DROOL - Issue No. 8

BY B I X B I — I S S U E N O. 8

HE MAKES MODERN ART IN SLOBBER ON MY CAR WINDOW. HE’S DAMN NEAR PERFECT.

Photo by Ja San Miguel

HE’S EASY TO TAKE CARE OF. HE’S GREAT COMPANY.

FRESH MEAT. NO BY- PRODUCTS. ROCKSTAR DIGESTIBILITY.

BIXBI makes food from fresh meat and honest ingredients and offers it at a lower price than the rest. No weird by-products, no overprocessed “meat meals.” Just healthy, delicious, digestible dog food at a reasonable price.

Damn near perfect dogs deserve damn near perfect dog food.

Available in All Life Stages, Puppy, and Small Breed Recipes.

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BY BIXBI—ISSUE NO. 8

PUBLISHER

James Crouch EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Skarf

EXECUTIVE EDITOR

Chris Nelson

MANAGING EDITOR

Alynn Evans

ART DIRECTION & DESIGN

Justin Page COPY EDITOR

Christian Glazar CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Lynne Cox, Alynn Evans, Sophie Gamand, Alyssa Hurst, Chris Nelson, Elana Scherr, Garth Stein, Marisa Vande Velde CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS

Dane Deaner, Sophie Gamand, Kolb Haeden, Brandon Lajoie, Hannah Morris, Chris Nelson, Ben Ward, Steve West CONTRIBUTING ARTISTS

John Battalgazi, Lisa Benson, Dane Cozens, Alyse Dietel, Meredith Jensen, Ben Jomo, Gertrude Twizzle, John van Horn, Kaitlin Ziesmer MARKETING

Lindsay Kunetka, Brianna Prosser, Becca Roat, John Webster BIXBI Pet PO Box 7327 Boulder, CO 80306 303.666.1070 No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted in any shape or form without written consent from BIXBI. For general inquiries, story and photography submissions, contact us at droolideas@bixbipet.com. © 2022 copyright BIXBI Printed in the USA

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Issue No.

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I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TOLD ME, “ENZO IS MY DOG.” 08

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Looking For Love With All the Senses

The Black Brick House

Enzo The Everydog

Seek & Find

A home for old and unwanted animals of all shapes and species.

The author of The Art of Racing in the Rain looks back on his best-selling novel.

How the vizsla maintained nobility through a turbulent history.

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The Greatest Dane in Greenville

Zen & Tennis Balls

Cage Free

On the Cover

An excerpt from Tales of Al

by Lynne Cox.

A portrait series of survivors from the dog meat trade.

Sydney, Australia-based artist Ben Jomo’s “crazy dog lady.” See more of his work on page 32

Nala lost her sight, but not her spirit.

Riding along with her almost-as-famous cycling father.

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

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A

About six years ago, I auditioned for the 2019 liveaction remake of the Disney classic Lady and the Tramp. Living on the streets of Los Angeles, I looked the part: disheveled and dirty, with a matted beard caked in dumpster detritus. My appearance caught the eye of a sharp-jawed Hollywood agent as he drove by in a convertible, playing Madonna at full volume.

He stopped the car, bought a hot dog from the cart on the corner, and lured me into the passenger seat; as skeptical as I am of strangers, I really, really love hot dogs, and I figured that anyone singing “Lucky Star” in terrible falsetto couldn’t be too dangerous.

As we rolled onto the Walt Disney Studios lot, a production assistant in a passing golf cart blew me a kiss, and I thought, “Yeah, I could get used to this.” We parked in front of a soundstage where there was some big production going on, so I tried to poke my nose in and get a look, but then a stranger slipped a collar over my head, dragged me behind the building, tied up the leash, and started spraying me with a hose. Instinctively barking, I stopped myself: “Be a good boy, and one day there will be a ‘Skarf’ star on Hollywood Boulevard.”

The big guy put me in a green room with a bowl of water and scraps from the lunch catering, and a few hours later a woman walked me down the hallway to another room, where the agent and four other men in suits sat in chairs, thumbing their phones.

Then she walked in: Rose, a well-primped cocker spaniel with beautiful brown eyes. Before we could even sniff each other out, one of the guys in the room

stood up from his chair and said, “He’s too trampy … take him back to wherever you found him.” It was a bummer, for sure, but in the end, it worked out. The agent didn’t put me back out on the street but rather took me home, put me up in his eightbedroom house, and let me spend my days poolside, baking in the sun and eating cut-up hot dogs.

This story has been on my mind since I started doing the last edits to this magazine, because if you turn to page 63, you’ll see former Tour de France cyclist Christian Vande Velde sharing spaghetti with his Great Dane, Lucy, in a Lady and the Tramp­-style scene. Their story is just one of the many fantastic stories that we include in issue 08 of Drool. We introduce you to adorable Nala, who lost her vision to glaucoma but still has a smile on her face, and we explore the aristocratic history of a beloved hunting breed, the vizsla. We share an excerpt from a brandnew book, Tales of Al by Lynne Cox, and we ask author Garth Stein to look back at his best-selling novel, The Art of Racing in the Rain. We go inside of Steve Greig’s house, where he gives sanctuary to old and unwanted animals of all shapes and species, and we sneak a peek at photographer Sophie Gamand’s latest series on survivors of the dog meat trade. And of course, we open your eyes to some seriously awesome dog art.

Being a movie star might’ve been fun, but I’m glad it didn’t work, because if it had, I wouldn’t be at Drool.

Keep sniffing, Skarf

SHE PLAYS WITH THE KIDS. SHE CUDDLES WITH THE CAT.

SHE’S DAMN NEAR PERFECT.

Photo by Victor Grabarczyk

MY FLIP FLOPS ARE HER FAVORITE TOY.

AWARD-WINNING. DELICIOUS FOOD. PERFECT TOPPER OR TREAT.

Dogs go crazy for 94-98% meat, organs and bones in bite-sized pieces.

Damn near perfect dogs deserve a damn near perfect dog food, treat or topper.

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K I N O G O

BY ELANA SCHERR

L

L For

ove

WITH ALL

The S E

S NSE

PHO

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APHY BY BRANDON LAJO

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SPIRIT. R HE T NO T BU T, GH SI R HE ST LO LA NA

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Katrina and Joseph Cardenas almost missed out on Nala. It was 2015, they were recently engaged, and packing to move to their own house. They’d been staying with Katrina’s mom, and less than a month before moving day, they went outside to find a straggly, skinny, rashy, little stray on the neighbor’s lawn. “There was a big storm coming,” Joseph says. “We didn’t want to leave her out there, so we called her over, and she came right away. She was so friendly it seemed she must have an owner.”

The next day they took the pup to check for a chip or other sign of ownership, but despite her sweet disposition, there were no previous claims on the dog, so the Cardenases took her home for good. Just a few weeks later, and they might never have met — which would have been a shame for everyone involved, because

Nala was going to change their lives as much as they would change hers. At this point in the story, as if she knew we were talking about her, Nala scrambled up onto Joseph Cardenas’s lap, and politely licked his chin. He hugged her, and she stretched over his shoulder to get a noseboop and a head pat from Katrina.

There’s nothing unusual about a dog demanding cuddles from her people, but Nala can’t see Joseph and Katrina; she lost her vision about two years after they adopted her. It obviously doesn’t keep her from knowing exactly where the love is, or the snacks.

“She loves snacks,” Katrina says, giving Nala a chin skritch.

“She can follow her nose to exactly where the food is.” It was snacks, actually, that first led Katrina to worry about Nala’s vision. When the pandemic sent everyone home from their offices, Katrina noticed Nala would occasionally trip over items left out of place. She wondered about her eyesight, and to test it, asked Nala to play one of their favorite games, throwing a treat up in the air for Nala to catch. Nala couldn’t do it like she used to, and after a vet visit and a referral to a dog optometrist, Nala was diagnosed with advanced glaucoma. In dogs, as in humans, glaucoma is a buildup of fluid behind the cornea. It can be caused by disease, injury, or genetics, and it can happen slowly, or almost overnight. It’s not easy to recognize the signs of oncoming blindness in dogs, because they are so skilled at navigating with

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IT’S NOT EASY TO RECOGNIZE THE SIGNS OF ONCOMING BLINDNESS IN DOGS, BECAUSE THEY ARE SO SKILLED AT NAVIGATING WITH THEIR OTHER SENSES. their other senses. By the time Nala was missing her thrown treats, she was already completely unsighted. “There are treatments for some forms of glaucoma if you catch it early enough,” Katrina says, “but it’s hard to know when a dog is having trouble seeing.

