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Culture: Reviews
Good Reads
Let’s Take the Long Way Home, A Small Furry Prayer and Dog Tags
Good Reads Books

Dogs play a prominent and meaningful part in three new “good read” books. Let’s Take the Long Way Home explores a friendship and a shared fascination with dogs; A Small Furry Prayer examines the culture of rescue and the meaning of life, and rounding it out, a crime novel, Dog Tags.

Let’s Take the Long Way Home: a Memoir of Friendship, is intensely moving, without a hint of sentimentality. It is part memoir and part biography of a friendship and it 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. Her friendship with Caroline Knapp (author of a Bark “good read,” Pack of Two) was inspired, one might say authored, by their love of dogs. As this “pack of four”—Knapp with her mixed breed Lucille, Caldwell with her Samoyed Clementine—explored the woods of New England together, they created a profound and lasting attachment that has transcended grief and transformed lives. We highly recommend this book. See Gail Caldwell talk about her book and her friendship with Caroline.
 

A Small Furry Prayer: Dog Rescue and the Meaning of Life by Steven Kotler is part Hunter Thompson part Carlos Castaneda but mostly so original that it’s difficult to peg. Kotler examines the “cult and culture” of dog rescue, which he says is the largest “underground movement” in America, from the perspective of someone who definitely is living the life. A LA guy with a hankering for adventure who falls in love with a Joy, a dog-loving woman, they buy a small place in Chimayo, New Mexico, move there with eight dogs, all rescues, all “special” needs dogs. They start Rancho de Chihuahua, a sanctuary for these dogs (and many others who follow) with scant resources except an intense drive to save dogs. The narrative takes the reader to many places, to the dogs themselves (all richly drawn characters in their own right) to an exploration of the meaning of “dog” and of our long history of fascination with them. This is a delightful, rich read sure to take you to unexpected places and beyond. To catch Steven Kotler reading from his book, see schedule on the next page. See the video below:
 

Dog Tags, David Rosenfelt’s newest “Andy Carpenter” mystery, is a good weekender read. For those unfamiliar with the author’s previous books, his main character is Andy, an attorney with a passion for dogs, who is far happier walking his Golden Retriever, Tara, than working a courtroom. When he can be cajoled into practicing his profession, however, his often-unorthodox tactics usually carry the day. Aside from Tara, other members of the ensemble are also present and accounted for in Dog Tags, including Willie Miller, who oversees Andy’s Tara Foundation* rescue work; Laurie Collins, love of his life; and Pete Stanton, police lieutenant and sports-bar buddy. Dog Tags has all of the author’s trademark elements: a client, falsely accused; a dog in need of protection; and, of course, a murder—or in this case, several murders. The client is an ex-cop and Iraq war veteran who lost a leg and then his job on the force. The dog is his highly trained German Shepherd K9-unit partner, also released from duty. Toss in financial shenanigans, profiteering and a hard-core hit man, and all the elements for an engrossing story are in place.

* The Tara Foundation is a real organization, established by Rosenfelt and his wife; to date, they’ve rescued and rehomed about 4,000 dogs, many of them Goldens; the ones that can’t be placed stay with them.)  See a video about the Tara Foundation on the next page.

 

Culture: Reviews
Celebrating Photobooth Dogs
Photobooth Dogs

Photobooth Dogs is a one-of-a-kind collection celebrating the age-old bond between dogs and their people. Featuring happy and beloved pets in more than 100 portraits taken in photobooths over the last 80 years, these images are a testament to the devotion people have felt—and will always feel—for their dogs. Photobooth Dogs is published by Chronicle Books with an October 1, 2010 release date.

These vintage rarities are collected by Cameron Woo, co-founder and creative director of The Bark, the magazine of dog culture and purveyor of exquisite canine art. The majority of the photographs that appear in Photobooth Dogs are part of Woo’s personal collection. This sub-genre of vernacular photography was amassed from hours of culling through thousands of photobooth pictures, at flea markets, antique stores and online vendors. An invitation to Bark readers and collectors drew a handful of gems, including a three-frame strip showing photobooth inventor Anatol Josepho cradling his terrier (c. 1928) from the International Centre of Photography.

