Cover image for The new work of dogs : tending to life, love, and family
The new work of dogs : tending to life, love, and family
Katz, Jon.
Personal Author:
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : Villard, [2003]

Physical Description:
xxiii, 225 pages ; 22 cm
Program Information:
Accelerated Reader AR UG 7.7 12.0 69796.
Personal Subject:
Format :


Call Number
Material Type
Home Location
Item Holds
SF426.2 .K386 2003 Adult Non-Fiction Non-Fiction Area
SF426.2 .K386 2003 Adult Non-Fiction Central Closed Stacks
SF426.2 .K386 2003 Adult Non-Fiction Open Shelf

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"Sometimes human-dog relationships are simple, unrelated to the emotional lives and histories of either species. But often people acquire and love dogs with little awareness that they might have complex and revealing reasons for choosing the dog or pet they choose, loving it the way they do." Writing about his own dogs inA Dog Year, Jon Katz became immersed in a larger community of dog lovers and came to realize that in an increasingly fragmented and disconnected society, dogs are often treated not as pets, but as family members and human surrogates. The New Work of Dogsprofiles a dozen such relationships in a New Jersey town, like the story of Harry, a Welsh corgi who provides sustaining emotional strength for a woman battling terminal breast cancer; Cherokee, companion of a man who has few human friends and doesn't know how to talk to his own family; the Divorced Dogs Club, whose funny, acerbic, and sometimes angry women turn to their dogs to help them rebuild their lives; and Betty Jean, the frantic founder of a tiny rescue group that has saved five hundred dogs from abuse or abandonment in recent years. Drawn from hundreds of interviews and conversations with dog owners and lovers, breeders, veterinarians, rescuers, trainers, behaviorists, and psychiatrists,The New Work of Dogscombines compelling personal narratives with a penetrating look at human/animal attachment, and questions whether this relationship shift is an entirely positive phenomenon for both species. Katz offers us a portrait of a community, and by extension a country, that is turning to its pets for emotional support and stability--a difficult job that more and more dogs are expected to do every day.The New Work of Dogsis a provocative and moving exploration of the evolving role dogs play in a changing and uncertain world.

Author Notes

Jonathan Katz initially worked as a reporter and editor for The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Boston Globe and The Washington Post, and later as executive producer of the CBS Morning News. Jon Katz is now a media critic, a journalist, and the author of several books covering a vast repertoire of topics.

Katz has written several novels as well as non-fiction works which cover topics ranging from geek culture to his relationship with dogs. His titles include The Story of Rose, Dancing Dogs, A Good Dog, Meet the Dogs of Bedlam Farm and The Second Chance Dog: A Love Story.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 2

Publisher's Weekly Review

Katz, a novelist and nonfiction author (A Dog Year; Geeks), here explores the bond between dogs and their owners. Focusing on 12 people-dog relationships in Montclair, N.J., and drawing on current research into attachment theory, interviews with animal workers and psychiatrists, as well as conversations with dog owners, Katz offers nuanced portraits of what happens when humans depend on dogs to satisfy their emotional needs. He contends that high divorce rates, an unstable workplace and the shrinking extended family are some of the reasons that people have come to rely on pets instead of one another during times of crisis. Donna, a divorced woman with terminal cancer, turns to her Welsh corgi for comfort and as an antidote to loneliness. In a darker portrait, Katz tells the story of Jamal, a troubled 14-year old and the owner of a pit bull whom he clearly loves, and yet beats daily. Katz also describes the laudable work of Betty Jean, who devotes her life to rescuing dogs from shelters-but who gives little attention to her grown children or grandchildren. Although Katz, a dog owner himself, appreciates the strong tie between humans and dogs, he fears that many owners use their pets as support during hard times, only to discard them later: Kate's German shepherd, for example, helped her recover from her husband's death, but she gave the dog away when she remarried. In this well-written and thoughtful account, Katz makes a convincing case that dog owners must be more self-aware and responsible when they use their pets as human substitutes. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Library Journal Review

Dogs really are our best friends, says the author of A Dog Year; as humans become more isolated, we are turning to them for love and affection. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.



