JON
KATZ
Goodreads
synopsis: In
his popular and widely praised Running
to the Mountain,
Jon Katz wrote of the strength and support he found in the massive
forms of his two yellow Labrador retrievers, Julius and Stanley. When
the Labs were six and seven, a breeder who’d read his book
contacted Katz to say she had a dog that was meant for him—a
two-year-old border collie named Devon, well bred but high-strung and
homeless. Katz already had a full canine complement—but, as he
writes, “Change loves me. . . . It comes in all forms. . . .
Sometimes, change comes on four legs.” Shortly thereafter he
brought Devon home. A
Dog Year shows
how a man discovered much about himself through one dog (and then
another), whose temperament seemed as different from his own as day
from night. It is a story of trust and understanding, of life and
death, of continuity and change. It is by turns insightful,
hilarious, and deeply moving.
Stats
for my copy:
Trade paperback, Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2003.
How
acquired:
Bought.
My
thoughts:
I've never had a Border Collie, but I've heard stories and heard
that they are very energetic and high maintenance. I really enjoyed
this book for the most part.
But.
I love dogs. I am a dog lover. I want all the dogs. I would love to
foster dogs, but my resident dog lived in a backyard for six years
and was completely unsocialized when I adopted him, and since I do
have to work outside the home full time, I don't feel I'm in a
position to be a good foster home. While the author loves his dogs, I
didn't get the sense that he is a dog lover. For one, his labs came
from a breeder. I will never buy a dog from a breeder. I wish
breeders no longer existed. There are so many millions of dogs in
shelters, living on the streets, or being euthanized because nobody
wants them, that it seems unethical to me for dogs to purposely be
bred. And yes, I realize that there are so many children in foster
care that need to adopted that maybe I shouldn't have bred my own.
But dogs are my passion so I don't care how unreasonable it is,
that's how I feel.
Then
there was this passage:
For the noblest of reasons, it had also become popular – and immensely rewarding – to go to the local pound and bring home stray and abandoned animals. Many were lovely, companionable dogs, but some were mixed breeds unsuitable for suburban families, tense and unpredictable around other animals, kids, even their owners. This can also be true of purebred dogs, some of whom suffer from overbreeding and don't live up to their TV commercial images.
I
don't know why that paragraph rubs me the wrong way. It's an
innocuous three sentences. There's truth in them. Maybe it's the
phrase “become popular”, as if he's dismissing adopting shelter
dogs as being beneath him, or being a fad. And of course, as I got
further into the book, his descriptions of Devon certainly prove
“This can also be true of purebred dogs”.
I
did love this quote though:
Dogs live on a scale that I can comprehend; their lives are an outcome I can affect. They make me happy, satisfy me deeply, anchor me in an elemental way. Sometimes it's hard for me to trust people, or to find people I can come to trust. I trust my dogs, though. They would do anything for me, and I for them.”
When
one of the author's labs begins ailing and is euthanized, I cried.
It's a hard decision, and it's one I've had to make myself, more than
once. It's been two years since I lost my dog Max to cancer, but
sometimes the grief is still fresh, as if it just happened last
month.
But
other than the occasional wince or incredulous “did this guy know
nothing about dogs” reaction to some of the things he did (throwing
a choke chain on the ground next to the dog to get his attention or
correct his behavior? Seriously?), I loved the stories about Devon
himself, about his personality. I could read about that kind of stuff
all day long.
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