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Pets are more than just roommates we feed and scoop poop for, they’re often a source of emotional support and comfort in our complicated, lengthy lives. Author Eleanor Lerman explores the bond between furry friends and humans in her newest collection of short stories, King the Wonder Dog and Other Stories. Whether your cat is in your lap or on your keyboard, give them a pet as you read along in the Big Idea.
ELEANOR LERMAN:
Having just completed a book of poetry in which much of the work examined the concept of grief about a lost parent (and offered the idea that even Godzilla might be lonely for his mother), I was thinking about what I might write next when I saw a tv commercial that featured a group of older women. They were all beautifully dressed, had expensive haircuts that made gray hair seem like a lifestyle choice, and were laughing their way through a meal on the outdoor terrace of a restaurant. I won’t mention the product being advertised, but they discussed how happy their all were to be using it and to have the love and support of their charming older women friends, who used it too. This is one version of aging in our culture: cheerful, financially secure, medically safeguarded, and surrounded by supportive friends. In this version, the body cooperates, the future is manageable, and loneliness is nowhere in sight.
That’s one way older women—and men—are portrayed in our culture: happy as the proverbial clam and aging with painless bodies and lots of money to pay for the medical care they will likely never need. In literary fiction, however, aging men and women are often depicted in a very different setting: traveling alone through a grim country, with broken hearts and aching bodies until we leave them at the end of their stories hoping—though not entirely believing—that we will avoid such a fate ourselves.
So, what I decided to do in King the Wonder Dog and Other Stories, was to explore what is perhaps a middle ground by writing about both women and men living alone who are growing older and are confounded by what is happening to them. They still feel like their younger selves but are aware that their bodies are changing, that the possibility of once again finding love in their lives is unlikely and that loneliness has begun to haunt them like an aging ghost.
Having had pets in my life for many years—and being aware that animals, too, can feel loneliness and fear—I paired each man and woman in my stories with a lonely dog or cat and tried to work out how that relationship would ease the sadness in both their lives. One memory I drew on was how, when I was young and living alone, I had a little cat that someone had found in the street and gave to me. I had never had a pet before (other than a parakeet, which didn’t give me much to go on) and this little cat was very shy, so I didn’t quite know how to relate to her. But somehow, bit by bit, she cozied up to me, and when I was writing, she was always with me, sitting on my lap or on my feet.
I have no idea how animals conceptualize themselves and their lives, but I do know they have feelings and I hope that for the eighteen years she and I lived together, my cat felt safe and cared for. And still, today, I sometimes think about the unlikely sequence of events that brought us together: how a random person found a tiny kitten, all alone, crouched behind a garbage can, and how that random person was sort of friends with a sort of friend of mine who happened to tell me about the kitten and asked if I knew anyone who would take her and I said yes: me. I don’t know why I said yes, but I’m glad I did. Her name, by the way, was simply Gray Cat, which probably shows how unsure I was about whether I would be able to care for her well enough to at least keep her alive.
After that, I was never without a cat or dog, and now I usually have both. The little dog I have now is a sweet, happy friend who seems not to have a care in the world, but I often see her sitting on the back of my couch, staring out the window at the ocean not far beyond my window and I wonder what she thinks about what she sees. What is that vast, shifting landscape to her? And who am I? A friend who pets her and feeds her and gives her those wonderful treats she loves? Maybe she was frightened when she was separated from her mother but otherwise, I think she is having a happy life—at least I hope so. And sometimes when I walk her, I think about what will happen when she’s no longer with me and I’m even older than I am now. Could I get another dog? I have painful issues with my back that sometimes make it hard for me to walk and I certainly can’t walk any great distance—could I maybe get a dog that doesn’t need to walk too far or somehow shares my disability?
All these thoughts have gone into the stories in King the Wonder Dog, in which men and women are growing older, have illnesses, are frightened by how lonely they feel, and in one way or another—and often to their surprise—are able to bond with a dog or cat who is also in a tenuous situation. And through that bond, the people and the animals find at least a little bit of happiness in their lives, a little bit of the shared comfort that arises from one creature caring for another. I hope those who read the book will feel some of that comfort, too.
King the Wonder Dog and Other Stories: Amazon|Barnes & Noble|Books-A-Million|Bookshop
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