When I left the first Bedlam Farm six or seven years ago, one of the very few things I brought with me was Orson’s grave marker; it was high up in the pasture, I doubt I could find it if I went back and looked.
The truth is, I didn’t want anyone else to be able to find it. A lot of people loved Orson.
I remember hauling his dead body up that steep hill and crying every step of the way. One of the men working on my farmhouse dug a deep hole.
I brought this gravestone to the new Bedlam Farm, and it’s planted in one of Maria’s gardens by the back porch. When the flowers come up, you can’t see it, and in the winter, it’s covered in snow and ice.
As I’ve written, I ‘m not big on nostalgia, I prefer life in the now, and I believe nostalgia is just another excuse for drama, a memory trap.
But I think of Orson often in the Spring, when his grave marker is most visible.
He was, in many ways, the most important dog in my life He inspired my first book, A Dog Year, which led to other dog books and to my sheepherding, which led to my buying a farm and moving to upstate New York.
Orson was a damaged dog in many ways; his breeder shipped him to from Texas, hoping I could help him.
He was a controversial dog from the beginning; he had a genius for getting in trouble (he loved to herd school buses).
I earned the everlasting scorn of the border collie snobs when I let Orson out to run alongside traffic and trucks on the Garden State Parkway (it was fenced). They never really got over it.
Orson was a smart, beautiful, and devoted dog but he was impaired beyond my ability to help him.
The specialists all said he was damaged, something off in the brain.
He attacked several people, one of them a small child, and drew blood. When my efforts to save him (holistic care, veterinary schools, specialists) reached the $15,000 mark, I gained some perspective and decided to put him down.
He just couldn’t figure out how to live in the world.
And I couldn’t justify spending more money on him in a world where children starve.
Orson’s death introduced me to the emotionally violent world of the animal rights movement, which decided I had murdered him for no reason and bombarded me with hate mail for a year or so. It was interesting to learn that not a single one of them ever contacted to ask what happened, a lesson that was valuable to learn.
I had never come so close to so much unreasoning hatred, although I see it is now a permanent part of the way Americans talk to each other. My quiet life as a book writer and critic shattered and never came back. Orson was some of the inspiration for my blog.
Orson’s lire and death was a preview of things to come. The animal rights movement has, in many ways, continued down that dark path, sad news for animals and for people. To me, a dog should never be a reason for hating people.
The angry people swarmed like hornets for a while, then went on to other targets, and fresh blood. They still pop up from time to time, one of them messaged Zinnias breeder to tell her I murdered puppies in my barn.
Orson got me into writing dog books, and finally, moving up here. He also brought me to sheepherding, and to the joys of working with dogs.
In a sense, Orson sparked the hero’s journey, which led me to a new life and Maria. I owe him a lot. I have no regrets about euthanizing him. When I saw the blood pouring of that child’s neck from Orson’s bite, I knew there was no choice.
I was in over my head. I vowed to start learning about dogs and dog behaviors, I promised my self this would never happen again. It hasn’t. I learned so much from that dog.
Among other things, I learned to be thoughtful and careful about how I get a dog, to train them thoroughly and continuously, and to never again have an animal that hurt people or dogs, no matter how much I loved them.
A shaman I hired after Orson’s death told me he was healing by a beautiful stream, waiting to come back to earth to live with another human. She said his work was done, and he was ready to go.
She said he came to me to get me out of my unhappy life and from a marriage that no longer worked and a life that had no meaning for me in a place I didn’t want to me.
I can’t say I know if that is true or not, but I always loved the story, it comforted me.
I don’t think of him so much today, too much water under the bridge, and I don’t favor mourning too long for dead dogs. He was a great dog in so many ways, and I came to understand that not every dog can be or should be saved.
In a sense, Orson brought me back to life, even though his had to end. I am still touched whenever I see that stone. And still grateful for him.
I have volunteered at shelters and worked in rescue. I heard and still hear it all the time, that it’s all how the dog is raised. In my experience that is not true all of the time. Some dogs are just wired wrong and the kindest thing is put them out of their misery. Even so, it is hard to do. Have a Blessed day Jon.
Orson was instrumental in changing your direction inside and your way of life. That was his life’s mission. I firmly believe in predestination, whether human or animal.
I know the pain you felt in the action that you took with your dog. I had the same experience and although it broke my heart to let her go I had no choice. This is what responsible dog owners do….Have a lovely day.
A Good Dog: The Story of Orson, Who Changed My Life is my favorite of your books. I’ve recommended it so many times, but always cautioning prospective readers to power through to the end. So many stop at the heartbreak, but the end if so uplifting and beautiful. I’m tearing up right now, just thinking about it. Orson truly was a blessing to you.
I have bought several copies of A Good Dog, Kathy, and will always lend them out with the same words… press through to the end. Well said!
Jon, I’ve read your blog for many years but this is the first time I’ve understood all of the pieces of the story of Orson. How difficult this must have been for you and what a tough decision to have made. Thank you for sharing this with all of us again.
The story of Orson was the beginning of my awareness of Joh Katz. I was terribly sad when Orson died, cried right along with you as I read your story, just as I am crying now….he seemed such a special dog…..blessings….