The photographs offer deeply personal self-portraits, a collaboration between machine and the sitter (human or canine)—and the unseen element of chance. The first Photomaton machines appeared in 1925, and for the first time in history, mechanical photobooths offered the masses an inexpensive and high-quality method for portraiture. Crowds lined up to pay their 25 cents and have their picture taken. As photobooth pictures soon became the favored tribute to love and friendship, it’s no wonder that beloved dogs began to show up in the earliest strips.

To purchase a copy of Photobooth Dogs or for retail queries, go to: ChronicleBooks.com
For all media queries please contact Cameron Woo.

Culture: Reviews
Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell and Know
Scribner, 368 pp., 2009; $26

If we want to get inside of a dog’s mind, to know how it feels to be that dog, then we must first understand how he sees his subjective universe, or “umvelt.” This is the premise of Alexandra Horowitz’s nearly flawless book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell and Know.

Groucho Marx once quipped,“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.” Horowitz turns on the light, climbs inside and shows us what goes on inside of a dog. She teases apart our anthropomorphic notion that dogs are like us. Then, basing her narrative on an exhaustive list of canine studies (she cites 185 references), she reconstructs the dog, piece by piece. For example, she writes, “To understand the dog umwelt, then, we must think of objects, people, emotions— even times of day—as having distinctive odors.” Horowitz adds that because dogs “see” smells, they must remember in smells as well. “When we imagine dogs’ dreaming and daydreaming, we should envisage dream images made of scents.” They are not chasing bunnies; they are chasing bunny odor.

Writing about science in a vernacular to which non-scientists can relate is tricky. Too erudite and you lose your regular folks. Too folksy and the science loses its application. Horowitz takes the middle road. Using her “dog-person” voice, she focuses on what the research means rather than the technical intricacies of its methodology. References are in the back of the book according to chapter and include empirical research, observational studies, books and personal conversations.

A psychologist with a PhD in cognitive science,Horowitz touches on smell, vocalization, vision, play, sense of self, cognition and the interaction between dogs and people. She’s organized the book based on a dog’s point of view. For instance, the chapter about olfaction is titled “Sniff” and includes sections such as You showed fear and Leaves and grass.

Horowitz enhances her already detailed description of canine knowing with poetic accounts of the relationship she has with her own dog, Pumpernickel. In the chapter about olfaction, she writes, “Since I’ve begun to appreciate Pump’s smelly world, I sometimes take her out just to sit and sniff.We have smell-walks, stopping at every landmark along our route in which she shows an interest.”

If you’re just looking for answers to some timeless canine questions, you’ll find them here, too.Why is a dog’s nose wet? To catch odor molecules.Why does a dog scratch the ground after he defecates? To spread the odor.Do dogs know what size they are? Yes. Do dogs laugh? Maybe. Do dogs “pack”with their human family? Not really—as she writes, “We and our dogs come closer to being a benign gang than a pack.”

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.

Culture: Reviews
A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog
Hyperion, 288 pp., 2009; $24.99

I've just discovered a person I’d really like to hang with at the local dog park: Dean Koontz. Yes, that Dean Koontz, writer of creepy, scary suspense novels. But that’s not why I want to hang with him.No, I refer to the man who—along with his wife of 32 years,Gerda—adoptedTrixie, a CCI (Canine Companions for Independence) service dog “retired” at three because of an injury.Koontz’s keen ability to observe, interpret and humorously convey the joy and love that Trixie brought to their lives in A Big Little Life convinces me he would be a boon dog park companion, commenting on the fascinating behaviors of dogs and people.He even riffs on something we all do: learn a dog’s name while rarely bothering to remember (or even ask) the guardian’s name.

