Fifteen Dogs

One evening the Olympian gods Apollo and Hermes were quaffing ale at the Wheatsheaf Tavern in Toronto.  They were chatting about the nature of humanity. Apollo argued that humans were neither better nor worse than other creatures such as fleas or elephants. Hermes spoke in favour of human languages and wondered what it would be like if animals had human intelligence. Apollo wagered a year’s servitude to Hermes that animals – any animals – would be even unhappier than humans if they had human intelligence. The gods were near a veterinary clinic, so they chose 15 dogs who happened to be there overnight as subjects of their experiment, the means to the end of settling their wager.

The dogs ranged in size and breed from Atticus, a Neapolitan mastiff to Athena, a teacup poodle; large dogs also included Bella, a great Dane, Rosie, a German shepherd, Frick and Frack, nasty-natured littermate Labradors – a nice touch, that, to make friendly, lovable Labs the dogs with the most unpleasant dispositions – and Majnoun, a spayed black poodle. Benjy, a smart beagle who kept his wits about him, survived where others fell by the wayside. Later, Benjy described the brutal violence and murder among the dogs when they fell out with one another, and between dogs and humans, when talking about it with Majnoun.  The violence, murder and other unpleasant deaths take place mostly “off camera” so to say. There were several mutts, notably Prince who was the deepest thinker in the original pack, composed poetry, and continued to think, reflect, and compose poetry after he was expelled from the pack.

If I were to enter such a wager as that of Apollo and Hermes I would choose to demonstrate or refute it on a species less diversified than dogs, which have been selectively bred by their human companions to produce a truly astonishing range of visible variation within the species classified as Canis, the dog. Cattle would serve the purpose quite well and are much less diversified. There is equally or greater variation in personality and prevailing mood even among dogs of the same breed, which I suppose we could legitimately liken to races of mankind – although the visible differences among breeds of dogs are orders of magnitude greater than those between human races. Such a diverse collection as the fifteen dogs in the veterinary clinic that night the story begins could never form a cohesive pack and the prospects for this were further eroded by the sharp personality differences among the dogs.  Andre Alexis implies that these differences followed their adoption of human characteristics.  From what I know about dogs and their diversity, I think Alexis is wrong about this, but it’s a picky point and I wouldn’t argue about it.  The difference soon led to exile for Prince and a brutal death for several others, leaving only Atticus, Bella, Rosie, Benjy and Frick and Frack as survivors. Then Rosie was attacked and killed by another pack of dogs. The murderous gang led by Atticus thought they had killed Majnoun too, left him for dead on a road in High Park, but he was rescued by a kind human couple, Miguel and Nira, and nursed back to health and strength.  Nira renamed Majnoun Lord Jim, or just Jim, and a close bond soon developed between the woman (who worked at home as a copy-editor) and the dog. All dog lovers will recognize this bond, a spiritual, philosophical, emotional bond that is indescribable and incomprehensible to those who do not love dogs.  I had such a bond for some years with Helen, a gentle dachshund bitch and still look back on that loving relationship (which I had good evidence was mutual) with strong feelings of abiding affection bordering on love.

Most of the dogs who survived the early blood-letting died off from other causes such as taking poisonous baits, and the final sections of the book describe the fate of the longest lived and most “human” – the clever and cunning beagle Benjy,  the poodle Majnoun, and the poet-mutt Prince, who all have long and in the case of Majnoun and Prince, largely happy lives.  But did they die happy? Majnoun surely didn’t, alone, starving in a locked empty house after his humans failed to return from a weekend excursion, killed in a traffic crash presumably; the fate of Prince is more equivocal; probably he was happy, even though blind and deaf. Certainly he was loved and cared for until he was gently put to sleep in a veterinary clinic.  But Prince, and Benjy, and even Majnoun to an extent, survived for varying periods on their own, without human companions with whom they bonded and formed mutually supportive relationships. Andre Alexis meditates a little on the nature of the mutually supportive relationship between humans and dogs, but wisely stays clear of in-depth discussion: had he gone into this in depth, his book would have grown to twice its size, or more.

There is much more in this small novel. There are reflections on the nature of bonding between dog and human, on the differences – essential survival traits – between human and canine sentiments; and casual remarks about the ways in which Toronto is such a ‘livable’ city.  So far I’ve read it only once.  It’s a book that cries out to be reread, an easy task because it is such a small book.   I’m looking forward to rereading it.  

This is a truly worthwhile novel, a beautifully crafted little story written with great empathy by a dog lover.  It richly deserved the Giller and Writers’ Trust awards it has already received.  I think it will win more awards before its day is done.