40 essays on canine behavior, techniques to modify it and the principles behind both. Originally published as monthly columns in Dogs in Canada magazine, the chapters in this book cover key tricks of the trade, such as calming signals, social learning and operant conditioning. Typical problems are handily addressed — excessive barking, resource guarding and separation anxiety, for example. Readers will benefit from the technique explanations; understanding why a given cue works helps independent trainers go much further with their dogs. Particularly poignant (and rare for a training book) is the final chapter on easing the pain of loss, in which Reid suggests rites of passage for dogs in their last days, as well as tributes to those we have lost.
The bold strokes of today’s young-adult lit
Imagine star-crossed lovers of old would blush and faint before indulging in the kind of libidinal excess that courses through young-adult novels these days. But Paul Griffin knows better than all that. An award-winning novelist who also trains dogs and works with incarcerated young people, Griffin has penned a highly praised new book, Stay with Me, that celebrates the drama, heartbreak and fragile sensuality of today’s accelerated teenage life.
Stay with Me recounts the tragic fate of a sweet rescued fighting dog named Boo and her unlikely caretakers, two 15-year-old lovers hamstrung by burdensome disadvantages. Mack Morse, an abandoned, then abused high-school dropout, has a rap sheet and a special knack with dogs. He also struggles with violent thoughts that manifest as a hissing in his head, “like when you roll the radio to static and dial up the volume.”
The only remedy? You guessed it his coworker —bright, comely and selfdeprecating Céce Vaccuccia, who studies assiduously and parents her own mother, Carmella, whom she describes with characteristic teenage sarcasm as a “never-married, twice-knocked-up and ditched alcoholic with crippling bunions.”
While each of these facts may be true about Carmella, and the judgment behind them heartfelt, there’s no doubt that Céce loves her mother. This is much the same for all of Griffin’s characters. We are drawn into the oppressive grind of their lives; their words are sharp and their fates are grim, but their essential moral fiber withstands the wear and tear of their preventable, regrettable mistakes. These are, despite their deplorable decisions and even heinous acts, good people.
Mack compels Céce — scarred by a dog attack during childhood — to befriend his dog, Boo. “You’ve got to go a long way into evil to turn a Pit against people,” says Mack. “They forgive easy as rain falls.” And so, in turn, does Céce. The magic of love’s force transports the couple to a new and terribly temporary happiness. But when Boo suffers brutal violence yet again, Céce is nowhere to be found and Mack acts on an aggressive impulse, destroying any prospects for their future together.
While Mack’s character develops and deepens as a result of his poor choices, Céce’s prospects wither following his withdrawal. But her world is open now to the solace of a loyal dog, something she would never have had without learning to trust Boo, and the heedless abandon she experienced with Mack.
Now it is summer and its long, warm days have arrived, we hope to catch up on our reading. To encourage you to do the same, we’ve compiled a roster of some of our favorites from the classic shelves, as well as some newer ones.
THE SCIENCE OF DOG
Man Meets Dog was first published fifty years ago, becoming a classic that every dog lover should read‹a slim, witty volume by the Nobel Prize-winning scientist, Konrad Lorenz. It was the first to delve into the canine mind and also launched the debate to what extend do its wolf ancestors affect modern dog behavior.
The Hidden Life of Dogs is a book made famous for the number of miles that Elizabeth Marshall Thomas clocked while tracking a Husky on his daily forays in her anthropological quest to answer, “What do dogs really want?” It is an enthralling account that brings a fresh understanding to the emotional lives of dogs.
Somewhere along the path of evolution two distinct animal species made the choice to “cooperate not to compete.” In The Animal Attraction Dr. Jonica Newby, an Australian veterinarian, poses the more fascinating question "If we didn¹t link up with dogs, where would we be today?" Her answers about our co-evolution are both surprising and wildly entertaining.
In Dog Sense, animal behaviorist John Bradshaw outlines what we can expect from our co-pilots as well as what they need to live harmoniously with us. Ultimately, this is what makes the book so appealing. He does more than simply lay out interesting theories; he uses science to advocate for a better life for companion dogs.
