I’d like to introduce you to a robot in Budapest. His name is Ethon, and he is being created in a university laboratory to behave more like a dog than a human. Ethon doesn’t look like a dog or a human. At this stage of his development he looks a little more like a souped-up standing lawn mower.
If all goes as hoped, Ethon will soon be able to “listen” to someone and respond to simple requests. While he won’t speak with words, he’ll “talk” with subtle doglike body language and cute bio sounds. (Think R2-D2, only more birdlike.) Ethon’s progeny may one day work in nursing homes and other senior care facilities. They’ll be like therapy dogs but more autonomous, and available every day, maybe even around the clock.
Ethon shares his* laboratory with a robot dog, who was also built there. Life seemed to be going well for the robot dog, but then came the sad day when a real dog lifted his leg on him. The whiz sizzled his circuits, and now he sits in the laboratory, essentially dead.
If this book could have had more pages, you would have read about Ethon and the fried robot dog earlier in the book. I had written about them in a chapter that included the renowned researchers at the Family Dog Project, part of the ethology department at Eötvös Loránd University (ELTE). Ádám Miklósi, PhD, considered by many the father of canine cognition research, welcomed me into the fold for a few chilly November days in 2017, when I visited to learn more about how dogs think and sense the world—important information when it comes to future doctor dogs.
But because even the book you have in your hands now is significantly longer than my publisher had expected, something had to get cut. Actually, many stories—some fully written, some just drafted—ended up in book heaven. They were no less worthy than the others. The people in them are spectacularly interesting, and the dogs are skilled and devoted.
What follows is a list of the people who took time out of their busy lives to meet with me, tell their stories, and let me see their dogs at work, but who didn’t make it into the main part of the book. I thank you all so much for the gift of your time. I will never forget your stories, and I may even find other places to tell some of them.
Besides Dr. Miklósi, others I met with in Budapest included Kálmán Czeibert, DVM; Enikö Kubinyi, PhD; Péter Pongrácz, PhD; Attila Andics, PhD; Márta Gácsi, PhD; Claudia Fugazza, PhD; Beáta Korcsok; Bence Ferdinandy, PhD; Tamás Faragó, PhD; and Levente Raj, PhD. Your work fascinates me, and it was a privilege to be able to see it in person, against the backdrop of the beautiful blue Danube.
Also a big part of the chopped chapter was neuroscientist Gregory Berns, PhD, and his Dog Project, at Emory University in Atlanta. I spent an afternoon there watching dogs happily walk into a loud MRI machine and lie down so researchers could get a better view of their brains while the dogs looked at various objects presented to them. Dr. Berns, it was a lot of fun, even if your peanut butter sandwich caused Mark Spivak to have to vacate the premises for a while.
Biological anthropologist and comparative psychologist Evan MacLean, PhD, runs the Canine Cognition Center at the University of Arizona. He’s doing research into, among other things, whether dogs and their people experience an increase in oxytocin—often called the love or cuddle hormone, but much more complex—when they’re with each other. I spent part of a day with him and his colleagues, and his adorable black Lab, Sisu.*
We decided to see if I had an oxytocin increase after hanging out on my own with Sisu. I gave saliva and urine samples before and after. Dr. MacLean also obtained saliva samples from Sisu. The results (which are not part of his study) were mixed, but apparently I liked spending time with Sisu better than she liked being petted and made googly talk to by a stranger. Dr. MacLean, thanks for humoring me! I look forward to following your research.
Brenda Kennedy, DVM, and the rest of the people I interviewed at Canine Companions for Independence in Santa Rosa, California, were gracious, informative, and generous with their time. CCI provides gorgeously trained assistance dogs free of charge. Originally I’d planned to include mobility assistance dogs in the book, but in the end, they were also a casualty of space constraints.
Derek Herrera was a MARSOC (US Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command) captain who was shot in the spine by enemy fire while leading his team on patrol in the Helmand Province, Afghanistan, in 2012. Even though the ambush paralyzed him from the chest down, and one of his lungs had collapsed, he somehow continued to lead his Marines until the attackers were suppressed.
Derek received, among many awards, a Bronze Star for his heroism. He has accomplished so many seemingly impossible feats since his injury, and he is an inspiration to many people, including me. He has a service dog, Shaggy, who helps him with some mobility tasks, but mostly keeps him company. Derek, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to tell your story in Doctor Dogs, but you deserve an entire book of your own. I hope you will find time to write it.