chapter one dogville, u.s.a. A as gracious as the shady township of Montclair is, as hip and pricey as it is becoming, there's no escaping the fact that it sits squarely in New Jersey, a beacon in the vast sea of ugly industrial and suburban sprawl that is the state's most famous characteristic. Malls and condo complexes lap at its lush borders from every side. But Montclair remains an enclave of old homes on streets lined with giant oaks and maples planted eighty years ago, some of which fall in every big storm. It has more movie screens than hardware stores and more Thai and Japanese restaurants than fast-food outlets. It is utterly obsessed with education and the present and future development of its much-attended-to children. Founded as a summer retreat for wealthy New Yorkers, it also reflects the sobering disparities in wealth that characterize contemporary America. Along the ridges of the Watchung Hills, the living rooms of vast, meticulously maintained mansions have clear views of the Manhattan skyline. In the South End, small apartments and houses are home to most of the town's poor residents. For reasons few can recall, Montclair is actually divided into two parts--Upper Montclair and plain old Montclair. The two Montclairs share the same government, municipal services, and school system, but Upper Montclair is richer and whiter, with an upscale shopping area and its own zip code. Partly because of its proximity to the cultural and media institutions along Manhattan's West Side, Montclair attracts rafts of writers, artists, editors, journalists, TV producers, and other media people. So even minor civic squabbles tend to make their way onto the pages of The New York Times , since half the people who work at the paper live here, or so it sometimes seems. Montclair is, for much of the surrounding area, a Manhattan surrogate, a place to go for indie movies or fusion cuisine. It's commonplace to go out for a walk and see a commercial being shot at the picturesque train station down the street, to encounter a New Yorker writer or a soap-opera star at church or at the organic-foods supermarket, or to spot Yogi Berra, the New York Yankee legend, getting his SUV serviced downtown. Less-celebrated residents commute into Manhattan or out to the exurban office complexes and business parks that stain the surrounding countryside. A growing number sit by their computers all day in home offices, visited at intervals by UPS and Fed-Ex trucks, with whose drivers they are on a first-name basis. Newcomers--drawn by improved rail lines into the city, the town's growing rep for sophisticated cultural offerings, and its deserved tolerance for diversity (all driving real estate prices through the clouds)--are streaming in from Brooklyn and Manhattan. They bring an informed, somewhat combative, politically correct edge to the civic life of a town that was fairly intense to start with. Montclair is also something of a social laboratory, where trends and traits pop up before hitting the rest of the country. Moms leaving home for work, kids strollered around by nannies, dads staying at home, then moms growing disillusioned with the workplace and returning home to raise their kids--we could track it all as we walked our dogs. We saw the influx of families with two mommies or two daddies. We watched the town become a magnet for interracial couples. An already successful and settled black professional class expanded. The Wall Streeters stayed with their Beamers and Mercedes. In fact, Montclair seems to include some of everything and everyone. WASP country-clubbers live more or less harmoniously with Jews and blacks; single professionals from Manhattan coexist with kid-crazed boomers from Brooklyn; ardent liberal professors and Republicans and conservatives manage to get along; lesbian and gay families mingle with Asian immigrants. Of Montclair's 38,977 inhabitants, 23,000 are white and 13,000 African-American. The 2000 census also found 73 American Indian or Alaskan natives, 1,300 Asians, and nearly 2,000 Hispanics. Maybe they get along reasonably well because there is no mistaking what Montclair is primarily about: children. Kids are why most people move here or stay here, why they sound off angrily at school board meetings and gather intelligence on math teachers and soccer coaches with the same ruthlessness and determination that archaeologists comb desert sites for dinosaur bones. Day and night, station wagons, SUVs, and vans zip back and forth between friends' houses and hockey and lacrosse games, karate classes and art lessons. For Montclair's hyperstimulated middle-class children, a day without a positive educational or social experience is--well, there hardly are such days. But high up on the list of things this polyglot town cares most deeply about--close behind real estate values--comes dogs. Montclair, it turns out, is Dogville, U.S.A. According to the American Veterinary Association's U.S. Pet Ownership and Demographic Sourcebook, Montclair almost perfectly