The New Work of Dogs

Damian put up three signs above the cat’s feeding station. They read, from left to right: “No breakfast,” “No lunch,” and “Dinner okay.” So now the cats won’t ask for food unless they are on our schedule. The only problem for the rest of us is that they are written in cat language. The cats (and Damian) can read them.

Jon Katz, in his book The New Work of Dogs, talks about how we anthropomorphize animals, particularly dogs, and the consequences of this. After reading the book, I think (hope) I have a better understanding of what it means to relate to animals. Katz’s book is one of the best—well written, seamless, interesting, perceptive, engrossing and instructive. Dogs, who once were mainly work animals—herding, hunting, protecting—are now bred to be companions. And not just dog companions, but pals, friends, best friends, compassionate and understanding. In the many examples he gives in the book, dogs become surrogate people. As he says:

The range of dogs’ work these days is breathtaking: they join search-and-rescue missions, help the blind, guard property, sniff for bombs and illegal drugs, and comfort the elderly, the traumatized, the bereaved, and the lonely. Therapists enthusiastically enlist dogs in treating drug and alcohol addiction and in a broad range of rehabilitation work. They increasingly use dogs to help emotionally disturbed children.

If there is a cloud hanging over this work, it’s that the fate of these animals is so varied, the results so difficult to measure , their work so often unrewarded.

Many dog owners today live in much closer emotional proximity to their pets than in previous generations. Dogs are often used to fill emotional needs, to help their lonely, needy, discontented and disconnected owners. Katz tells the stories of people he spent time with to observe their relationships with their dogs—from single woman looking for companionship; divorced women gathering (with their dogs) to support each other; men walking their dogs together at 5 am, before going into the city for work; children given a dog they didn’t want as a present, then later abandoning the dog; a boy who used his dog to intimidate his peers, give him status in a rough neighborhood; a woman who has dedicated her life to rescuing dogs from shelters, finding homes for them, while ignoring her own (grown) children; another woman dying of cancer; a man alone in his old age. In all these situations, the dogs were used by their owners and the dogs responded. They sensed what was expected of them and they worked for their owners.

Yet Katz feels that we often know little about dogs and want to learn less.

If we really knew dogs, would we be attributing to them the vast, complex panoply of emotions that are unique to humans? See them as people when they are not? Would we overfeed and underwork them? Would we acquire large, active working dogs for small apartments or town houses in congested tracts? Would we refuse to train them? Beat and abandon them by the millions? Would we bar them from doing almost everything they naturally want and need to do, from roaming and sniffing to settling dog scores and chasing squirrels?

The book is mainly the fascinating stories he tells about the people he came to know and their relationships to their dogs. What becomes clear is the need for appropriate training of the dog. Your (and my) dog may be brilliant and talented, but she is not human. Dog’s are animals and need to be treated accordingly. Katz also says

Shouldn’t there be groups obsessed with helping abandoned people, helping to replace their mobile children or deceased spouses, repairing the damage left by their unhappy childhoods, making them whole and happy? Rescuers could screen their new lovers and partners, check on friends to ensure that they were loyal and wise, visit their charges’ new homes to be sure they were properly cared for.

Give dogs their bittersweet due: they’re doing hard and sometimes thankless work. But that says something about us, something that doesn’t often show up in media stories, glossy pet magazines, or picturesque slow-motion dog-food ads. . . . Often, if you scratched a dog lover, you found some underlying pain, something that opens a vein of empathy, nurturing, and affection. It’s the part of the human-dog experience that draws me most as a writer.

And I am now deeply immersed in another of his books: Katz on Dogs, more of a training manual but including as well many of his helpful and beautifully told tales of dogs and their owners.

Posted by leya at December 31, 2005 02:42 PM