My Life in Dog Days

“The only hope he said, was in children. ‘Adults are locked into car payments and divorces and work,’ he said. ‘They haven’t got time to think fresh.'” –

Clay Risen on Gary Paulsen, NYT Oct. 14, 2021

If we’ve talked books and dogs before, I’ve probably recommended Gary Paulsen’s beautiful little book, My Life in Dog Years. Paulsen died this month, and I’ve been thinking about how reading that book–which I would annually to fourth graders in my classroom years–probably got me into my current predicament. (At one point, I actually considered a Great Dane pup, confusing, I’m sure, Paulsen’s hotdog loving giant, Caesar, with any giant homewrecker I may have adopted. Still, the name Zdeno Chara for a Great Dane has to be a thing for someone, some day.)

Anyway, this morning, as I return to an exceptionally well-cared for Cedar (thanks, Jordan!), I’m thinking about how much of Cedar’s life I missed in just three full days (21 days in “dog days”.) She’s 77 actual days today–or 539 days if we multiply by 7–well into to toddlerhood in human terms.

This morning’s email from the AKC mailing list (precious, I know… I’ve been mulling a piece on my choice of a purebred pup over a shelter dog, along with the indulgence of writing about a dog at all…) is a bit ominous. “11 Weeks: How to be Patient with Your New Puppy.” Among the five tips, “Try to see life from your puppy’s perspective.” Hmm. Could be a long week for both of us.

As an autobiography intended to be read by teens or tweens (I think), My Life in Dog Years was as much a gem for my fourth graders as it was for me. The room would quiet to the munching of snacks or roiling laughter as they ate their chips and I sipped my coffee, and we read about Cookie, who pulled Paulsen from under the ice, or Dirk, who saved the homeless Paulsen from violent gangs, or Caesar’s remarkably efficient homewrecking skills. Paulsen gives us fairly unsentimental glimpses into a rough childhood in the thin little book, but I had never pegged him, as Clay Risen does, as a misanthrope who hung his hope on youth.

Fresh from a visit with my son, Tim, part youth, part man, who is still very much thinking “fresh,” I’ll step into week 11’s dog days with a spiffy clean Cedar. While I don’t have much hope that I’ll see the world like she does, I’ll try to be a little more alive to the person she brings out in me.