If it hadn’t been for working from home, it might have been even longer before we realized something was wrong.”

While lack of vision doesn’t bother most dogs, glaucoma itself is painful, causing migraine-like headaches in both humans and pets. The Cardenases initially tried to control Nala’s discomfort with eyedrops in order to avoid surgery, but it quickly became clear to them that she was having good days and bad days on the meds. “Some days, she just didn’t want to get out of bed,” Katrina remembers.

“I could tell it was hurting her, and I realized that she wasn’t afraid of losing her eyes — I was.” Joseph

nods, while Nala grins a big, fluffy cheeked dog smile from his lap.

Without her eyes, her expression is always that of a dog mid-laugh, eyelids squeezed shut, head tilted up, spotted tongue lolling.

“Ultimately, we learned dogs live in the now,” Joseph says. “She doesn’t remember being sighted and miss it. That was our concern.”

After the surgery, Nala recovered quickly, and was immediately a happier and healthier dog. She’d follow her nose to offered treats — and sometimes to unoffered barbecue — and was happy to meet new people and even go new places. “She’s not afraid of anything,” Katrina tells us.

“Nothing stops Nala. We weren’t sure if we’d have to change things to accommodate her, but we treat her like the sighted dogs and she does great.”

Nala’s big bat ears, floofy Chow Chow plume of a tail, and foxy orange and cream coloring would

make her a hit in any dog-loving circles. In fact, even as a stray, Joseph says, she was surrounded by admirers at the shelter and the vet. After she’d recovered from surgery, Katrina posted a video of her to TikTok. It wasn’t anything epic, she wasn’t doing crazy tricks or running around, just sniffing the air with a peaceful expression while the wind ruffled her golden fur. Viewers responded positively, enough so that, as Katrina says, “I was like, oh, I guess I have to post one every day!” At the time we spoke, Nala had 1.6 million views on her TikTok videos of car rides, playing with her furry siblings — a Chihuahua named Bella and a big mutt named Thor — and our personal favorite, rolling on grass in obvious and absolute ecstasy.

The videos are simple, often set to music. Occasionally Nala wears a sassy bandana or plays with a toy, but mostly she just looks happy, enjoys snacks, and patrols her

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I JUST WANT PEOPLE TO SEE HER PEACEFUL, LOVING FACE.

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If it wasn’t for Nala’s closedeye smile, you wouldn’t even guess she can’t see. She enjoys walks, playtime, and jumping on the furniture, but most of all, cuddles with Katrina and Joseph.

house and yard. It’s very soothing.

“I take the videos on my lunch break,” Katrina says.

She says that she has no plans to quit her job and become a professional pet-influencer, but she’s happy to have a chance to share Nala with the world. “I just want people to see her peaceful, loving face.” Like all social media accounts with a large following, she dealt with a few negative comments early on, usually people expressing surprise that the Cardenases would bother keeping Nala and spending money on her health when there was no way to save her sight. “I found that really shocking,” Katrina says. “There are people who would get rid of a dog just because it went blind? We

have no regrets about Nala; her life is full and she makes our life full.”

Some viewers have questions about life with a dog who can’t see.

Nala was unusually young when she lost her eyes, but some level of vision impairment is common as dogs age, and most dog owners will eventually deal with a dog who can’t see as well as they used to. Because Nala had been blind before her surgery, Katrina says her adjustment wasn’t difficult.

They do pay attention to what they leave lying around on the floor, and because Nala likes to jump on furniture, if they make any big rearrangements, they’ll walk her through a couple times so she can learn the new layout. “At most it takes her a day to remember,”

Joseph says, pointing out that Nala not only knows their home, but their in-laws' as well. Katrina adds that she encourages visitors to make a little noise or hold their hand in front of Nala’s nose before petting her so as not to startle her, but that’s good advice for meeting any dog. “We let her set the pace, do her own thing,” says Katrina, who encourages anyone concerned about adopting a dog with impaired vision to go right ahead and enjoy it. “I wish I could rescue all the disabled and senior dogs. There’s no reason to overlook a dog with a vision problem, they aren’t any different than a sighted dog. They take patience and love and they respond to it and have a great life.”

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“DOGS DON’T

JUDGE OR CRITICIZE, AND THEY’LL SUPPORT YOU EVEN IN YOUR DUMBEST ENDEAVORS.

FEATURED ARTIST: ALYSE DIETEL

@amilliontinylines

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Alyse Dietel Alyse Dietel’s life was completely turned upside down when she got into a hiking accident in September, 2012, leaving her in a wheelchair with several severe injuries and the alarming realization that she may never walk again. As an avid rock climber, this news was devastating. Dietel dove deep into art, developing her skills on her own and bringing the wilderness to pencil and paper. Not only did drawing become an escape from her reality, but pushed Dietel to recover to the point that she now is able to rock-climb and hike again.

Combining her love of animals and the natural world, Dietel creates magical mashups of th e two that le ave viewer s mesmerized. Finding joy and meaning in human-canine relationship s, p et p or traits came naturally. Dietel welcomes “the challenge of capturing that emotional connection, as well as the dog’s individual personality and spirit.”

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B Y A LY S S A H U R S T P H O T O G R A P H Y B Y B E N WA R D

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A HOME FOR OLD AND UNWANTED ANIMALS OF ALL SHAPES AND SPECIES.

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Cranberry the turkey, who is blind in one eye and suffers from a condition called wry neck, patrols the front porch of the black brick house.

O n an unassuming street in an older neighborhood in Denver, couched between two typically cute suburban homes, is an allblack house with a spikey iron fence. Its spooky-stylish exterior would certainly catch your eyes if they weren’t already trained on the squawking turkey that prowls the front yard.

His name is Cranberry, and he’s new around here. His rainbow iridescent neck flops unnaturally against his back due to a health condition, and he’s blind in one eye, thanks to a squabble in a past life. He’s coping with his unfamiliar surroundings by continuously announcing his presence – loudly.

The funny turkey serenading the mailman and passing children from a dog bed on the front porch is the first clue that this home is something special.

It’s the residence of Steve Greig, a D enver-bas ed accountant

who shares the address with Cranberry, a monogamous duck c o u p l e, a m o t h e r - d a u g h te r calico cat duo, two rabbits, multiple chickens, a pot-bellied pig named Bikini who sleeps in a pink princess bed, and his beloved pack of 10 senior dogs.

This misfit menagerie has earned the devotion of millions online, not so much for the oddity of it all, but rather the heart behind it. Most of the animals who bring color to the stark black home have been discarded; too old to keep breeding, too sick to keep feeding, or too broken to keep loving. But in Greig, they’ve found new life.

As you make your way past Cranberry and Raylene, Greig’s seven-year-old Irish Wolfhound w h o s e r v e s a s t h e h o m e ’s unofficial greeter, the home’s interior — in sharp contrast to the chilly black-brick exterior —feels cozy and full of life, an homage to its inhabitants. The walls are

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Top: Grieg’s home is filled with tasteful doggy décor, from pillows and paintings to coffee table books and paper weights.

Bottom: Chalmer, Hertha and Juanita are unphased by Betty the chicken’s daring flying feat. Right: Steve Greig, caretaker of the black brick house.

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IT’S LIKE YOU COULD JUST LOOK AT EACH OTHER AND KNOW WHAT THE OTHER WAS THINKING.

brimming with paintings and drawing of canines past and present, including the dog who started it all: Wolfgang.

Long before Greig became known for taking in senior dogs and giving them a safe place to land, his primary role was as Wolfgang’s companion. Greig got Wolfgang as a puppy and spent more than 12 years by his side.

“We just bonded. I did everything with that dog. I always tell people it's kind of like when you know someone so well and you’re in on the same joke or something,” he says. “It's like you could just look

at each other and know what the other was thinking.”

When Wolfgang was killed by a car in 2013, Greig felt broken.

He couldn’t see the meaning in it and spent months grieving. “Two or three months later, finally, I was like, I must do something so I can be a functioning member of society again. I decided that I would go to the pound and adopt the oldest dog they had,” he remembers. “This dog would get to live because Wolfgang had died.”