The Koontzes long wanted a dog, but held back. “For many years, as we gave ourselves to work, we talked about getting a dog.…A dog can be a living work of art, a constant reminder of the exquisite design and breathtaking detail of nature, beauty on four paws. In addition, year by year, we became more aware that this world is a deeply mysterious place, and nothing confirmed the wonder of existence more than what we saw happening between dogs and people with disabilities at CCI. Being guardians and companions of a dog would be one way to explore more fully the mystery of this world.” Enter Trixie.

Koontz writes hilariously of Trixie’s idiosyncrasies, such as her “toilet Tao” which required that she do her business anywhere but her own yard, a result of her CCI training. He describes Trixie’s sense of humor, compassion, frivolity and intelligence. He writes movingly of the emotional bonds we build with dogs throughout their too-short lives.

Koontz also takes on behaviorists who claim we over-sentimentalize this deep connection. “Loyalty, unfailing love, instant forgiveness, a humble sense of his place in the scheme of things, a sense of wonder—these and other virtues of a dog arise from his innocence. The first step toward greater joy is to stop fleeing from innocence … and embrace once more the truth that life is mysterious and that it daily offers meaningful wonders for our consideration. Dogs know.”

Dogs were featured characters in Koontz’s novels before Trixie; now, even more so. Read this book to be entertained, uplifted and deeply moved. Proceeds benefit CCI.

Culture: Reviews
The Wolf in the Parlor
Henry Holt, 304 pp., 2009; $25

In The Wolf in the Parlor, science journalist Jon Franklin uses the narrative skills that helped him win two Pulitzers to posit a theory about the origins of the domestic dog that seems to be based more upon speculation than upon science.

Franklin’s compelling narrative can certainly absorb the reader. The storyline reads like a mystery novel, peppered with vignettes about Charlie, Franklin’s black Standard Poodle, as well as anecdotes about various scientists and others who have explored the origins of the domestic dog—for example, the story of archeologist Stanley Olsen’s Shepherd/Malamute cross, Nubie, whose epilepsy controlled Olsen’s daily schedule and even his professional travel plans. Each of these stories drives a narrative that gradually reveals Franklin’s over-arching theory, which is not a complicated one.

At least 50,000 years ago, a population of wolves followed bands of huntergatherers. These wolves were physically the same as the wolves who were not following the bands, but Franklin contends that their brains were changing—that they were losing the innate predatory motor patterns that wolves had evolved to kill large prey. Then, 12,000 years ago, Franklin argues, the follower wolves lost 20 percent of their brain size, and humans lost 5 to 10 percent of theirs. According to Franklin, this reduction in brain size is indicative of a new symbiotic relationship, one based upon what he calls a “neural symbiosis.” In this relationship, each species ceded to the other important neural functions. Dogs gave up their ability to make complex plans, while people lost their ability to experience raw emotions. Once humans were no longer controlled so strongly by emotion, they were able to focus on developing the technology that led to our current dominance as a species.

Though Franklin is not the first to write about the co-evolution of humans and dogs, the lack of citations to other literature, peer-reviewed or otherwise, implies that he came up with this theory on his own. The closest he comes to citing an expert in the field is a passing reference to the work of biologist Raymond Coppinger, who contends that dogs evolved from wolves who learned to scavenge off humans once humans began engaging in small-scale agriculture and living in relatively permanent villages. Agriculture likely began 12,000 years ago, which is exactly the point at which both Coppinger and Franklin believe that the first domestic dogs appeared. Moreover, Franklin provides no bibliography to assist the reader in finding where his theory fits within the scientific literature.

At face value, Franklin’s theory sounds plausible, but it simply does not square with what scientists have discovered about the evolution of domestic dogs and of the human brain. At the end of the Pleistocene, human brains became smaller, but that smaller brain was consistent with a general reduction in body size and clearly had nothing to do with its function. Furthermore, dogs were most likely domesticated more than 12,000 years ago. The oldest accepted dog remains date to 14,000 years ago, and some genetic studies suggest that dogs have been living with people for more than 100,000 years. Because Franklin’s theories do not fit with this scientific evidence, the book comes across as nothing more than a good story.

