I have forgotten much about living with a puppy, but I do have a dim recollection that it is all-consuming, and that a quiet, contemplative writing life is almost impossible to balance with the chaotic energy of a young dog. So, I am thinking that while my life is upended by the puppy, it might be a good opportunity to write about that experience — to think about my writing life in relation to the dogs I have lived with, and to explore other writers’ relationships with their dogs. What does a dog bring to the writing life? My writing life has mostly included dogs, but I have never spent time thinking about what this has meant to my creative journey.
After losing her last dog Charlotte suddenly (Charlotte being that one “perfect dog” the author has known in a lifetime of good dogs), Helen Humphreys decided to get another vizsla puppy and record her experience. The result, And a Dog Called Fig, serves as a “highlights-reel” type of memoir for Humphreys (she gives an overview of her upbringing and adult life, touches briefly on each of the books she has written, and describes what dogs she knew along the way; never getting too personal), and along with a day-by-day account of her and the puppy Fig getting to know one another and live together over the first couple of months, Humphreys shares brief stories of other famous authors and their canine companions, drawing some insightful conclusions about how having a dog complements the writer’s life. This wasn’t a deep or complicated read, but it was easy and enjoyable to this dog lover and I very much appreciated learning what Humphreys chose to share with me. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)
Just as a dog has no trouble moving from one scent trail to another, twisting easily from the path she is on with no backwards glance, so a writer needs to be able to take off on another trail of ideas without worrying that they are heading in the wrong direction. To a dog, there is no wrong direction. There is just this moment and these interesting smells and sights, and then this next moment with more fascinating experiences. A dog is constantly in process, and I have learned much from their approach.
At nearly sixty, Humphreys decided to waste no time in getting another dog in the wake of her beloved Charlotte’s passing, but between the puppy Fig’s uncontrolled emotions, constantly nipping needle-like teeth, and the deep freeze of a Canadian winter that forced them into close quarters, it’s no wonder that Humphreys initially feared that she had made a terrible mistake. But between getting to understand this new companion’s personality (as novelists must do with each new character) and learning how best to pace and structure their days together (as, again, novelists must decide with every plot), Humphreys soon realised that Fig was not Charlotte and she was then able to approach her new adventure as an unwritten page full of new possibilities. And just as Humphreys has always delighted in taking her dogs out to nature for walks as part of her writing process — to clear the mind and work over phrases and possibilities away from her keyboard — so too does she share stories of other authors and how their dogs fit into their routines: of Thomas Hardy and his territorial fox terrier Wessex; Emily Brontë’s giant mastiff/bulldog, Keeper, who kept her company on walks upon the moors; apparently, one can rub the bronze noses of Brom and Khina, the dachshunds that yet stand guard outside the former Moscow home of Anton Chekhov. And I was interested in all of it; read in a few pleasant hours as my own dog settled against my body and the snow fell outside.
When you know a dog well, and they know you, much is understood between you. It’s not telepathy but something else, some deep understanding that is perhaps the place that human language is always aimed towards but never really arrives at.
I don’t know if I really learned anything earth-shattering or essential with this read, but it was a pleasurable experience — combining two of my favourite interests, dogs and bookish things — and three stars shouldn’t be taken to mean that I didn’t like this very, very much.