That dog came to be known as Eeyore. At 14 years old, the Chihuahua had four bad knees

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WHY, WHEN SHE IS SO VALUED AND ADORED ONLINE, WAS NO ONE WILLING TO LOVE AND APPRECIATE HER IN REAL LIFE?

Bikini the pig takes a break from lounging to dig her snout into one of her favorite treats: Trix cereal. Loretta looks on hoping to snag a snack too.

Right: Edsel pokes his snout around the corner, keeping a keen eye on our photographer. A couple months after this photoshoot, Edsel passed away.

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and a heart murmur, but in just the ride home from the shelter, he had already made a lifealtering impact on Greig: “He was immediately healing. I could just feel that something had happened that was supposed to.”

From there, Greig heard about another senior dog in need and another, and just like that, he had opened his home to a steady roster of nine, sometimes 10, souls.

He began to form relationships with senior dog shelters across the country and developed a reputation for his squishy heart.

As his dog count grew, so did his social media following. People were drawn to the missing teeth and eyes, the patchy fur, the silly outfits, the special relationships, and the personalities captured so easily on camera.

Greig wanted his followers to see dogs like Willamena — a maybe-

Maltese who makes up for her missing eye and disintegrated bottom jaw with a pink hair bow and denim vest — as more than just a “like” or “share.” Willamena, 16, spent three years in a shelter re c e iv i n g n o i n te re s t f ro m potential adopters until Greig made her part of the pack. Why, when she is so valued and adored online, was no one willing to love and appreciate her in real life?

Dogs like Willamena are the reason Greig has turned his attention toward advocacy. He partners with Denver-based M axFund Animal Adop tion Center to share adoptable s enior s with his Ins tagram (@Wolfgang2242) community of one million and has helped find a home or foster parent for every dog whose story he’s amplified except one: an incontinent gal named Kitty, who has since passed away.

“I get so many messages that are like, ‘My next dog is definitely going to be a senior.’ I think it's just showing people how easy they are, how much life they still have left in them, how grateful they are, and how much they bring to your life,” Greig says. “As you get older, you become the best version of yourself. I think it's kind of true with dogs as well. They really settle into who they are.”

The truth is, caring for a merry band of mutts, cats, chickens, ducks, rabbits, a pig, and a turkey comes with a hefty morning routine and a laundry list of ailments that require medications and special care. But that’s what you sign up for with any pet, Greig says; the good always outweighs the work. He gets to sleep deep in a sea of dogs; all but Raylene, who is too big, and Melvin, an 18-year-old blind dachshund who is afraid of

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Raylene

Willamena

Melvin

Hedwig

Edsel

Raylene can't get enough of people. She’s sugar wrapped in cotton candy and endlessly patient with her littler dog friends. Willamena has one eye and no bottom jaw.

Greig says she's the strongest little dog. Most dogs in her state would have trouble eating and getting around, but not Willamena. Melvin has giant ears that stand tall and magnificent. According to Greig, he’s just a happy old man. Hedwig, who passed away shortly before this article was published, was Greig’s newest dog. He took her in on Christmas 2021 as a hospice case. She’s remembered for “eating like a trucker” and inspiring incredible love from Greig and her fellow pups, especially Fernando. Edsel was a miracle. Three years ago, he was in heart failure and was given a year and half to live. After beating the odds numerous times, Edsel passed away peacefully in May 2022.

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Fernando came from Puerto Rico, where he was used for breeding. Greig calls him “a little Latin lover.” And it’s not hard to see why. He’s deeply devoted to Hedwig, but before she came along, Melvin was his muse. Loretta is a little 17-year-old terrier. Greig describes her as hearty and steady. She’s only had to visit the vet for her routine teeth cleaning, despite her old age. Chalmer is a Japanese chin. He only has one eye and Greig calls him “really grouchy.” Not to worry though — he’s all bark and no bite.

Hertha hails from California. She has a heart murmur, is almost completely deaf and is, in Greig’s words, a little bit of ding dong. Juanita is a very serious dog who always has a look of concern. She is certainly sweet, but Greig says she’s also a little bit rotten. She loves to pull down dish towels and rearrange the kitchen.

Fernando

Loretta

Chalmer

Hertha

Juanita

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Top: All are welcome at the black brick house, big and small. Just ask tiny Fernando and his much, much larger pal Raylene. Bottom: Bikini sleeps like a queen atop her pretty pink bed. Disturb her slumber and she’ll be sure to let you know how she feels. Right: Fernando joins Greig for a cruise in his 1977 Bronco, which was inherited from Greig’s father. Greig remembers tagging along to pick up the vehicle when he was just 14 years old.

Captio conse quam bla do orece volup nonse

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ontk Ferferessum, non enditio. Nam, corum quatis es m repudant ullescipsae. Itaesto olorep tatur, et eum inus dolecab epr ovideles abo. Volut volest ptae necabo. Ustotae sincim ectate debis dem eat peligenti

AND WHILE THIS LIFE COMES WITH LOSS, OFTEN TOO SOON, GREIG STATES SURELY THAT IT’S WELL WORTH THE PAIN.

heights, sleep in his bed. Greig runs two air purifiers and a fan to drown out their breathing, wheezing, and snoring through the night, and in the morning, he carries the six who can’t make it down the stairs on their own two by two.

He gets to load 10 dogs into his 1977 Bronco every Saturday morning for a group burrito run and watch them all catch the wind in the wisps of hair they have left, their noses perking up at the tasty smells. He gets to be loved by dogs like Raylene, who nudges her giant head under his hand while pressing her 100-plus pounds into his legs, desperate for attention after spending the better part of her life in a cage. He gets to spoil countless

little dogs, who blend into fluffy rugs and nestle in beds disguised as décor, beds built into kitchen nooks, beds in every corner.

He gets to watch true love blossom between species and between dogs like Fernando, a tiny Yorkshire terrier in a diaper, and Hedwig, an even tinier Chihuahua who has fully captured every last drop of her lover’s affection. And while this life comes with loss, often too soon, Greig states surely that it’s well worth the pain. “It’s just heartbreaking, but there's no way I would cheat myself out of that experience,” he says.

“You know, even if it was just two years, why, why would you cheat yourself out of more love?”

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“I CAN RELATE TO

COCKER SPANIELS, BECAUSE BURSTS OF HIGH ENERGY BEFORE PASSING OUT ON THE SOFA SUMS ME UP PRETTY WELL...

FEATURED ARTIST: BEN JOMO

@ben.jomo

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Ben Jomo From Bristol, UK, Ben Jomo has always been interested in fashion and character design, which has been at the center of his vibrant illustrations. Though his style is ever-evolving, focusing in on subject matter he finds interesting has not only helped Jomo find his voice but refined the way he approaches his work. The many sizes, shapes, and breeds of dogs add a fun element to Jomo’s illustrations. “Sometimes it [a dog] feels like a fashion statement, which I find hilarious,” he says.

When asked what dog breed Jomo might be, he says he has characteristics of a cocker spaniel, which “go from one to 100 in a minute. Bursts of high energy to passing out on the sofa sums me up pretty well.”

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THE AUTHOR OF E R A IN T H E A R T O F R A C IN G IN T H LO O K S B A C K O N H IS B E S T- S E LL IN G N O V E L.

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There’s something so perfect about a ball.

As it flies through the air, so spherical, as if to be all things at once, to have no sides, no front or back. No top, no bottom.

Perfect, yellow, and round.

A satisfying dream to chase.

Enzo

I was standing at the window of an elegant hotel room in Kansas City, awaiting my evening gig at Rainy Day Books, when my phone rang. My novel, The Art of Racing in the Rain, had been on the New York Times bestseller list since its paperback release, a dozen weeks previous. I had been on the road forever, because, well, Book Promotion Rule #17: Make hay while the sun shines. And I also really enjoy visiting bookstores all over the country. Before my event, I had scheduled a phone interview with a small-town newspaper in New Jersey, where I would be in two days. The reporter was calling me now. He had read the jacket copy, he told me, and he apologized for not reading the book, though he pledged to do so.

“What is it that you find so interesting about the mind of a dog?” he asked me.