Shaggy had been a shelter dog and was rescued and trained by Mike Lorraine, of the CAMO foundation in South Florida. CAMO trains service dogs for disabled veterans at no cost to the vets. Mike also trained the dog of Matt Kleemann, a former Navy diver who was paralyzed from the chest down after a car accident. Matt and his dog, Charlie Brown, are a phenomenal team who now work with Mike. Matt and Mike, I enjoyed my time there, and thanks to you, I can now add to my résumé that I have trained chickens to peck at blue poker chips.
And now from Florida to Alaska. April Gettys founded Midnight Sun Service Dogs after going through some hellish times in her life. These days the Anchorage-area organization specializes in service dogs for veterans and active-duty military. April and her crew of volunteers have even trained a chocolate Lab named TOML (That Others May Live) to help mitigate PTSD and combat stress, anxiety, and depression for members of Alaska’s Air National Guard’s 212th Rescue Squadron. As I write this, TOML is back from his second deployment and apparently knocked it out of the ballpark again.
When I thought I was going to be writing about service dog law in this book, I contacted a few people for interviews, including Chris Diefenthaler, operations manager for Assistance Dogs International. Thanks for your help, Chris. Even though I didn’t write about it in the book, our talks helped inform me on this important topic.
Once upon a time, Kim Denton had a dedicated diabetic-alert dog named Hatcher. I met them and was touched by the way Hatcher was always gently looking after Kim. Horribly, Hatcher was subsequently attacked on two occasions by random dogs, and this sweet, sensitive guy no longer felt comfortable or secure outside Kim’s home or office. He stopped alerting in public.
Kim made the selfless decision to give him up to a boy who needed a diabetic-alert dog in his home only. She said it was like giving up a child. It took a while for Dogs4Diabetics to match her with another dog, but they did a great job, and her handsome new dog, Troy, has become a top-notch medical alert dog and best friend. (Hatcher is happy in his home and loves his boy, and his boy and family love him right back.) Kim, I hope to meet Troy in person soon!
I can feel my editor giving me the “wrap it up with this part of the acknowledgments” cue from afar (this happens after four books together), so I’m going to quickly mention the last four big stories that didn’t make it into the book: Onyx and his amazing young woman, Bailey Bish, of Tucson; the Winokur family of the Atlanta area and their hard-working dog, Quinn (Donnie, thank you for spending all that time with me; you are a gem, and your book, Chancer, is lovely); the Martins family of Atlanta, with their adorable “dynamic duo” of Alex and Blue; and Tara Bedford, of Chipping Norton, England, and her dear dog, Willow.
I usually thank almost everyone who appears in my books by name in the acknowledgments. They deserve to be called out individually. But I’m not going to be able to do that this time, because 1) there are so many more people in this book than my others; and 2) I just mentioned most of the people whose stories didn’t make it, and that took up valuable book real estate.
Instead, I’m going to do it this way: If you are in this book, I greatly appreciate that you took the time to talk to me, share your stories, and welcome me into your lives and homes and laboratories. You are special to me, and I enjoyed each and every one of you, and I hope we will keep in touch.
I’m especially grateful to Claire Guest of Medical Detection Dogs and Cindy Otto of the Penn Vet Working Dog Center for letting me spend days watching amazing dogs and trainers at work. And to Masao Miyashita, arigato gozaimashita for your kindness and generosity of spirit in helping me navigate my complex but greatly enjoyable trip to Japan. I feel that I have not only gained three stellar colleagues but three friends as well.
Speaking of Japan, I want to thank Keimi Miura for her role in helping arrange interviews with some of the good people of Kaneyama. And a big thank-you to Mayor Hiroshi Suzuki and other town leaders for welcoming me so warmly. Kaneyama calls my name, so I hope we will all meet again.
I would also like to thank Tomoko Otake, an excellent, longtime reporter at the Japan Times, for her assistance in helping me locate a source for the book when it was proving impossible to do so in English. This opened doors that enriched the story.
Back in August 2017, I attended the Canine Science Conference, at Arizona State University. The conference—the first of its kind in the United States—was a gargantuan undertaking for coordinator Clive Wynne, whom you briefly met in the introduction.
