Dogs Don’t Look Both Ways
Jane Hanser
Author Bio
Jane Hanser has developed software to teach writing, self-published a grammar book and taught English as a Second Language at several campuses of the City University of New York. She has an M.Ed. in English Education and ESL from the Graduate School of Temple University. In her other life, she is dedicated to many and varied community activities, in particular bicycle and pedestrian safety, feeding the hungry, and literacy. Her poetry and essays have been published in numerous print and online journals such as POETICA MAGAZINE, THE PERSIMMON TREE, EVERY WRITER’S RESOURCE, and others. She spends way too much time on the computer. She is married and lives, works and plays in Newton, MA.
Description
When Phil decides to get a dog to protect his youngest daughter while she’s home alone after school, he finds a Labrador Retriever puppy who he thinks will be the perfect dog. But he realizes how little in control he is when the dog turns out to want to make friends with everybody and bark as a gesture of friendship. All Phil, a long-distance runner, can do is turn the eager Joey into his running partner. Joey, a chocolate Labrador Retriever, soon has a dream of his own — and the route of the Boston Marathon is just the place to make it come true. Or is it?
Joey eagerly wakes up with his dad before the sun rises and they run 3, 6 or 12 miles through rugged and hilly terrain, often coming face to face in the darkness and the emerging dawn with wild animals and flying creatures, in the extremes of New England winters and summers and as days and months turn into years. The insistent and strong-willed dog isn’t content with his long distance runs, however. He wants more, much more, and, clever and surreptitious, he spares no effort to achieve it. But will his insatiable curiosity lead him to gratification? Or to danger? And will anybody be able to stop him?
A decision the dog makes early one morning catches everybody by surprise and forever changes his life and the lives of his mom and dad. Little prepared to deal with the new challenges, Mom, Dad and the dog do their best, but find themselves often at odds with each other, usually hoping the ordeal will soon end, and yet never sure how – and when – this will all end.
The dog Joey tells his story in humorous and heartwarming fashion, always holding onto the dog’s point of view but never letting go of the real heart of the story: A tale about dogs, people, discovery, boundaries, hope, and rules – and breaking them – and about our dependence on the kindness of others.
Richly illustrated, this book of surprises and adventure is for children, adults, and adventurers of all ages.
Book excerpt
In some families, little dogs sit on people’s laps all day. I’ve tried sitting on my Dad’s lap but he keeps saying, “Ouch! Joey, you think you’re a little dog but you’re not. Get down.”
There are also dogs who live in the coldest places on Earth and who run in teams. These dogs work hard, running long distances to help pull heavy sleds over huge fields of silvery snow to transport people and their belongings from one place to another. Well, I’m strong enough to do this type of work, but this isn’t me either. When the ground is covered with snow, Mom gets her cross-country skis, and she and I go outside and eagerly walk to The Woods nearby. We descend down one trail into a valley where it levels off and meets new trails and we stop at the base of the first uphill we encounter. She lays her skis on the snow, steps into the foot bindings, attaches one end of the lead to my collar, holds on to the other end, and instructs, “Joey, go go go!” Leading the charge up the hill, I enthusiastically and easily pull her up the snow-covered trail as the lead stretches behind me to its full length. Soon we are almost at the top of the hill. But then I notice some dogs in the distance and those dogs are now much more interesting to me than pulling Mom up the hill is, so I seek the most direct path to the dogs, weaving through the bushes and saplings that impede Mom’s person and entangle her in a web of tree trunks and branches.
One snowy day when Mom was gliding along on her skis and I was pulling her around our block, I saw Mary, our mail carrier, going from house to house; with Mom in tow, off I galloped toward Mary to get some of the pocketful of tasty dog biscuits she carries with her in her pockets. What happened to Mom? I don’t recall. The last I heard her, she was calling, “Joey, stop. STOP!” and the last I saw her, she was heading right for the hedges. So this type of working dog would not be me.
In other families, people take their dogs out into the fields and then locate ducks, pheasants or rabbits or other small animals for food for the family members. These dogs have very good noses, and after these people have shot the ducks or other small animals, the dogs work hard to help their owners by running out into the fields or swimming out into the ponds to track, locate and retrieve the downed animal. This also would not be me. I view these animals as my friends. Besides, I like my parents to set out breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening for me. And foods like oranges, chicken, rice, cashew nuts, popcorn, and broccoli are also welcome in between.
Some dogs live in families where they help guide a family member who cannot use his eyes to see. These dogs work hard to assist their partners and masters with walking down sidewalks, crossing streets, going up and down escalators, going shopping, going to work, and coming back home again. This also would not be me. Dogs who do this important type of work sometimes wear a nice jacket that says, “Do not talk to me. I am working.” Wherever I go, I like to wag my tail and personally greet everybody I see. When my parents and I are outside walking along the sidewalk, I look ahead and see where I want to go, or with my nose to the ground or pointed into the wind I smell where I want to go, and step down from the curb into the street toward that destination. Sometimes I step off the curb at a spot where another road is crossing. That’s when I hear Dad sharply call out, “Joey, stop. Sit. Cars are passing here. Do you want to get hit? Sit until I say it’s okay to cross.” So I stop and force my body to form the “sit” posture, though my bottom doesn’t like to cooperate, hovering and vibrating slightly above the pavement, waiting for some sign that Dad really means what he says. In this position I remain suspended and I plant my gaze firmly on Dad’s face, until he looks back at me and repeats even more emphatically this time, “SIT,” and my bottom finally and reluctantly cooperates. This I do only because he tells me to.
Author Website
http://www.dogsdontlookbothways.com
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http://www.amazon.com/Dogs-Dont-Look-Both-Ways/dp/0991514904