“I’m not sure,” I replied, trying to cobble together an answer to an unfamiliar question. “I guess dogs are mostly about the now. They don’t hold grudges, you know?”

“But you must have studied dog behavior. Did you live like a dog for a while?”

“Live like a dog?”

“Did you eat out of a bowl? Sleep on the floor?”

“I didn’t sleep on the floor,” I said.

“So, how did you get inside the head of a dog?”

“I didn’t get inside the head of a dog,” I said, a little more stridently than I had intended. “I got inside the head of my character. It isn’t a book about dogs. It’s a book about humans; it happens to be told by a dog.”

There was a pause. Oh, crud, I thought. I had broken Book Promotion Rule #6: Never be snappish with someone writing a story about you.

I agonized in silence for a handful of seconds; then he spoke.

He told me he understood, and

he seemed unruffled. He even apologized for having paused the conversation to catch up with his notes. So maybe I hadn’t offended him after all.

When I arrived at my New Jersey venue two days later, I found a printed copy of the local newspaper awaiting me on my stool in the green room. I thumbed to the article: “In an interview, while on book tour in Kansas City, the author stressed to this reporter that his book is not a book about dogs. It is a book about humans, as told by a dog.”

So be it.

I first met Enzo at a poetry reading.

It was a lecture series in Seattle.

The erstwhile national poet laureate, Billy Collins, was giving an intimate reading to 1,500 of his adoring fans. He’s quite a showman; a rock star of poets.

I love his work. More, I love the infectious nature of his poems: they burrow into your brain, where they steep, and good things come of it.

That evening, Billy Collins read one of his poems, “The Revenant,” which begins with these lines:

“I am the dog you put to sleep,/ as you call the needle of oblivion,/come back to tell you this simple thing:/I never liked you—not one bit.”

The crowd burst into laughter in the symphony hall, and a lightbulb explo ded ab ove my head: I envisioned a dog with an attitude, and he had a story to tell.

I was racing cars at the time, an amateur in the newly formed class of Spec Miata, under the sanctioning body of the Sports Car Club of America (SCCA). And I thought, hold on. Dogs … race cars … We have a mitzvah!

The first thing they teach you at racing school is: Your car goes where your eyes go. This axiom immediately became one of Enzo’s catchphrases.

My dear friend, Kevin York, was the model for the admirable Denny Swift — an up-and-comer with more talent than financing.

Car Tender is the real-life analogue for the shop where Denny worked.

ProFormance Racing School, owned by Don and Donna Kitch, working out of Pacific Raceways

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“I CAN’T SELL A BOOK NARRATED

BY A DOG,” HE SAID. — my home track — served as the model for the racing school. But where did Enzo come from?

Enzo is so wonderful, I’ve been told, so clever and funny and wise and true! Surely, he must be based on a dog that I have known and loved.

I wish I could say that were the case. Alas, Comet, our most recent dog, who made her way to the Endless Golden Fields a few years ago, was a wonderful dog and I loved her a lot. But, honestly, she has a few more lifetimes to live as a dog before she comes back as a person.

Enzo is not based on any one dog. Enzo has no precedent.

I wrote furiously. I’d never written with such pas sion.

Because I’d never had a soul like Enzo dictating his story. My wife, Drella, read the manuscript as I wrote and helped me shape the story, weave the threads. When we stepped back to look at it, we both realized that something had changed; the story had become more than the sum of its words.

“Enzo’s going to go around the world,” Drella said.

In November of 2006, I sent the

manuscript off to my agent in New York. Three agonizing weeks later, he called me.

“What did you think?” I asked without saying hello.

“It’s narrated by a dog,” he said ominously.

“I know that,” I said. “Having written it.”

“I can’t sell a book narrated by a dog,” he said.

“Why not?”

“No one will read a b o ok narrated by a dog,” he said. “No publisher will publish a book narrated by a dog. It’s not even narrated by a dog; it’s narrated by an author pretending to be a dog!”

To which I replied, “Victor Hugo wasn’t a hunchback.”

He didn’t laugh.

“It’s a gimmick!” he bellowed into the phone. “And it’s not even a good one! It’s not sustainable for an entire novel!”

While he ranted, I sat on the bench outside the Whole Foods on Roosevelt Way and took notes on the back of my Thanksgiving turkey receipt.

“Do me a favor,” my agent said decisively. “Throw away this book, and go write me something I can

sell!”

I was decimated.

I didn’t know what to do. Drella said Enzo would go around the world. I sheepishly told her of my agent’s response.

“You need a new agent,” she said.

So I fired my agent.

And then I had nothing. I was less than mid-list. My first book, Raven Stole the Moon, published in 1998 by Pocket Books, didn’t sell well, except in Germany. My second novel, How Evan Broke His Head and Other Secrets, was published in 2005 by Soho Press.

It sold 1,200 copies. I got a $7,500 advance, and I did not “earn out.”

Agents were not banging down my door. In fact, when I queried other agents, they invariably asked what happened to my last agent.

“He said no one would read a book narrated by a dog,” I told them.

“He’s probably right,” they said, hanging up the phone.

In the spring of 2007, I was in crisis. I had no agent. I had a marginal publishing record. I had little hope.

But I had Enzo.

At a dinner to support the King

County Library System, I met another local author and told him of my quagmire. I said, “I think the book is really good. But it’s narrated by a dog, and no agent will touch it.”

He laughed.

“You should talk to my agent,” he said. “He sold my book and it’s narrated by a crow. I don’t see why he can’t sell a book narrated by a dog!”

I laughed. But the following Monday, I sent a query to his agent, who called me two days later.

“I love this dog,” the agent said, having just emerged from Penn Station in New York, having read my pages on the train. He was crying. “You have to let me represent this book.”

I did. And he did. And shortly thereafter, my book took up residence on the New York Times bestseller list for 158 weeks — more than three years — and was published in 38 languages (“Enzo will go around the world!”), ultimately ending up as in-flight entertainment vis-à-vis a “major Hollywood motion picture,” with Kevin Costner voicing the thoughts of Enzo.

Over the years, my children have reminded me that Enzo is much more famous than I; a point I readily acknowledge. I have consistently maintained that I did not “write” Enzo, but that instead, I channeled him, because that’s how strongly his character came to me.

This chicken-and-egg paradox is interesting to ponder — which came first, the soul of Enzo or the character of Enzo? Did I create Enzo, or did Enzo discover me? As a rent-paying writer with children to feed, I have taken full credit for Enzo’s creation and deposited the royalty checks into my own bank account. However, as a writer with a spiritual inclination, I prefer to believe that Enzo chose me as his scribe, because he found me best suited to tell his story. He gave me his story to give to the world.

And, being a spirit in another dimension — or being “free from the burden of circumstance,” as

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Luca Pantoni, another character in the book, would say — he has no need for royalties anyway.

The reason I didn’t study dog behavioral theories and practices before I wrote The Art of Racing in the Rain wasn’t because I didn’t care about dogs and their behavioral theories and practices.

I have loved many dogs, and I have always been attentive to their theories and practices. It was because I never thought of Enzo as a dog.

If had to encapsulate Enzo’s essence to an earthling, I would say, “he’s a nearly human soul, currently in the form of a dog, who believes it is his destiny to inhabit the form of a man.” And if we were to venture further down this branch of the story-tree, we would realize that Enzo, as a free-roaming soul, is probably not limited to his appearance in my book. We would realize that Enzo has likely appeared in many forms to many people — I can’t tell you how many people have told me, “Enzo is my dog.” And then we would realize that Enzo might represent something larger. Enzo may be the true embodiment of Everydog.

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Our society seems to have lost the thread. We’re so clever with our machines and our artificial intelligences. We can peer into the molecules of our bodies and tell each other what we see. But how do we see intuition? How do we see desire? How do we see magic?

When did we lose our belief in the supernatural? Or was it simply eclipsed by our hubristic belief that we are supposed to know everything about this universe?

We can’t know everything. We can hardly say we know ourselves.

“No, I mean, how do you have cOnversations with your characters, like you say you do?” a writer-friend asked me just the other day. “How do you get to that point?”

“You have to stop thinking,” I replied. Because that’s the key to writing the truth: take the writer out of it.