Inside of a Dog by Alexandra Horowitz is a fascinating journey into the dog’s rich sensory world, providing valuable insights into what it’s like to be a dog. If you think you know your dog, think again. Horowitz peels away the layers of pre-conceived notions and gets to the core of canine-ness to reveal that Canis familiaris is anything but familiar.
Dog’s Best Friend by Mark Derr who writes about the “culture of the dog” like no one else‹he goes well beyond the in’s and out’s of breeding and training examining all aspects about what makes our relationship to dogs tick.
MEMOIRS & LITERATURE
Scent of the Missing by Susannah Charleson. A fascinating memoir of the adventures of a Search and Rescue pup and how both she and her human partner mastered the course together.
In Dog Years, poet Mark Doty recounts how two dogs rescued and supported him during a time of deep grief. A tender, amusing and insightful reflection on the bond with have with animals.
The Proof is in the Poodle by Donna Kelleher, a holistic vet who has written a thoughtful and sensitive exploration of the ways we help out animals heal—physically, emotionally and spiritually. (2012,Two Harbors Press)
Garth Stein’s novel, The Art of Racing in the Rain, is a beautifully crafted tale of the wonders and absurdities of human life as only a dog could describe them.
Rick Bass’s Colter: The True Story of the Best Dog I Ever Had is a gorgeously written memoir about a remarkable “brown” dog who possessed a genius for the hunt. It is also a powerful contemplation about the natural world and how a dog can unveil its secrets to us, if only we are wise enough to watch and listen.
Donald McCaig’s Eminent Dogs: Dangerous Men is a book about the fascinating world of sheepherding and Border Collies and how the history of these dogs is infused by character of the people who admire then and who “partner” with them. Part memoir, travelogue, and part investigation into one of the oldest alliances mankind has struck with canines.
Dog Walks Man, a collection of humorous and absorbing essays by John Zeaman, conveys how the routine act of dog-walking can connect us to the joys of the nature.
Pack of Two: The Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs by Carolyn Knapp is the seminal book about, as its subtitle proclaims, the bond between people and dogs. A must read for all dog people—affirming that we aren’t alone in our dog-centricity. Knapp explored why dogs matter to us and concludes that we love them for themselves—for their very otherness and dogginess.
My Dog Tulip by J.R. Ackerley. This book is a lovely, unsentimental and very moving biography of a dog, an Alsatian female named Tulip. Ackerley is charmed and fascinated by her and his descriptions about her behavior and habits are among the more tender “love” stories ever.
Lee Harrington’s Rex in the City is the modern day story about how a young couple learned about the challenges of adopting an abused, untrained dog and bringing him up in a small NYC apartment. The author shares both her pains and her joys of their life with a troubled dog. But readers will be reminded—in a delightful way—that love does indeed conquer all.
Patricia McConnell, PhD, CAAB, has written a shelf-load of books in which she decodes the mysteries of canine behavior. Two we particularly like are The Other End of the Leash, which focuses on why we behave as we do around our dogs and how it affects them, and (with Karen London, PhD), Love Has No Age Limit, a much-needed primer on adopting an adult dog.
If you’ve wondered vets do day-to-day, read veterinary surgeon Nick Trout’s Tell Me Where It Hurts and Love Is the Best Medicine and get clued in.
WHO DONE IT?
David Rosenfelt’s Andy Carpenter is a reluctant attorney whose real passions are dog rescue and his Golden Retriever, Tara. One Dog Night is the most recent entry.
In Spencer Quinn’s “Chet and Bernie” mysteries, narrated by Chet the dog, comments on the way dogs see the world ring true (and will make you smile). The fifth book, A Fist Full of Collars, is due out in September.
Our long-time favorite, Susan Conant, released a new “Holly Winter” mystery earlier this year, thank goodness; Brute Strength is number 19 in the series featuring the Malamute-loving dog writer and, of course, her favorite dogs.