exemplifies the American dog-owning population--educated, affluent, child-centered, and middle-class to the core. Dog ownership increases as family income rises. Nearly 40 percent of American households with annual incomes of $60,000 or more own a dog, compared with fewer than a quarter of households with less than $25,000 in income. More than three-quarters of dog owners nationwide are home owners, and dog owners are much more likely to be highly educated than the population as a whole. This is Montclair. As is obvious on TV every night, dogs have become part of the American Dream package, that vision of supposed success and joy that includes a house, a patch of lawn, kids, and a car or two. An affectionate canine companion completes the picture. In Montclair, people focus on their dogs with much the same intensity they apply to their children, the difference being that dogs can't play sports, take music lessons, or apply to college, fortunately for them. I've been walking dogs--first Clarence, a golden retriever; then two yellow Labs named Julius and Stanley; now two border collies named Devon and Homer--in and around Montclair for nearly two decades. So have a lot of other people, raising all the policy issues that have cropped up in every town with dogs: Should dogs walk off-leash? Should they be permitted to run freely in parks, or, for that matter, be admitted to parks at all? How much barking constitutes a nuisance? Should people be permitted to own so-called "dangerous" breeds like pit bulls? How vigorously should the police enforce clean-up laws? What if people want to own more than one dog or two? Such questions have become so sensitive that what a big-city newspaper would refer to as "a senior police official" would agree to meet with me only on condition of anonymity. He also insisted on leaving the jurisdiction: we met at the Eagle Rock Diner in adjacent West Orange. "In my shoes," he told me in a hushed voice over coffee, "there is just no percentage in talking publicly about dogs. Every dog call is bad. Either there's a nasty biter loose, or some dog ran away, or there's a dogfight, or somebody's dog is barking late at night. It's nothing but trouble. Whatever you do, you lose. People will fight harder for their dogs than they do for themselves." The township issued 1,049 licenses for dogs in 2001, but officials think at least three times that number are in residence without licenses. Although local ordinances require vaccinations and licensure, the senior police official confided what dog owners already know: this isn't high on the cops' list of unlawful activities, so the law gets widely ignored. The numbers fluctuate, of course. Trainers and walkers and groomers talk about "Christmas dogs," the legions of adorably beribboned puppies placed under trees that will inevitably mean an upswing in their business a few months hence. Like the rest of the town, the registered dog population is diverse. But among the properly licensed dogs are, in round numbers, 50 beagles, 150 golden retrievers, 200 Labs and Lab mixes, 20 German pointers, and a dozen cairn terriers along with hundreds of mixed and indefinable breeds. Because dog ownership correlates with class, since they are expensive to own, Montclair may have more thoroughbreds than many towns; despite its mix of incomes, it remains a predominantly upper-middle-class community. But people's attitudes and feelings about their pets are the same, regardless of income. It's stunning just how much the dog experience has changed in the past few decades. Years ago, people went to the pound to find a dog, or got a puppy from a friend's or neighbor's litter. Those who bought purebreds or boutique breeds were a privileged minority, their well-born dogs an affectation. Dog training was little known and little needed, since most dogs merely wandered their neighborhoods and were seldom walked on leashes. Mailmen and children got bitten from time to time, but it hardly ever made the news. Fighting breeds were almost unheard-of. People surely loved their dogs, but by contemporary standards, few spent much time or money on them. Dogs were in the background, not at the center, of family life. They slept in the basement or--unthinkable today--in a backyard doghouse, chased after cars and other dogs, ate table scraps. They came and went. Some got hit by cars, others ran off or were put down when they got sick or old. When that happened, people went to the pound for another dog. Beyond the initial round of puppy shots, people rarely invested much in veterinary care. Often much loved and fondly remembered, dogs were not treated as family members, according to behaviorists who have studied human-animal bonds. Nor did they have playdates, a phenomenon fairly common in Montclair today. The notion that they were a part of one's deepest emotional experiences would have been a joke. Excerpted from The New Work of Dogs: Tending to Life, Love, and Family by Jon Katz All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.