Yo u h a v e t o a l l o w y o u r subconscious to rise from the bottom of the lake. It’s hard to do, because your subconscious is completely comfortable at the bottom of the lake, in the darkness and the cold; the muck. And

that voice in your head — your conscious mind — is telling you not to bother. It’s telling you that your subconscious is a sluggard and is pretty dumb anyway, and by the way, as a writer, you suck.

And you say to your conscious mind, “Yeah, I pretty much suck.”

And you get stuck in a suckageloop, with your subconscious languishing at the bottom of the cold lake while your feckless consciousness makes lists of all the ways in which you suck, and you have to agree because, well, it’s you talking and you always believe yourself.

To write the truth, you need to shut off your conscious mind. You need to make it go away. Usually, your conscious mind is jibberjabbering all the time, and that’s why your subconscious hides at the bottom of the lake. But if you can quiet your conscious mind for long enough, your subconscious will drift up to the surface just to see why there isn’t a commotion going on like usual. Without the noise, your subconscious will emerge, and if you’re patient and willing, you can get your subconscious to play with you, and it will show you all the places

I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TOLD ME, “ENZO IS MY DOG.”

it goes while you’re doing your daily business, all the characters i t m e e t s , a l l t h e wo r l d s i t experiences without you. And you can write that down. And that’s when you’re writing. Anything other than that is editing.

Writers are lightning rods. They are conduits to other worlds, and the worlds they show you are surprising, but entirely inevitable.

Who doesn’t believe the tragic tale of Randle Patrick McMurphy?

Who doesn’t cry when Charlotte dies? Who believes either of those stories could end any other way?

But it only works if the writer puts the story first. The story must be primary, and then the world will emerge and shine its light for others to see.

I met Billy Collins once, at the Tucson Festival of Books. I introduced myself. “Oh, yes,” he said, “I’ve heard of you; you were inspired by my poem to have a dog narrate a book.”

He’d heard of me?

“I had to fire my agent because of the voice,” I confessed. “And I can’t tell you how many other agents turned down the book for the same reason.”

“They have no imagination,” he told me.

I bumped into him again, some 10 years later, in a grocery store on an island off the coast of Seattle.

“It’s not often we get a BillyCollins-in-the -wild sighting around here,” I said.

He laughed. I reminded him who I was, and he nodded slowly.

“Ah, yes,” he said, grinning. “I still haven’t gotten my royalty check.”

“Neither has Enzo,” I confessed.

And I smiled to myself because I realized that Billy Collins and Enzo were equal in my mind: voices that spoke to me in different ways, both shining their magical light on the world so that I, too, could see what they saw, and share some magic.

I wrote a book about humans, which was narrated by a dog. But it wasn’t narrated by any dog. It was narrated by Everydog, who showed himself to me as Enzo.

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THE DOGLEG SHIFTER WORDS BY CHRIS NELSON I L LU S T R AT I O N B Y G E RT RU D E T W I Z Z L E

If you’re a fan of automotive racing, you’ve likely heard of a “dogleg” manual transmission. If you’re not a fan of automotive racing, here’s the gist: When you’re racing a car on a road course, you typically don’t have to shift into first gear unless you’re rolling out of the paddock or spinning your tires off of the starting line, and during a race, one of the worst things you can do is accidently shift into first gear; if you do, chances are that the gearbox will implode and cripple your car.

In order to avoid catastrophic failure, automakers came up with the “dogleg” transmission, which has an atypical shift pattern where first gear is not part of the “H-pattern” of gears; compared to a traditional manual transmission, first gear is down and to the left, offset on its own, and second gear is placed where you would normally find first gear in a standard gearbox, third replaces second, and so on. With second gear in line with third gear, and fourth gear in line with fifth gear, it allows for quicker, safer shifts.

So, why the “dogleg” name? Take a look at your dog’s hind legs — do you see the sharp, jarring angles? Well, it sort of looks like the transmission’s dramatic shift pattern, and that’s where the name came from. Some of the most iconic, high-performance sports cars in history have used a “dogleg” — from the E30-generation BMW M3 and Lancia Stratos to the Ferrari Testarossa and Ford GT40 — but as sequential and dual-clutch gearboxes evolved to become quicker and more popular, the “dogleg” disappeared. One of the last “doglegs” sold in the U.S. was the five-speed 2001 Lamborghini Diablo, until 2016, when Aston Martin released an optional 7-speed “dogleg” manual transmission for its V12 Vantage S.

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SHE’S LEARNING HOW TO SIT. SHE’S LEARNING HOW TO STAY.

SHE’S DAMN NEAR PERFECT.

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SEEK

&

HOW THE VIZSLA MAINTAINED NOBILITY

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POINT THROUGH A TURBULENT HISTORY

W O R D S B Y A LY N N E VA N S

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Physically, there is little left to the imagination. The monochromatic color palette extends beyond fur, with the nose, eyes, and toenails all falling into some shade of copper.

Like a wet jacket, their skin clings to lean muscle on a nearly perfectly proportioned body. This is a dog that was clearly bred for purpose.

In other words, they’ve got a point.

The vizsla is unapologetic a b o u t b e i n g a d o g , ye t s o remarkably sensitive they will have you questioning whether they are actually part human.

Outside the home, they crave freedom. Inside the home, they require comfort. While typically soft and gentle, their demands for exploration and attention make them impossible to ignore.

With unyielding energy, one may mistake the vizsla as an absolute agent of chaos. while not wrong, it certainly overlooks thousands of years of refinement from a rich and tumultuous history.

Little is known about the origins of the Magyar people before the ninth century. These far-reaching nomads migrated from the Ural mountain region

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P H OTO L E F T BY H A N N A H M O R R I S ; P H OTO TO P L E F T F R O M T H E C H R O N I CO N P I C T U M , BY C A R M E L I T E F R I A R S

Left: The first depiction of vizsla ancestors was in the Chronicon Pictum, a 14th century record of the Hungarian Empire.

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WHAT SET THE VIZSLA APART WAS ITS LONGSTANDING CONNECTION TO ARISTOCRACY

between the East European and Siberian plains, then eventually west to what is today Hungary. As wanderers, the Magyars raised livestock and horses, traversing mountain ranges with their yellow-colored camp dogs, which loosely resembled the modern-day mastiff. It wasn’t until the Magyars settled as farmers that vizsla-like hunting dogs start to appear.

When Stephen I became king around 1000 A .D., he implemented medieval feudalism that would define Hungar y for centuries to come. Land was divvied up to nobles and a relatively peaceful time followed, allowing for the prolific farming of wheat, corn, rye, and barley to take hold. This attracted a variety of birds and small mammals,

creating a need for a well-adapted hunting dog.

Among tall grass crops, this dog needed to blend in, with a uniform, rust-colored coat that was short and sleek, so as not catch grass during travel. This dog needed to be agile, attentive, and alarmingly accurate at alerting their hunter the presence of game — but measured enough to not scare off an entire flock. A keen sense of smell was required; through experience, hunters learned the dogs also needed a soft mouth to hold prey without crushing it.

With the yellow camp mutts as their base, the Magyars started breeding a pointer-type dog. In the early 16th century, the Turks invaded Hungary, bringing their own dogs into the mix. In Turkish,

the word vizsla means “seek” and in Hungarian it means “point” — which, up until then, was exactly this dog’s job. But around this time in history, firearms were being developed and tested, which inadvertently required more from these hunting dogs.

Not only did they need to seek and point; they needed a willingness to collaborate with their human hunting counterpart. The sophistication of guns was in its infancy and preparing for a shot was clumsy at best. The dog needed to hold patiently close by as their hunter prepared and fired, and then enthusiastically retrieve the prize.

Pointers were not unique to Hungary; in fact, several hunting dogs were developing throughout

Asia and Europe during this time.

What set the vizsla apart was its long-standing connection to aristocracy. The outstanding impacts of Hungarian feudalism m e a n t we a l t hy l a n d ow n e r s held a tight grip on the lineage of their prized bird dogs. This likely contributed to the vizsla’s particularly affectionate nature.

While many dogs spent their time outdoors, vizslas almost never left their owners' sides, giving their “velcro dog” nickname some context. The dog was a testament to purposeful breeding and a prize of the wealthy Hungarian class. While hunters from other European countries took vizslas to their home countries to mix with their own dogs, Hungarians were quite exclusive and insistent

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vizsla in Hungary can be traced back to about12 individual dogs.

