MY DOG AND BUDGET PSYCHOTHERAPY

MY DOG AND BUDGET PSYCHOTHERAPY

Ever heard of Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson? Back in the Eighties, he made a name for himself by claiming that Sigmund Freud might have suppressed key research findings, in order to preserve the intellectual purity of his theories.

That may explain why, in his book Dogs Never Lie about Love, Masson questions the supremacy of laboratory research as the way to knowledge. He does so by defending the value of personal, anecdotal evidence about dogs and their feelings:

“Since we can never know for certain what another person is feeling, anything we say about his inner world is, in a sense, pure speculation.” This being the case, Masson tells us, “Why should we not be permitted to similarly speculate about dogs? We watch their eyes and their ears and their tails, we listen for sounds.” Same with humans: we watch their faces, their eyes and mouths, listen for inflection in their voices, etc (p. xxii of the preface).

Those reading this don’t have to be told such things. We know it’s true as certainly as we know anything. Our dogs are not just humble beasts, not organic things among other organic things in the world, like tomatoes or worms. Our dogs are variations on personhood. They are sentient, perceptive beings who look straight at us, and do a remarkably good job of communicating without access to human speech.

What’s also true is that when I stop to reflect on how I respond to my dog, doing so opens a window on me, to me. I consider my border collie mix, Chelsea, to be something like a Freudian psychoanalyst.

I mean “talk” therapy, the kind in which the patient speaks freely, on whatever he chooses. In so doing he reveals information to a person trained to analyze what’s meant but is not being consciously presented in the patient’s monologue.

I talk quite a bit to my dog. This morning, I told her about a couple at dinner last night, people my wife Barbara and I have known for years, but only casually. Last night was different: they were part of a group that went to dinner, and my wife and I sat with them.

The following day, I found myself trashing these people to Chelsea. True, our exchange wasn’t exactly the same as it would be in a Freudian analyst's consulting room. I wasn’t lying down or sitting in an easy chair; my dog was doing the lying down, on an oriental rug. She’s blind in one eye, and when I looked at her, the good eye was trained exactly on me as I talked.

She didn’t understand me—not entirely--but she was listening. This fact caused me to stop and think, to analyze why I was going on in such a hostile way about this other couple.

And after I think about it some more, I’ll explain what I’ve come up with.
HERE'S THE BOOK

THE REAL WORK OF DOGS

                     

THE REAL WORK OF DOGS

Some years ago, a letter to the Naples (Florida) Daily News was headlined “Feasibility issue keeps dog park backers from getting a plan with bite.” It described the difficulties faced by dog owners looking for public places to take their pets.

The dog park finally got built, but in Naples as elsewhere, it’s still a hassle finding places to take my border collie, Chelsea. She loves going for walks, but not dog parks. When we first adopted her, I took her to one in Michigan. She promptly set up shop underneath my park bench, waiting for me to figure it out. She still keeps her distance from other dogs, but eight years later that’s mostly because she’s now almost blind.

A different story. My point here is this: if dogs are thought of only in terms of duck or pheasant hunting, or as a fashion accessory tucked in the owner’s forearm, with a rhinestone collar coordinated to match today’s ensemble, or as security for a car dealership's inventory, then expecting others to worry about dogs or their owners makes little sense.

But those who think this way are misguided. As Jon Katz explains in his book, The New Work of Dogs, very few canines these days are saving travelers in mountain passes (St. Bernards), herding sheep or cattle (collies, shepherds, corgis), catching vermin (terriers), or rooting out badgers (dachshunds).

Instead, they mostly serve as companions. Research has proven them to be remarkably good at improving both the mental and physical well-being of their owners. That’s why dogs are regularly taken to children’s hospitals, and nursing homes. It’s why the reward for good behavior in some prisons is access to a dog.

If you live with one, all this is old news to you. But many remain ignorant. The companionship meaning of dogs is especially true in retirement communities, where many have lost spouses and live alone. I made that one of the main themes in my novel, Just Bill.

My point again is this: in actual day-to-day life, dogs are often the first line of defense against depression, boredom, loneliness. For this reason it’s long past time for us to recognize that, for a great many people, dogs have become fundamental, not incidental.

If I’m right, it makes sense for owners to be allowed to have their leashed pets with them in public parks and on beaches, not just at dog runs. Some more enlightened restaurants have followed their European counterparts by making dogs welcome, at least on outdoor patios.

In our time—complicated and dehumanized in many ways--the main work of dogs is to be with us, to help us to live. To help us, in fact, to be more human.
HERE'S THE BOOK