Transaction Publishers, 235 pp., 2008; $34.95
We Give Our Hearts to Dogs to Tear is not your typical, heartwarming dog story. Yes, there are heartwarming passages aplenty. But this book is also full of heart-stopping tragedy. That’s because the author and his human and animal family, including an assortment of Jack Russell Terriers, live in the wild mountains of Montana. Beautiful and rugged, the land is full of dangers ranging from hungry coyotes, bears and mountain lions to crabby 30-pound badgers, snares left by fur trappers, and poison set out by ranchers for coyotes. This is the sort of setting where any dog can get into serious trouble. And no dog can get into trouble like a Jack Russell Terrier.
These 15-pound dogs think they’re 10 feet tall, and immortal. They are fearless hunters. If you have or know a Jack Russell, you will have noticed that they consider what other dogs accept as commands to be mere suggestions. It’s because they think they know more than you do, and they may be right. Although all exhibit the breed’s typical intelligence, courage and energy, each is a uniquely complex, and often problematic, character. Chase’s Nobie was “a bundle of exasperating eccentricities,” whose “personality [had] more kinks than a corkscrew.” Ifrit “had a limitless capacity for love,” yet once, while playing, bit the author so hard he had to get a tetanus shot. Hobson was “sensitivity incarnate,” but prone to anxiety attacks that sent him diving under the bed covers.
The author buys his first Jack Russell as a birthday present for his wife, Diana—by mistake. He thinks he heard her say she wanted one; she remembers saying nothing of the kind. The couple already had plenty of animals: among them, 11 horses, two wildcats, a Mastiff and a coyote. Neither of them had any idea that Jack Russells were small dogs, and no clue that they had such huge personalities. But as it turns out, the breed was a perfect match for the big-hearted, life-loving, risk-taking couple. Transplants from Minnesota, they’re the sort of folks who, though perennially broke, fell in love with a dilapidated 3,000-acre Montana ranch that they knew was “too expensive, too primitive and too remote”—and promptly bought it.
Their Jack Russells are just as adventurous as they are. With a frenetic zest for life, these pint-sized dogs hunt ground squirrels, take out marmots and challenge badgers. They fall off rock ledges, collide with skunks, get quilled by porcupines and nearly drown in rushing rivers. Every day with the dogs, writes Chase, is “filled with love, play, empathy, anxiety, courage and near sudden death.”
Too often, death catches up with them. Their first Jack Russell, Phineas, dies in agony in less than a year, poisoned. Another is killed by a badger. One dies young of liver disease. Others live to old age—but you’ll cry when they die, too.
The deaths of these feisty dogs, as much as their lives, form the heart of the book. There are lots of great characters, moving descriptions of the land, discourses on the history of the Jack Russell and the dangers of breeding for appearance instead of performance. But these are incidental in the journey that is the book’s narrative core: Chase is looking for immortality for his dogs. Aren’t we all?
Because it’s impossible not to fall in love with characters like Phineas and Ifrit, Truffle and Tigger, Panda and Bungee—especially after you see the black and white pictures—some readers will be angry that Chase chose to bring these fearless, trouble-prone dogs into the dangerous western wilderness. Chase tackles this issue head-on, like one of his dogs might seize a ground squirrel. A former professor of philosophy, Chase takes on some Big Questions: Who are our dogs? What sort of lives do we owe them? How do we honor their spirits? What is the soul? Where lies immortality?
Bereft again and again, Chase tries to find another Phineas. (He gets two Jack Russells the next time, for emotional insurance.) He tries to replicate Ifrit. (This also fails.) He visits breeders, seeking to reincarnate the spirit of Bungee. Of course, it doesn’t work. But the vivid ghosts of Chase’s dogs demonstrate that what does happen is another kind of immortality.
Surely one of the cruelest conditions of life on Earth is that dogs don’t live as long as people. Yet, we “give our hearts to dogs to tear,” as Rudyard Kipling writes in the poem that gave Chase the book’s title. Yes, they tear our heart—but their indomitable, timeless spirits heal it again and again.
