Every since I began writing about dogs – I did not come out of the animal writing culture, but the commercial fiction and non-fiction and media world – I’ve had a sense of tension between myself and elements of the dog loving universe. At first, there was considerable hostility because I was new, was an outsider, and that seethed for awhile. Then I made the decision to put Orson down, and that seemed to fly in the face of conventional wisdom. Death is not respected in much of the animal world. Some of the border collie people disliked my books and decisions about border collies. These conflicts flared and cooled, rose and fell. They go on still, but in a more muted way, I suppose because I am still here, am still writing books and it is perhaps difficult to argue that my border collies have a bad life living on farms with sheep out the back door.

Still, I sometimes feel apart, which is not always an unhealthy thing. Something it can spark discussion, creativity and growth. And I have always felt it in my life, why should it be different now? I think there is a gap sometimes between my own idea of the proper place of a dog in one’s life, and the ideas of many of the people who read my work, even those who like it.

Recently someone expressed shock that I read and reviewed books that were not only about dogs (in fact, never about dogs). “What?,” someone asked. “No animal books?” One of the first responses to my tattoo was from someone asking why the dogs were the tattoo was not of the dogs, as opposed to my wife or other symbols of my life. People are puzzled that I have no wish to cross the Rainbow Bridge and find all of the dogs in my life waiting eagerly for me to throw balls and romp with them for all eternity. When I meet people, I am often told about their dogs in great detail, as if I couldn’t possibly want to know anything else about them, or could not have anything else to say about me.

A friend of mine often speaks passionately about her dog as her best friend, partner in life, lover, closest companion, source of most of the warmth and comfort in her life.

Listening to her, I fear for any human lover she may encounter. He or she couldn’t possibly meet those expectations. I hear that a lot, from many people, and I respect other people’s choices  I wince when I read or hear people emotionalize dogs in that way, it cannot be easy for them to be needed in this unnatural way. To me this projecting distorts the role of the dog and diminish the worth of human beings in our lives. They are not supposed to be our emotional partners in life, they are simpler, their comfort zone is narrower, easier.

It is clear by now to anyone paying attention that I love my dogs, give them good and healthy lives, earn my living from them, derive immense joy and pleasure from them.  Red has sheep out the back door, Lenore has her own couch, Frieda is very fortunate to be living in the world. But I think often of their place. It was wonderful when Lenore kept love alive for me when I was alone at Bedlam Farm. Maria is better, in many ways, including some best not discussed on the Internet.

I often thought of Rose as my partner at Bedlam Farm, yet wonderful dog though she was, she had no way or ability to keep me from nearly destroying my life, making awful decisions, spending all of my money, and living in impulse and panic. That was not in the job description of a dog.

So in identify terms, I land here:  I love dogs, am fascinated by them, could write about them forever and probably will. They do not fill the role of humans in my life – lovers, friends, soulmates. They are not therapists, psychologists, seers or empaths to me. Because I love dogs, it does not follow that they must be the center of my life. Loving them does not mean that I can only read books about them, only write about them, only get tattoos about them, only talk about them, or wish they came to my readings so they can distract me and other people. I do not mistrust people who do not love dogs, as many people tell me they do. People have a right to dislike dogs. This kind of dog-centric thinking seems excessive to me, a loss of perspective, an unnatural role for both dogs and humans. It seems selfish to me, a projection of what we need rather than what they are.

For me, dogs do best when they are recognized as simple animals, loving, faithful, sometimes protective, attentive companions. That is their historic role,  a big place for them, and I am happy to put them in their place.

Everyone needs to make their own choices about life, but I work to keep dogs in their place, even though it keeps me, as usual, somewhat outside of the tent. I am learning that this is my real default position in life.