"Travels With Casey" by Benoit Denizet-Lewis

I am the kind of person who considered my bassets and cats “furkids.” I threw birthday parties for the bassets, complete with a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.” (No self-respecting cat would endure a birthday party.) My daughter later admitted embarrassment in her dorm when I would call during a basset birthday party so she could join in the chorus. Her dorm mates were a little weirded out when they found out she was singing over the phone to a dog! I would leave the radio on for my pets (tuned to public radio, of course) during the day when I was at work so they would not only be less lonely, but also more informed on current events.

John Steinbeck’s “Travels With Charley,” a favorite book of mine, recounts his exploration of America in a camper truck with his trusty standard poodle. When Benoit Denizet-Lewis’s “Travels With Casey” hit the bookstores, I read it as soon as I could get it from the waiting list at my local public library. Denizet-Lewis’s purpose was to explore the dog culture of America. To this end, he rented an RV called “The Chalet,” made contacts around America with various people associated with the world of dogs, and hit the road with his Labrador mix.

I almost put the book down during the prologue, which opens with Denizet-Lewis in the office of his psychoanalyst bemoaning the fact that he doesn’t think his dog likes him very much. (I heard echoes of “Mom likes me best” in my head.) However, I kept reading, and the focus soon shifted to more interesting and relevant aspects of the trip rather than the author’s relationships with his psychoanalyst and his dog.

His trip begins in Provincetown, Massachusetts. Along the way he spends a day in the oldest dog run in New York City, Tompkins Square, getting a dose of the politics of dog parks, before visiting the Westminster Dog Show and the “pageant-parent” humans. In North Carolina, he spends some time with the “Wolf Man” and his wolfdog hybrids before heading to Florida. On the sunny Florida beaches, he practices some “doga” (yoga with dogs) before attending the Ultimate Air Dogs dock jumping event. In Texas, in the most emotionally difficult episode in the book, he visits a kill shelter and observes the processes involved in euthanasia and factors which play into decisions regarding which dogs live.

In between these scheduled stops, he makes a point of connecting with random dog owners traveling with their dogs, including some interesting interchanges between husbands and wives.

In Part Two, Denizet-Lewis visits two cowboys in Gunnison, Colorado, getting an idea of life with working dogs. For those of us who throw their pets parties and let them sit on furniture, the concept of working dogs is quite alien. (My father--raised in rural, farming Mississippi--never understood why I let my dogs live in the house.) In Seattle, Denizet-Lewis spends some time with a couple of homeless teenagers and their dog. While many people, myself included, frequently feel that homeless people should not have dogs, Denizet-Lewis found that dogs provide much-needed protection and companionship on the street and frequently lead better lives than dogs who live in homes. I certainly changed my attitude about the homeless and dogs.

On the home stretch, Denizet-Lewis spends several days in the St. Louis area, including several days in East St. Louis, “the middle of hell on earth,” with a friend, Randy Grim, who founded Stray Rescue of St. Louis. Stray Rescue deals with a lot of feral dogs. While many feral dogs (or other “pet” animals) would benefit from living in a home, Grim notes, “Some dogs are actually happier out here than they’d be in an apartment or a house.” While this circumstance may be difficult for some animal lovers to accept, it does hold true.

Denizet-Lewis does exactly what he sets out to do. In doing so, whether intentionally or not, he surely offends, or at least makes uneasy, many readers when he challenges common beliefs about pet “ownership” or pet happiness. He examines many different aspects of dog culture, some of them controversial. The book is well-researched, and in most cases, he presents his findings and avoids climbing on a soap box.

I am glad I did not abandon “Travels With Casey” after the prologue. The book holds appeal for some (not all) dog lovers and for people who are curious about the dog culture in America. Certainly, it provides a lot of food for thought.

NOTE: My companion story to this entry is “Phideaux’, the 3-legged ‘free’ kitten”

Phideaux', the 3-legged "free" kitten

“Some dogs are actually happier out here than they’d be in an apartment or a house.”

--Randy Grim, founder, Stray Rescue of St. Louis

I learned through bitter personal experience Randy Grim’s observation in “Travels With Casey” by Benoit Denizet-Lewis (review on “Be-Lied”) that some dogs (read that “pet” animals) are actually happier leading a feral lifestyle. When I was growing up, my mother refused to let us have pets. In those days, I longed for nothing greater than to leave home and adopt a basset hound! When my pet-adopting days began, I had no models for responsible pet adoption and ownership, and I learned many hard lessons during my education in responsible pet ownership. In those early days, I decided to adopt a kitten. Instead of going to a shelter where I would have to pay a fee, I answered a newspaper ad for “free kittens.”

When I got to the home, mother and kittens were in a small enclosure outside. Right then, I should have left kittenless. However, the common sense part of my brain did not kick in, and I left with a “free” kitten. I named the kitten “Phideaux’,” a Cajun rendering of “Fido,” with the accent on the second syllable. 

I kept Phideaux’ inside for days. He took up residence in whatever cranny he could find that allowed him to avoid my desperate attempts to bestow affection upon him. He never let me touch him if he could at all sidestep it. (With four paws, he was quite adept at “sidestepping.”) Finally, with much sighing and resignation, I let Phideaux’ outside, keeping food and water by the front door for him. He came every day and ate and hung out around the house. Effectively, he was feral when I adopted him and did his damnedest to remain feral.

One day, Phideaux’ did not come to eat. A few days passed, and of course, I worried. I feared I may never know what happened. Finally, Phideaux’ limped up dragging his left rear leg. He had gotten caught in an animal trap in the woods across the street.

I was very broke at the time but had access to the LSU Vet School. There, they amputated his leg and put him on antibiotics. Much to his chagrin, he had to stay inside long enough to finish his course of antibiotics and for the incision to heal. While I sorrowed over his lost leg, I hoped this trauma would cause him to bond with me, but sadly, I did not have a leg to stand on but he still had three!  Phideaux tolerated me taking care of him, but clearly he couldn’t wait to get back outside.

Meanwhile, I moved a few times and was always able to catch Phideaux’ and take him to my new abode. Finally, the time came to leave family housing in Hammond, Louisiana, for Carbondale, Illinois, to continue graduate studies. This time, Phideaux’ adamantly did not want to move. Finally, I caught him, but he managed to escape just as I loaded the last boxes to leave. On later visits, I heard that Phideaux’ was still hanging around the old apartment. At the end of one visit, I sat near the old apartment for hours, hoping to catch the wily feline and this time get him securely “home” to Carbondale. As I waited, a woman came by and refilled a cat food and a water bowl on the walk. She informed me that a nearby office had adopted “Jack.” On weekends, someone came by and put out food for him.

I sat for hours, but “Jack” never made an appearance. Finally, I acknowledged Phideaux’’s preference for feral living, living outside the box, and went to spend the night with friends before heading, Phideaux’-less, back to Carbondale.