Ta-Hsuan Ong, PhD, of MIT Lincoln Laboratory, gave a presentation called “Supporting Explosive-Detection Canine Training with the Help of a Real-Time Trace Vapor Detection Mass Spectrometer.” Right up my alley. He and I talked afterward, and we kept in touch about mass spectrometry and dogs. He introduced me to Matthew Staymates, PhD, who ended up mailing me the dog nose you encountered in the very first sentence of this book.
So thank you, Dr. Ong. Without this, I would probably still be figuring out how to begin the book.
And Jeff and Jess, without you to watch Gus during some of my interminably long writing days, I’d still be on Chapter 1. As I type this, he is waiting at the door for you to pick him up.
Patty Stansfield Tarbox and Jack O’Mara, your encouragement of my pursuing writing or journalism way back when I was a kid in Maine was instrumental in my career choice. And Glenn Tremblay, you helped stoke my fascination with science, which came in handy in this book. Teachers deserve so much thanks for the work they do but rarely get it. So thank you! (And if this book tanks, you can say, “Who is that crazy lady? I never taught her!”)
This is my fourth book with Dutton executive editor Stephen Morrow. Stephen, as always, it has been an incredible journey and a joy to work with you—even as you wielded the ax to parts of the book. Your intelligence, enthusiasm, and eye and ear for stories helped me maintain a steady course on our most challenging book yet. I also appreciated Stephen’s fantastic editorial assistants, Maddy Newquist and Hannah Feeney, who helped keep us both on track.
Also terrific to have on Team Doctor Dogs were ace copy editor Mary Beth Constant, book jacket designer extraordinaire Steve Meditz, and friend and fellow writer Erin Van Rheenen, who helped me locate the delightfully colorful Dr. Hywel Williams when I was too busy traveling for research to do so. As always I am grateful for my wonderful agents, Carol Mann and Deirdre Mullane.
And then there’s Sam Barry, who has worked in the world of books for much of his career. After I completed the bulk of my travels and interviews, I brought Sam on as a sort of editorial consultant because the amount of material felt overwhelming. I needed someone who would hold me accountable on a regular basis—someone local I could meet with over coffee, who could help me hash out ideas and see the forest for the trees. Sam, thank you. Your humor and keen editorial sense took me from deer-in-the-headlights to horse-cantering-in-the-meadow. Or something like that.
I extend a big, heartfelt thank-you to friends and family for once again patiently waiting for me as I took the deepest plunge yet into a book. I’ll call out just a smattering here:
Tammi Goldstein, for your friendship and support, and for joining me on my taiko journey just when I needed to hit something hard and have fun doing it. (I’m sorry Dr. Benji didn’t make it into the book. Wait—he just did!) And San Francisco Taiko Dojo, thanks for welcoming me aboard the taiko train with open, bachi-wielding arms and calloused hands. Tuesday City rocks! (No diggity!)
Catherine Oenbrink, for being my great buddy since we met in scuba class in our twenties. And for making me mostly work instead of mostly play when I visited you in Florida this year and was met with an unexpected Doctor Dogs deadline. You earned that frozen yogurt.
Scott Eyman and Lynn Kalber, for being there.
Heike Eilers, Colleen Wentworth, Jacquie Steiner, Ann Dages, Sean M., Sally Deneen, and Liz Genolio, because it takes a village.
Naomi Fujimori Castro, for your help getting my vocabulary and cultural skills tuned up for my visit to Japan and for introducing me to the “joys” of natto.
Christina Ketchum Georgiou, because who else would take me on a Danube dinner cruise in Budapest to get my equilibrium back after I watched a deceased dog’s brain taken out of her head? Where will our next adventure take us?
David Rosenfelt, for your dry wit and drier wisdom, and because you write something like a thousand books a year and make it look easy.
Gus’s “dad,” Craig Hanson, for doggedly reading the manuscript as the clock ticked.
My fun-loving Italian relatives who put me up during my travels to Italy: in Cassino, Franca DeMagistris and family, including my delightful nipote, Anna Laura; and in Rome, cousin Valeria Mancone, and her mom, sister, other cousins, and her adorable daughter, Nicole, with whom it is fun to brush teeth.
My shipmates at US Coast Guard Auxiliary flotilla 1-2, Station Golden Gate, for being so understanding about my going semi-AWOL during my travels and the most intensive writing months. Semper Gumby!
And finally, to Gus, and all the other dogs in this book. I would thank you all by name, but since most of you can’t read, that would be pointless. But you are amazing, special creatures, and I am lucky to have you in this book and in my life.