With little peace or rest, World War II thrust Hungary into yet another era of turmoil. Many Hungarians emigrated with their pets to neighboring countries.

As another wave of communism gripped Hungary, vizslas were destroyed due to their close association with the aristocracy.

Any breeding needed to be done in secret until around 1956, when the regime was finally challenged.

Few vizslas made it all the way to the United States during this time. One of Hungary ’s breeders, Elizabeth Mihalyi, fled with her vizsla, Panni, to Austria. She waited six years for an opportunity to get to the States, but unfortunately when that opportunity arose, she could

not take her beloved dog with her.

Several years later, she was sent a granddaughter of Panni’s by an Austrian breeder and learned that Panni lived to be 17 years old.

Mihalyi began vizsla breeding programs with other Hungarians stateside, and the breed has slowly gained popularity since the 1950s.

The vizsla can be a difficult dog to own, with high exercise requirements and a demanding lifestyle. But enthusiasts that remain loyal to the breed are r e wa r d e d w i t h t h e p e r f e c t combination of magnificence and cartoonish tendencies. And for many Hungarians, they are a representation of resilience through a turbulent history, the hallmark of the breed being a beloved balance of devotion, vigor, and indulgent affection.

The vizsla is a working breed with high energy requirements and a desire to roam. When properly exercised, they make great companions for an active household.

P H OTO L E F T BY DA N E D E A N E R ; P H OTO R I G H T BY KO L B H A E D E N

on preserving their lineage — perhaps to a fault.

The vizsla almost went extinct several times throughout history.

Between the World Wars, the well-established monarchy of Hungary briefly gave way to a communist entity called the Hungarian Soviet Republic. For four years under communist rule, the land owned by the wealthy was divided, and millions of Hungarians were displaced or now found themselves residing in new countries as boundaries were redrawn following AustriaHungary’s defeat in the First World War. This drastically impacted the vizsla population, greatly reducing the availability of esteemed breeding stock. Looking back at documentation, the early 20th century reintroduction of the

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“DOGS, IN REAL

LIFE AND IN ART, ARE A SAFE SPACE TO ME.

FEATURED ARTIST: LISA BENSON

@artylisab

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Lisa Benson Residing in Somerset, UK, Lisa Benson has been creating art for as long as she can remember. But it wasn’t until she discovered linocut printmaking in 2017 that her creativity matched perfectly with technique. Finding comfort and comedy in dogs, Benson knows they will always have a place in her art. “Whenever I am creating, there will always be some dog-related work in there too,” she says. “It lets me go to that soft spot in my heart that is reserved for all dog-kind.”

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RIDING ALONG WITH HER ALMOST-AS-FAMOUS CYCLING FATHER. W O R D S B Y M A R I S A VA N D E V E L D E

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEVE WEST

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Below: Although retired from professional cycling, Christian Vande Velde, 46, keeps pedaling through the hills of Greenville, South Carolina.

Opposite: Lucy the Dane is an outspoken fan of linguine; 14-year-old Uma Vande Velde came up with the idea for this hilarious photo.

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Walk the streets of Greenville, South Carolina, and you’re likely to see 46-year-old Christian Vande Velde out for a bicycle ride with his 145-pound Great Dane, Lucy. Her glistening silver coat shimmers in the sunlight, and her head sits at the same height as the handlebars as she trots alongside her owner.

“She’s definitely a local celebrity,” Christian says. “I’ve gotten used to being referred to as ‘the guy that lives in Lucy’s house.’” As jovial and popular as Lucy is, she refuses to go riding with anyone other than Christian, and it’s not hard to understand why.

From 1997 to 2013, Christian was a professional cyclist who helped secure some of the biggest wins in the sport’s history; he stood atop the podium with his teammates at the Tour de France, donned the Giro d’Italia’s maglia rosa, competed in two Olympic Games, and toed the starting line on six continents. During his career, his role was mainly that of domestique, a cycling-specific term for the ultimate teammate; he put the priorities of his team in front of his own, and during races, he was everywhere at once, distributing cold drinks to teammates and pushing the pace to thin out the pack before checking in with the team leader. Christian was that

rare racer capable of leading a team while also possessing the power to win it.

However, crisscrossing the globe for the better part of the year also means precious time away from family, and thousands of miles of training in preparation for races that, in some instances, result in painful outcomes.

Cyclists traveling at high speed can encounter any number of obstacles: other riders, slick roads, wandering fans, and the oft-overlooked train tracks. To be a professional cyclist is to become all too familiar with a revolving door of injuries and the ensuing recovery. With 20 screws and a slew of metal plates in his body, Christian eventually made the hard decision to step away from the sport he had practiced for most of his life.

For some, retirement means stretches of relaxed days, new hobbies, or leisurely travel, but for pro athletes retiring in their mid-30s, stepping into the “good life” and away from the structured existence of the past brings a new set of challenges.

“It was — still is sometimes — hard to stay grounded and not spin out of control with the lack of structure,” Christian admits, Lucy’s ample head resting on his

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lap. Taking the next step was hard, but fortunately, a new opportunity presented itself.

The producers at NBC Sports — the go-to network for American cycling fans thirsting for race coverage — were on the hunt for new on-air talent, preferably someone with existing clout within the sport who could also

communicate the significance of what is transpiring on screen. All the better if they demonstrated some charisma and natural rapport with the rest of the broadcasting team.

With French terms peppered throughout, and the “how” and “why” of race tactics tricky to explain, this has proven to be a tall

order for many, but for Christian, it was only natural. He aims to deliver more digestible, enjoyable content, serving up post-race analysis in his relaxed, jocular tone. With plenty of street cred still to his name, he easily secures boots-on-the-ground interviews and gives viewers an insider’s perspective of the sport. Typically,

exhausted racers who often come across as abrasive or avoidant instead find themselves in a loose conversation with an old friend.

The shift from professional athlete to on-air personality was relatively smooth, but not without some challenges. During his first few years broadcasting, Christian found himself relocating to France

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LUCY LOVES ANYTHING WITH

for the duration of July, greatly missing the domestic life that he so craved, and his family felt the same. Then, in a power move, the Vande Velde ladies — wife Leah, and daughters Uma and Madeline — made an executive decision, informing Christian via FaceTimethat there was a new member of the family. “We got a dog. Her name is Lucy, and she’s gonna be big,” they said, adding, “She’s not a replacement, but an addition.” It was an easy sell, with Vande Velde visibly melting the first time he saw the silvery blue

pup, and their relationship was solidified upon the realization that Lucy loves anything with wheels.

Lucy remained knee high for only a matter of days, and the family watched in astonishment as she grew exponentially. Going from wrinkles and folds to a majestic, muscular animal takes great care. Leah remembers, “We fed her about a pound of chicken a day. She went from small puppy to the dog version of a six-foot-tall middle-schooler in about three months. The neighborhood kids were terrified.” It’s easy to imagine

how the sight of Lucy, all long limbs and exuberant playfulness, could be frightening. However, she soon found her place within the family and community. Living up to her breed’s reputation, Lucy shifted organically into a most devoted companion. She continues to enjoy watching the wheels spin, whether it’s her daily cruise around the neighborhood or ensuring the garbage bins make it to the curb.

When necessary, she’ll emit a protective bark that is not easily forgotten. But she rarely meets

Above: An artsy, shaky photo of the cyclist charging uphill. Opposite: Lucy’s impressive jowls: counter height and lightning quick.

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a dog that she doesn’t like and has become a faithful bestie to an English mastiff who lives around the corner. “Stop by if you’ve ever wondered what 300 pounds of dog playing tug-of-war looks like,” Christian says, wide-eyed.

The Dane brings some specific challenges as well. “ Yeah, I definitely won’t be bringing her into the studio again,” Christian admits, recalling a failed “Bring Your Dog to Work Day.” “Thank goodness for the ‘cough button.’

Everyone watching the Tour came close to hearing her greet a stranger live on air.” Leah chimes in with anecdotes about Lucy’s impressive counter sweeps, leaving no trace of bad behavior — aside from a line of drool.

WHEELS. The countertop provides excellent ergonomics for Lucy’s favorite post-bike-ride activity: meal prep. Lower jaw resting comfortably on the cool stone slab, she carefully obser ves Leah, a private chef, as she whips up something fantastic. Busy teenagers come and go, giving Lucy hugs with each passing.