Culture: Reviews
All My Patients Have Tales: Favorite Stories from a Vet’s Practice
St. Martin’s Press, 226 pp., 2009; $24.95

If you've always loved the stories of James Herriot, get ready to be excited by Jeff Wells’ All My Patients Have Tales. It sounds too good to be true, but here is another veterinarian who loves both people and animals, understands small pets and farm animals alike, and tells a good story.

Wells’ stories involve many species. Among the lively characters are dogs, cats, cows, turkeys, elephants, porcupines, donkeys, yaks and pigs; people have their part to play, too. His observations about the interactions between humans and animals, and of humans with each, other are nicely balanced between cleverly insightful and respectfully amused.Wells has a nice appreciation of the ridiculous, and he shares this with his readers.

Most charming of all, he sees the absurdity of his own role in these adventures and is able to laugh at himself. Whether chasing an escaped (and semiferal) cat around his office, getting kicked where no man wishes to be kicked by a cantankerous horse, running from wild turkeys or doing some on-the-job learning in how to draw blood from an elephant (in front of an audience), his sense of humor lets us enjoy his adventures.

The book covers the uphill battle of getting into veterinary school and the rigors of the course of study. It also highlights the many ways in which the job of veterinarian requires so much more skill and experience than can be gained in school, no matter how good the instruction and no matter how diligently one studies. It is the process of becoming an “experienced veterinarian” that Wells documents through the many escapades chronicled in this lively book. He confirms that his chosen career is never boring, that there is always more to learn and that checking your ego at the door is a requirement of the job.

Anyone looking for a fun read about both animals and people who are real characters will enjoy All My Patients Have Tales. I loved this book and know it’s one I’ll be reading again.

Culture: Reviews
Rescue Ink
Viking, $25.95

Angel, Joe Panz, Batso, Big Ant, Eric, Johnny O, Des, G—big guys with big hearts, the men of Rescue Ink use their street skills to protect metro NYC’s furred, feathered and scaled.We learn about each man—what motivates them to volunteer for this type of work, how they approach it, why they’ve become so invested in saving the city’s most helpless residents. It’s clear that these large tattooed men, who share a passion for animals as well as hot rods and motorcycles, are a force to be reckoned with.

Culture: Reviews
Canine Massage in Plain English
Clean Run Productions, $19.95

Kudos to Winter and the publisher for putting together this absolutely clear and well-illustrated book.Not only is it functional, but, with its more than 125 color photos and clean layout, it’s also attractive and fun to read. As its subtitle—Taking the Mystery Out of Massaging Your Dog —proclaims, it gives us the tools we need to help our dogs relax and feel better. Give your dog a full-body massage or, if time prohibits, a quick pick-me-up. The information is presented step-by-step in sections, so you can choose what works for the specific situation literally at hand.

Culture: Reviews
Why Dogs Are Better Than Cats
Andrews McMeel Publishing, $19.99

This is a book with a definite point of view, presented without apologies and with a large dollop of tongue-in-cheek. A mix of text, quotes, aphorisms and utterly charming photos of both dogs and cats, this hardcover, 224-page tome is a lot of book for the bucks (the three pages of numbered notes at the end are worth a read all by themselves). Greive, the man behind the phenomenally successful The Blue Day Book, says he suffers greatly from cat allergies, which may explain his perspective. Regardless, he readily admits that felines have their appeal. A good gift for your cat- and dog-loving friends alike.

Culture: Reviews
Come Back, Como
Harper, $23.99

Dogs are, it is said, man’s best friend. Alas for the author, Como, a small and strong-willed white Terrier mix he and his family adopted from a local shelter, didn’t get the memo. Oh, sure, Como loved daughter Phoebe and wife Sally— but Winn? Como would have nothing to do with him. In the Winn household, the dog was exclusively woman’s best friend. This well-told tale of pursuit and rejection and ordeals endured is oddly inspiring and surprisingly smile-inducing. The author doesn’t flinch from revealing his own inept moments, nor does he pretend his heart wasn’t involved in the chase for Como’s affection. The book is a good reminder of the many ways dogs occupy our hearts and lives.

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