By Paul Carrier
The author of close to 20 books, several of them about dogs, Jon Katz probably is one of the better-known, and most popular, chroniclers of Canis lupis familiaris, aka, the domesticated pooch.
But Katz is not a trainer, veterinarian or behaviorist. He's a storyteller. He tells tales about dogs - true tales that focus on the animals with which he shares the aptly named Bedlam Farm in upstate New York.
As the title of Katz’ latest book suggests, Soul of a Dog zeroes in on the spiritual and psychological dimensions of the animal kingdom. Katz tries to tease out answers to various questions, such as whether dogs have souls (he says yes) and what form they take. (That’s where things get more complicated.)
Katz uses the word “soul” in two contexts, sometimes regarding a canine afterlife and at other times simply to refer to the animating spirit or force that drives an animal in this life. That is confusing initially, but the dual definitions eventually sort themselves out.
Despite his profound love of animals (especially his border collies and labs), Katz is no sentimentalist. He tries to resist anthropomorphizing, rejects any notion that dogs and cats are four-legged people in fur coats and even has a few harsh words (such as “self-righteous”) for some of the people involved in animal-rescue efforts.
That mix of warm-hearted affection and tough-minded insight makes for a refreshing, thought-provoking read. Although Katz is devoted to his animals he also is analytical and clear-eyed about their motivations, instincts, skills and limitations. We bond very strongly with them, Katz argues, but they are not like us.
There is a certain alchemy to what Katz does, which is to observe his animals closely, contemplate the whys and wherefores of their behavior and put it all down on paper.
Of course, his task is that much easier, and the end result more compelling, because he lives on a farm. I love to watch my two dogs and four cats interact with one another, but there are no cows, sheep, goats, donkeys or chickens in our urban menagerie. So the experience is less exotic here, and the stories less varied, than at Bedlam Farm.
Katz is not an animal writer from the knee-slapping “dog hijinks” school, although he does have a sense of humor. He notes, for example, that his goats are not omnivores. They have their gastronomic preferences: Paul Newman’s low-fat popcorn (with the bag, of course), as well as oat cookies and Cheerios.
Eloquent, even profound, in describing his subjects, Katz treats them with respect, admiration and more than a dash of perplexity. Despite the specificity of the title, Soul of a Dog explores several species of farm animals, although its primary focus is, in fact, on dogdom.
The text is peppered with references to Aristotle, Aquinas and Augustine as Katz examines the alleged superiority of humans over the rest of the animal kingdom. He repeatedly acknowledges the limits of his knowledge about the souls, celestial or terrestrial, of the creatures of Bedlam Farm, and he suggests that some aspects of animal life, such as whether dogs can reason, are unknowable.
“Perhaps,” he writes, the mystery is “part of their appeal."
I came away with the impression that Katz, in evaluating the spiritual definition of a soul, is not at all sure there is a heaven, either human or canine. The conflicting beliefs of clergy and theologians on the canine soul, or the lack thereof, do not help to clarify things.
If there is a hereafter, though, it’s clear that Katz hopes the animals he holds dear - the border collies Rose and Izzy, the lab Lenore, and at least some of the other farm critters - will find a place to romp and roam there. When their time comes.