Amidst it all, Christian prepares to cover the next day ’s race, inspecting course descriptions, mining his own memories of competing on the same course, gauging favorites, and practicing the pronunciation of everything from rider’s surnames to the tiny French towns the race passes through. After the broadcast, it’s time for another afternoon ride with Lucy.

Nav i g a t i n g t h e p a r a d i g m shift from professional athlete to civilian can be a bumpy road, and it can be a jarring change to many. “The wheels can come off surprisingly quickly,'' Christian s ay s w i s t f u l l y. L u c k i l y f o r Christian and the Vande Veldes, they have had Lucy’s steadfast support — and counter presence — to assist in keeping grounded and letting the wheels turn.

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“MY DOG

WALKS ARE THE BEST TIME WHEN I’M NOT WORKING. FEATURED ARTIST: DANE COZENS

@danecozens

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Dane Cozens Dane Cozens was on track to become an art teacher when he took a semester off and started building his portfolio as a graphic designer and illustrator. From that moment onward, Cozens made it a point to pursue art as a career. While his illustrations have changed and evolved over time, he still considers this decision one of his greatest successes.

Working from home, Cozens spends a lot of time with his Dobermann, Gambit, who quickly became the subject of many of his pieces. He has also looked to the pups of literary classics like Old Yeller, Shiloh, My Dog Skip and Where the Red Fern Grows. Perhaps more important than becoming a common subject matter of his art, Cozens appreciates how dogs remind him to step away from his work to get out for a walk.

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SHE WON’T GO ANYWHERE UNLESS I CARRY HER. SHE’S DAMN NEAR PERFECT.

Photo by Erda Estremera

SHE KEEPS ME COMPANY ALL DAY. SHE TALKS IN HER SLEEP.

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EXCERPTED FROM TALES OF AL BY LYNNE COX. I L LU S T R AT I O N S B Y J O H N B AT TA L G A Z I

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A hot breeze swept across Lake Idroscalo, ruffling the aqua-blue water and making it sparkle like diamonds. It was a beautiful place to spend the day with people and dogs and have fun.

Ferruccio and I walked twentyfive meters along the soft white sandy beach to an area where about a dozen intermediate dogs were training with their owners.

Ferruccio said they were working on conditioning. The dogs and their owners had to be strong and in good shape to be able to save people, they needed to have the endurance and strength to swim and pull a person into shore or to a boat, and they needed to be quick so they could swim through a current. The dogs and their owners were wearing swim vests to help them float and keep them safe. They were swimming with their heads up for about twentyfive meters to deep water, turning, and then swimming back to shore.

There was something captivating and almo st hypnotic ab out watching them swim in and out in oval patterns.

Each pair of dog and owner swam at their own pace and in their own rhythm. They were working hard, but they were not fighting

the water. They were moving across it. It was probably from my years of swimming on teams, coaching swimmers, and watching people swim that I quickly noticed the different ways the dogs swam.

The Newfoundlands were the strongest swimmers followed by the Labradors, golden retrievers, flat-coated retrievers, German shepherds, and all the other dogs including the hybrids—mixed breed dogs.

Of all the dogs in the water the golden retrievers looked the most relaxed. They paddled along, back and forth, like they were as at home in the water as they were on land. I imagined putting a bright flowered swim cap with hot-pink, blue, yellow, lime-green, and orange flowers on one golden retriever’s head. She was an easygoing girl and she would not have minded.

From behind she would have looked like an elderly lady daintily swimming breaststroke high in the water. She would have enjoyed watching the clouds as they sailed overhead and became cats, squirrels, and large white rabbits.

As the dogs and their owners moved toward and away from shore, they mingled with one another and spoke a few words

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of encouragement. Those long conditioning swims could be grueling but having a friend to talk with at the end of each lap helped a lot. I remember those years of training and stopping for ten seconds at the end of a lap to say something encouraging or funny to a friend or hoping that they had something to say to me so that I could think about it for the next ten or fifteen minutes or hour before we spoke again. It was often difficult to stay engaged, especially when we were getting tired, and by the looks of it, the dogs and their owners were becoming fatigued and slowing down.

Any good coach knows this is the time to give the swimmers a break and let them catch their breath.

Ferruccio knew this and he asked his students—people and dogs— to stop swimming. After a few minutes’ break he spoke to them in Italian, introduced me, and asked them to show me how they swam ahead of their dogs. It was fun to see how well they worked together.

And most of the dogs knew exactly what to do. They repeated the drills so the dogs would remember. There were a few younger dogs that had recently joined the school and they did not follow their owners very

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HE SAID THAT THEY NEVER USE TENNIS BALLS. THE DOGS ARE LEARNING TO RETRIEVE PEOPLE. well, but they were starting to learn.

One tall, lean man with wide shoulders spoke English well.

He stepped out of the water for a moment to welcome me. I remembered how difficult it could be to swim back and forth for a long period of time and stay focused. I told him that I played water polo, and swimming back and forth with the ball made the laps more fun. I asked if he ever used a tennis ball and had his dog retrieve it.

What he said surprised me. He said that they never use tennis balls.

The dogs are learning to retrieve people. Smiling, he said that he has to become the tennis ball. Or he has to become more interesting to a dog than a tennis ball so the dog will retrieve him. They do not play with toys in the water.

“You become the dog’s toy?”

“Yes. It’s Zen. Almost mystical,” he said seriously.

I had not expected that at all, but I did anticipate what was happening in the water. It was near the end of the workout, a time when coaches usually have their swimmers sprint and race one another to have them work hard when they are tired so they will swim faster when they are rested. Sprinting at the end of workouts changes the energy

flow and challenges a different physiological system within their bodies. Coaches also have swimmers race at the end of a workout to have teammates cheer for one another and bring the team closer together.

The dogs and owners were almost done with their workout.

T h e ow n e r s re l e a s e d t h re e dogs and they formed a pack.

Suddenly a red-coated golden retriever decided he was going to be the leader of the pack. He started sprinting. The other dogs felt his energy and that tapped their competitive spirit. A black Newfoundland and a yellow Labrador started paddling faster than the red retriever and they pulled up on either side of him.

They were riding in his slipstream.

Dragging off him. Saving energy.

Swimming faster. The three dogs were snout-to-snout. Pawto - p aw. H e a d - to - h e a d . T h e Newfoundland discovered a burst of energy. He sprinted ahead. But the red retriever wanted it more.

He caught the Newfoundland, dropped his head, dug deep, and sprinted to shore.

People were cheering, shouting, laughing, and when everyone reached shore, the owners were petting, hugging,

and praising their dogs.

We walked to the last section of the beach where the advanced rescue dogs were training. Some of these dogs had been training for five years or more. They needed to stay in shape and continue training so they would always be prepared.

All the dogs in the advanced group had joined their owners for obedience training. Much of their work was done on shore before they got into the water, on a boat, or in a helicopter.

The owners went through a series of drills. They gave their dogs the signal to sit. The dogs immediately sat. They gave the dogs the command to stay. The dogs stayed. The owners walked a distance and called and signaled their dogs to come. The dogs ran to their owners and were rewarded with hugs and praise. The owners looked into their dogs’ eyes and stroked their furry faces.

Ferruccio explained that they used both voice commands and hand signals. The hand signals were important because a dog might not be able to hear a command if there was too much surrounding noise, but a dog could see a hand signal and know how to respond.

All the dogs were wearing

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SMILING, HE SAID THAT HE HAS TO BECOME THE TENNIS BALL. harnesses with an attached buoy. The dogs and owners were practicing what they called “the dolphin system.” They swam about fifty meters out and the owners grabbed the dogs’ harnesses. The dogs towed the owners rapidly to shore. The dolphin system saved the owner’s energy when he or she was rescuing a person, and the drill helped build the dog’s strength and endurance. It was beautiful to watch dog and owner work together. They were perfectly rehearsed and anticipated each other’s movement. They were water dancing. The dog and owner flowed together as they moved toward shore, slid apart when they reached shore, and moved together as they swam back offshore. All while the clear blue water flowed around them, lifting, spinning, and pulling them through its own flow and in its own time.

The day was getting hotter and I was uncomfortably warm and gritty from the long airplane flights. I had never been to Lake Idroscalo and I wanted to feel, see, and experience what it was like to swim in this Italian lake with Mas and see how she performed. As I changed into my swimsuit, I felt a rush of excitement.

