Looking for another book to write, I turn away from celestial light, from American history, from any topic whose modest sales are unlikely to provide for my retirement. Not for me the pursuit of truth, justice and beauty. No, for my next book, I need a topic that is homey, heartfelt and, above all, bestselling. And of course, I’m talking about dogs.
In an age of disillusionment, dogs have become our favorite people. No longer merely “man’s best friend,” dogs are now our last, best hope. Your typical tail-wagging dog may have four legs and a furry face, but each morning when you turn off NPR and reach for an anti-depressant, chances are your dog is already at your feet, pill bottle in his teeth, anticipating your every need.
A dog’s steadfast loyalty, devout need to please, and refusal to discuss politics explain why books about dogs just keep coming. “My Dog Sparky.” “Top Dog.” “Dog Day Afternoons.” “Dog is God Spelled Backwards.” Some of those are actual titles but all of them could be because readers, publishers and dog lovers know that the only thing better than owning a decent dog is reading about some canine hero who cured a cancer patient or saved 37 lives or built a three-story dog house out back.
So a dog book it is. I’m ready to write it, ready to sell it, ready to retire. Only problem is — my dog.
Jackson is a good dog, yes, who’s a good dog? Who’s the best dog? Jackson, yesss! Part lab, part pit bull, part moose, Jackson tips the scales at 105 pounds. The color of a cafe latte, which explains why he is sometimes known as Jackson Brown Dog, Jackson is a face-licking, grass-rolling, random-barking canine capable of charming any dog aficionado on the planet. But as the subject of a book, I’m afraid the J-dog doesn’t cut it.
First off, Jackson has never saved a life. Not one. Nor would he. Given his current demeanor, it’s easy to imagine Jackson happening upon a comatose person, sniffing a little, then lifting a leg. Try turning that behavior into a bestseller.
Oh sure, he’s fun. Throw a Frisbee and, while your storybook dog will sprint across an entire football field, leap and snag it, Jackson lopes out, leaps early and gets cold-cocked by the disc on its descent. Then he yelps, lies down and rolls in the grass. So much for Chapter Two.
A pooch in a “must read” dog book needs a backstory. Before becoming one lucky writer’s loving lapdog, the Irish terrier Ruff, star of the mega-bestseller “Ruff’s Way,” was found on the streets of Los Angeles. Taken home, cleaned up, given all his shots, Ruff now has his own doghouse, website and Twitter account with 30K followers.
Alpha, in the “soon-to-be-made-into-a-motion-picture” book “Alpha Dog,” was left for dead on the battlefields of Afghanistan. Did Alpha give up? No! This astonishing poodle rose from the wreckage, leapt on a passing Hummer, rode to safety and was adopted by some lucky lieutenant who is now living the good life while Alpha puts his paw print on a shameless variety of cheap merchandise.
But Jackson? He came up from Tennessee on a truck with a bunch of other Dixie dogs. We drove down to a strip mall parking lot in Connecticut to meet the truck. Jackson got out, trembled and peed. We had a hard time getting him in the car. So much for Chapter One.
Yet it’s not the J-dog’s fault that he’s not bestseller material. Not every dog can save lives, cure disease, take the hill in a firefight. Some dogs are just, well… dogs. Need a face licked? Need a random bark? Need 105 pounds of pure love? Jackson’s your dog. Who’s a good dog? But I need another topic.
Bruce Watson can be reached at breadandroses22@yahoo.com.