Barb McMillen's Just Sayin'

So, I read “Merle’s Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog” by Ted Kerasote and was taken in throughout about ⅔ of the book. Ted Kerasote is a nature writer, essays appearing in “Wildlife and Wildlands” “Conservation”, “Audubon”, “Field and Stream”, and “National Geographic” (among many others).

“Merle’s Door” is a wonderful book telling the tale of the ongoing relationship between man and found-hound out in the western climes. The book is called “Merle’s Door” because it explores a dog’s growth and intelligence given he is allowed an optimal amount of freedom and human relationship. The narrator soon installs a door within his own door to allow the dog free-thinking and the option to be free any time.

I won’t talk about the last third of the book because it belabors the dog’s death — but I will say I was most touched by Merle and know I was because I have loved my dogs and know for a fact they have their own minds and their own souls. They have sentience even if they don’t look at themselves in a mirror and suffer the illusion that “that” is “me”. I also longed for an area in my territory here in Perrysburg where dog owners and their dogs could roam free without always being tethered.

A few months back, I went on to see the movie, “Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World’s Worst Dog” based on the book by journalist John Grogan. I haven’t read the book, but the film portrays a somewhat neutral and stupid dog who has a life that’s funny because his family loves him. If he’s funny, it’s in his stupid way. And people get their come uppance as they attempt to deal with Marley, the stupid dog. The film doesn’t trust its conveyance of empathy so it slabs it on with three consecutive endings all elongating the full screen sobbing of the entire family as the dog dies.

This weekend, I read “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein, novelist and playwright. To be true to these ponderings, yes, the dog dies. In dog books, the dog always dies. So get over it. At the same time, “The Art of Racing in the Rain” is a pure novel written by a novelist. In this case the dog’s presence isn’t analyzed, the family’s life decisions don’t stop periodically to include the stupid dog. This dog is the narrator who, at the point of death, reviews his life.

Anthropomorphism be damned (I was an English prof, don’t forget, er, hmmm, ok, forget it). I’m thinking project all you want. How the hell else do we get to know each other and ourselves? Stein’s dog’s name is Enzo. Enzo does the projecting — projecting meaning and story into his own life as well as the lives of others. The narrative limits itself in a truly disciplined way — never breaching scenes at which Enzo is not present. And, as a dog, Enzo is perhaps the most reliable narrator I’ve ever read.

Despite my discipline (or because of it) I was terribly moved by Enzo’s life, his desire to do good, his limitations both physical and psychological, his ability to love, his ability to be a dog. And his desire to be a man. His story has the soul of Pinocchio but without Pinocchio’s need to lie. Enzo comes to terms with his own destiny on this earth and the next.

Enzo is a story teller. He desires to tell this story in a way that we will understand him. He wants to make a difference and, in one very moving moment, he imagines he has Stephen Hawking’s speech mechanism attached to himself enabling him to exceed his dog limitations of snout and tongue to bear witness to events. Perhaps he exceeds himself?

Enzo considers pride. He wonders if, through his craving, he was ever enough of what he was. He wonders if he was ever enough of a dog. His ‘National Geographic Show’ on tv echos in his ears at the end as it did through his remembrances — that dogs in Mongolia when dead come back as men “if they are ready” but first are allowed to run free in the fields for as long as they wish.

All these books feel that — feel the longing in the spirit of the dog to do good to be good, to hear “Good dog” from their masters. They give their lives to their owners and families, they live out their days encumbered with human beings. Enzo’s last dream is of freedom, of being an actual dog running in the celestial fields. But we know, at the same time, he is ready.

I want to add some people are afraid to imagine the mental lives of dogs. Yet in human families dogs become full members, have their own rugs, their own chairs. They live their lives out in the homes of people. They aren’t wolves. They have been ‘civilized’. In the end we are all they know of this life. They have been with us all their years. And if they are without language, they do know what language ‘means’ They are verbal. They have conceptual lives. They dream. They are embarrassed by bad haircuts. They are ‘good dogs.’ It is an honor to sleep with them in the same bed.

Pico