I love to swim: solo, with friends, or with dogs. Each experience is

unique. When I swim alone close to shore, I let my mind escape the confines of my body. The smooth rhythm of my arm stroke, my light kick, and the sound of the long exhale of bubbles flowing from my mouth and off my fingertips let me mindfully meditate. I observe my sensations, feelings, and thoughts, and as I continue swimming, my mind shifts to movement meditation, where I experience peace through action. My mind wanders from thought to thought and as the water diminishes sound, my meditation becomes spiritual and transcendent. By focusing on the silence around and within me I feel a deeper connection to nature, God, and the universe.

When friends swim with me, my focus is more on them. I enjoy being with them, pacing, pushing one another, moving in unison, joking, laughing, and knowing that we are sharing an adventure.

Being with other swimmers helps me keep my mind off myself, from being tired, sore, or discouraged.

In some ways it feels like we carry each other and lift each other’s spirits as we swim together.

Swimming with dogs is different—far more intense than swimming solo or with friends.

Dogs can’t stop paddling when they are in the water or they will

sink. Body type makes as much difference with dogs as it does with people. Leaner dogs with proportionally longer legs like Vizslas and Weimaraners have to move their legs faster than other dogs to stay afloat, while golden retrievers and Labradors can swim slower. But in any case, dogs are fully absorbed by the action of swimming. They are alert, attentive, and fixated on a goal.

When I swim with a dog, I feel that intensity and that we are sharing a deeper connection as the dog emanates warmth, exuberance, and delight.

Mesmerized by the shifting wind patterns and geometric designs on the water’s surface, I stared across the lake. The aqua color of the water reminded me of the Gulf of Aqaba, where I swam between Egypt and Israel and between Israel and Jordan, celebrating the progress of peace between the three countries. The water in the Gulf of Aqaba was hot, thin, salty, and transparent.

Swimming in warm water was so different. Every muscle in my body relaxed and I luxuriated in the warmth. I wondered how Lake Idroscalo would feel.

Mas led the way with a spring in her step and we followed her giant paw prints in the white sand.

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C A G E A PORTRAIT SERIES OF S RVIVOR S F R O M T H E D O G M E AT U TRADE

F R WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHY BY SOPHIE GAMAND

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Standing in the slippery mud amongst rusty cages, I struggled to find my footing under the weight of my camera gear. It was August in South Korea, and I was visiting a dog meat farm with Humane Society International, and I had never been so hot. Dogs were panting and barking all around me. Some dogs hid quietly in the darkest corners of their cages, avoiding eye contact, while others bounced off the walls of their cages, wagging their tails furiously and stretching their paws towards me. Melting away in the heat and overwhelmed, I looked around for the perfect photo that would tell the story of these dogs when it hit me with brutal force: this was these dogs’ entire world.

The elevated cages, the uncomfortable wires cutting into their sensitive paws, and beneath them, a mountain of feces. Like a gruesome hourglass, it tallied the months and years of solitude, a lifetime of never feeling soft grass, never running free. For these dogs, the world was always slightly out of reach, yet ever present: changing, moving, breathing all around them. Theirs was a life suspended, trapped in limbo, waiting for a cruel end in a slaughterhouse. But these dogs were the lucky ones, about to be rescued by the team from Humane Society International, which was about to shut down this farm permanently. This would be HSI's 15th farm closure. Each time, the organization works hand in hand with a willing farmer, helping them transition to a more sustainable, animal-free business.

Dog meat is a dying industry in South Korea and most people want to see the cruel practice end, but nonetheless, an estimated 1.5 million dogs are intensively farmed in the country every year.

One disturbing myth persists, slowing down the work of animal rights advocates: the idea that dogs traditionally used in the meat trade — namely Tosas and Jindo mixes — are soulless, inferior dogs who are incapable of being pet companions, making the slaughter for their meat somehow acceptable.

HSI invited me to photograph dogs they’d rescued from these farms, and who had since been adopted. The resulting series of portraits celebrates the beauty and resiliency of 45 survivors of the South Korean dog meat trade.

The series also reveals that any breed can be found on those farms.

I adorned each of these survivors with a handmade collar that, like a wedding band, symbolizes a world of care and love. The portraits emphasize the idea that these dogs are sentient beings who must be cherished and protected. We hope they will help accelerate the end of the South Korean dog meat trade, something Humane Society International has been working toward tirelessly.

Opposite: SAMWISE THE BRAVE is a beautiful, joyful pup who was particularly excited to make friends with the people who visited Farm 15.

He is gentle and respectful, yet vocal when he wants something. He gets very excited to go on adventures with his adoptive family, and his parents take him hiking or camping regularly.

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Opposite: DAISY was just a puppy when she was adopted years ago, and she’s grown into a beautiful, gentle dog. She absolutely loves veggies and will shamelessly walk up to a stranger’s glass at a bar and start lapping out of it. Daisy sleeps like a teenager, her dad says; she’ll snore and grumble, and let you know that, no, she isn’t ready to wake up yet. Above: ABBY was a mom with puppies and a large scar across her shoulder. When Abby first arrived in her adoptive home, she feared rugs and stairs, and was quite timid. Over time, she’s become more confident, and will now let her family know when she’d like to go on walks and if it’s time for her treat. Abby enjoys hiking, wading in water, and running around off-leash.

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Above: WINNIE is blind and can be a little nervous. She doesn’t like being held for too long, or loud noises, or to be woken up in her sleep. Her parents have noticed that Winnie loves meditation music — she has a favorite artist, Deva Premal — who soothes her. She loves sleeping by the fireplace, and freeze-dried sweet potatoes are her favorite snack. Opposite: BAMBI is a tiny long-haired Chihuahua who traveled back from South Korea with me. I like to joke that she was my emotional support dog as I processed what I had experienced on the dog meat farm. It was fun to be reunited for this photoshoot, now that she is living a wonderful life with her mom, Lindsey. Bambi loves to wave her paw to request belly rubs. She gets the zoomies after her bath, and is just the sweetest little girl.

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Above: MINNOW is a sensitive dog who was rescued and adopted in 2015 by Abbie and her family of rescued parrots, dogs, kittens, chickens, and turkeys.

Minnow now enjoys digging in the dirt or foraging alongside the chickens, and she and her mom are soulmates. Abbie says, “I was living life in shades of gray until Minnow came along, and my life turned to color.” Opposite: WILF was a young pup on Farm 15, sharing a cage with his sibling and mother. His first steps as a family dog weren’t easy. Wilf was concerned with everything, from people to stairs to the collar and leash. It took a few days before he even let his new humans touch him, but smart Wilf has since adapted like a champ, learning countless tricks along the way. Now he is one happy dog!

To learn more about this project, visit http://hsi.org/dogmeattrade.

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“DOGS ARE

NATURAL COMEDIANS; EVEN THE MOST DIGNIFIED DOG IS PRETTY FUNNY.

FEATURED ARTIST: MEREDITH JENSEN

@merjensenarts

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Meredith Jensen Philadelphia-based artist Meredith Jensen never gets bored of drawing dogs. While it’s not the only subject matter she incorporates into her art, it is certainly among her favorites.

Dogs have a wide variety of emotions and communicate them without words, an endless challenge for Jensen to characterize through her art. She says, “My favorite expressions are the slightly embarrassed or overthe-top exuberant ones — two emotional states I can definitely relate to.” She has a soft spot for older dogs, reminiscing on her past pups’ laziness mixed with short bursts of crazy happy energy.

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Photo by Chris Nelson

W - A - L - K

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ash the terrier mix takes flight as he races alongside a highly modified minibike on a dusty ranch in Pioneertown, California.

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HE DOESN’T BARK. HE DOESN’T DIG.

HE’S DAMN NEAR PERFECT.

Photo by Ruby Schmank

HE HAS FOUR DOG BEDS AND STILL SLEEPS IN MINE.

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FRESH MEAT. FREEZE-DRIED COATED. ROCKSTAR DIGESTIBILITY.

How do you make the world's best dry food for dogs better?

Simple: coat it in more meat. Freeze-Dried coated BIXBI RAWBBLE, the end of picky eaters.

Damn near perfect dogs deserve damn near perfect dog food.

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