Viking, 341 pp., 2008; $23.95
One would have to have a heart of stone not to be captivated by this bittersweet debut novel, now available in an American edition, in which Prince, a Labrador Retriever, narrates his heroic attempts to save his human family from the dangers that threaten their peace and security. That the novel in form is a reminiscence by Prince as he waits to be put down by his owner, who does not understand what Prince has done throughout to save the family from itself, testifies, of course, to the futility of his actions. But that this sad history is communicated to a younger Labrador as a cautionary tale in how best to perform as Labradors expect of themselves, turns it into a larger, tragicomic meditation on loyalty, sacrifice and the possibilities of idealism in a world of disillusionment and irresponsibility.
The situation is this: Originally obedient, the Springer Spaniels, having realized that humans can no longer take care of themselves and hence that the stability of their families cannot be taken for granted, no longer pay attention to humans’ welfare or intervene on their behalf. They begin to slip their leads; they live for the moment and for themselves; they learn to sniff for pleasure rather than for purpose. The humans hardly notice—“Lamp posts were still being splashed. Crotches were still being sniffed.”—and most of the breeds are quietly won over to the Springers’ cause. Not so the Labradors, who institute a compact, based on the immutable principles of “duty over all,” self-denial, non-violence and constant vigilance. To the extent that humans consider the breakdown of family bonds, they explain it through easy sociology: the demands of career, the secularization of Western society, unhealthy diet. But as usual in this novel, the dogs sniff out the problem all too well: Humans overly privilege one sense (sight), which too often makes them the victim of appearances; they don’t understand their own nature, as part of Nature; they are afraid of aging and death; they can’t come to terms with sex; and in general, think that with science, technology and culture, they can control desire and instinct. Relying on such apparatus, Haig suggests, makes humans lovable objects for Labradors’ protective instincts, but teaches them nothing about themselves. And, sadly, it’s the dogs who pay the price: Get too close to them and you’ll get hurt, Prince is warned by a non-Lab; and so indeed he is.
This novel works as well as it does because of two writerly strategies. First, Haig’s sensitive depiction of the Hunter family, who had rescued Prince as a pup from a shelter in a desperate attempt to shore up their own dissolving human relationships, wisely renders them neither evil nor psychopathic, even if disconcertingly typical and familiar in their failings. Adam, the father, irresolute and frustrated in both his career and marriage, becomes involved with a good-looking, ditzy aromatherapist. Kate, the mother, avoids marital intimacy through incessant housecleaning, but too easily acquiesces when her old lover reappears. Hal and Charlotte, the teenaged children, are predictably given over to rebellious acts with seedy friends. Prince knows how few internal resources this weak but finally sympathetic family can muster against threats from the outside. Second, Haig nicely complicates Prince’s personality beyond that of a mere virtuous automaton: At night, Prince dreams of running wild with his ancestral wolves; at one point, he falls into a reverie, intoxicated by the delectable leaf juice, worm blood and squirrel droppings of the park’s smell-heap. He later undergoes a profound crisis of belief when learning that his father figure, a Labrador named Henry, has morally compromised himself in blind adherence to the letter of the pact. Because Haig has made the moral choices complex, Prince’s final self-denying commitment to an ideal that will never be realized is all the more nuanced and profound.
Similarly nuanced and largely successful is Haig’s ingenious evocations of Shakespeare, specifically the two parts of Henry IV: “Prince,” like Shakespeare’s Prince Hal, will reject the temptations of the self-indulgent life represented by the Springer-spokesman “Falstaff,” prove himself by defeating the traitor to the established order—appropriately named Simon “Hotspur”—and accept the values of his father-figure “Henry.” Other allusions are less relevant (there is an impetuous Rottweiler named “Lear”) or inappropriate (“Kate,” the name by which Prince Hal addresses his French wife after he is crowned king, is a bad choice of name for the mother). But it’s especially intriguing that the future of the teenaged son “Hal” is left uncertain. The only human who hears Prince’s words, young Hal cannot accept them, coming as they do from a dog. We are left to wonder in this wise and wry novel if he will remain “in the tavern,” surrounded by the Falstaffs of the world, and whether Prince has died in vain.
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