Please post “Jon Katz” correctly….my apology for the mis-spelling
I first discovered your books through the first one your wrote about Orson. When I read in a later book that you had decided to put him down, and why, I have to say that my first reaction was that I admired your courage, because I knew you were going to take heat for it. I think only those of us what have had to put a dog down for dangerous and unpredictable behavior will ever really understand just how heartbreaking it is. (I’ve had to do it and so did a close friend.) But the thing is, people shouldn’t have to experience it in order to respect that you, who loved Orson the most, made what you truly believed to the right decision. That should be enough, and it’s sad that it isn’t.
I agree with Carole. “A Dog Year” was one of the first of your books (after “Running to the Mountain”) I read, and I, too, was very sad that he had to be put down, although I do think you were strong enough to see that it had to be done. Now just see what wondrous good has evolved since your move to the Bedlam Farms! Perhaps Orson was an angel that came along to point you in the direction you’ve taken. And now I—who hardly ever buys books, but checks them out of libraries—own 15 of your books. Thank you.
“A Dog Year” is what brought me to you. Having just put down a Shetland Sheepdog with his own eccentricities, I laughed and cried through the whole book. That was 5 or 6 books ago and I have enjoyed every one since.
After experiencing my own Orson, I never expected how difficult it would be to do the right thing to put down a dog who cannot live in this world. Thank you for the words that help move forward from this event and on to healing.
Jon, that hot day – going up that hill – i still think to myself – a muzzle – would a muzzle have worked? A muzzle does say – beware – and I know you do not want that on your farm – but still – I think about it.
Like Carole, your story of Orson was the beginning of my awareness of Jon Katz, author. Orson made me both laugh & cry. After all you had been through with him, euthanizing him after the biting episodes was the most responsible decision. Sadly, not every dog should be saved. Because of Orson’s story, I’ve been following, and enjoying, your blog for a number of years.
Thank you for sharing this today, Jon. I finished A Good Dog a few weeks ago, and have been processing it ever since, as I read on into Dog Days. Like many, perhaps, I wondered whether there wasn’t some other solution for Orson… but recognized that it was the frenzied behavior as well as the unpredictable biting that came into play. You were the person who invested the most in him, and had the most to lose by making the final decision. I’m glad you brought the Orson Stone to the new Bedlam Farm… think of it as a milestone, not a gravestone. Every blessing to you and Maria!
I’m tearing up now as I read this. I remember reading about Orson in several of your books over the past year. I loved him, but certainly knew you made the right decision. I’m glad you shared about him again today. What a blessing he was to you – in a strange and different way.
Thank you, Jon for you love for Orson, and all the complex loving animals you have brought us….although..I do like the thought of Orson herding school busses in Montclair…
I have a special place in my heart for Orson, because I SO loved The Dog Year, and because he introduced me to you. I have gone to see you speak a few times, and we had a couple of conversations about training dogs which. were very helpful. I’ve given many, many copies of The Dog Year to friends……ANYONE who has a Border Collie needs to read it! I gave it to my now husband shortly after we had reconnected 24 years ago, knowing how much he loves dogs. I told him there was a part that made tears just pour out of my eyes, but I wasn’t going to tell him which part. A few weeks later, I woke up one morning to an email that had come after I’d gone to bed. I opened the email and saw “It’s okay, boy,” I told him. “I love you. You’re home. You’re home for good. I”ll never abandon you, I promise.” It made me cry all over again. (I just got a little teary typing it!). I wrote back “How did you know?” He said “I know you. I’m not stupid,” Obviously, I had to marry him! You did all that you could and you recognized when you could do no more. I had a yellow Lab who “wasn’t right” and snapped at a few people, began having seizures, and drew blood on the leg of a dog trainer who came to give me advice on him. When I brought him to be put to sleep, because I couldn’t handle the stress of worrying about who he would snap at next, the man was pretty hostile to me, as if I was a heartless killer. We filled out the paperwork, I. was VERY sad, and he came around the corner to get the leash, looked at the dog and said “OH. Yes. He’s not right, you can see it in his eyes. You are doing the right thing.” Everyone always says “When it’s right, you know it!” Well…..when it’s not right, you also know it. I am glad you have Orson’s stone to trigger memories now and then. He was blessed to have you! And I consider myself blessed to have been a fan of your writing for all these years. Thank you.
God bless you, Jody!
My second girl, Moira, had a neurological disorder, too. After much attempted help from me and professionals, she snapped one day and bite my husband who was defending our puppy, Conrad. It was totally devastating to surrender her back to the breeder in the hope of rehabilitation, only to learn from the breeder that five generations ago, Moira’s grandfather had the same condition and was euthanized.
Moira entered heaven in 2015. I truly believe that she knew how much I loved her and how hard I tried to help her.
I also truly believe that in certain situations like this, the only healing that comes is through eternity.
I KNOW I will see her and my other beloved dogs again at the end of my life and we will happy forever.
Every dog is a good dog and some dogs are born or become sick.
Jon,
I just finished reading and loved A Dog Year and will read The Good Dog soon.
My deep thanks for the gifts you give us readers!
Wow, what a difference some time makes. You didn’t get nearly (or any?) the amount of hate mail you used to get on this topic. Cheers to that.
Hate mail reflects what is inside of me..if there is anger, I draw it to me, if I don’t pay much attention, it goes away….These people always need fresh blood, like vampires everywhere..
I thank my granddaughter Emma, now 15, for lending me “Devon “ all those years ago!
Thank you, Jon, for your writing. Pat Bryson