Dog is the new Gay
I am an aspiring novelist. I have imposter syndrome whenever I say (or type) that, so I’m trying to say (or type) it as often as possible.
The book I’m writing is a heavily fictionalized account of a thing that truly happened to me. About four years ago, my dog was stolen from my home. She was missing for 36 hours. Thanks to the help of many friends and the DC Police, she was returned, but not before every relationship in my life was touched, if not tested, by the theft. I figured it would make a good book. This year, I set out to write it.
In 2019, I attended the Writers’ Retreat Workshop, which was founded in 1987 by the late author and teacher Gary Provost. There, I met fifteen other novelists (some experienced, some aspirants like myself) and a dedicated faculty. Every morning, teachers would push us to write bravely, take risks, and learn the craft of fiction writing. Every afternoon, we would withdraw to a private corner and write, revise, or at least think about what we’d learned while staring at a blank computer screen. Every evening, there was wine – lots of wine.
As I was writing a novel about a dog, I also got lots of recommendations on “dog lit” I should be reading. Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain was a constant suggestion, and one of the faculty noted that Stay, a comic novel by Allie Larkin could help. And, of course, there were the chestnuts: Marley & Me, A Dog’s Purpose, Old Yeller, Where the Red Fern Grows, Sounder, and many more. And after much discussion, a disturbing trend began to emerge: the dog pretty much always dies.
And look, I’m a dog person; I get it. Dogs have a short life span compared to humans; therefore, humans tend to outlive their dogs. If you’re telling a story about the relationship between a human and his/her dog, it’s probable that the dog will die first, and the dog dying feels like the end of the story. It all makes logical sense.
But, but, BUT! There’s absolutely no rule that says these stories must follow the dog all the way to their deaths. Pride and Prejudice ends with a wedding, not with Elizabeth Bennett weeping over the corpse of Mr. Darcy, which was probably going to happen at some point, either just the way I described it or in the reverse. It just so happens that not every story is a tragedy – unless, it seems, the author of that story is writing about a barking four-legged vessel of unconditional love with an unusually cold nose.
Audiences are not entirely in sync with authors on this point. In fact, there’s a website for moviegoing audiences called DoesTheDogDie.com, that warns audiences before they see a movie if they’re going to have to prepare themselves emotionally for a doggie demise. (The website has become so popular that it now tracks over 60 emotional triggers, including anxiety attacks, suicides, extreme flatulence, and the presence of clowns – but the name of the site reveals its origins. And those origins, I believe, reveal a lot about us.)
Reading about all of these dead dogs reminded me of the work of Vito Russo, who tracked how LGBT characters have been represented in popular culture, particularly film, for generations. There was a time, mostly during the 60’s and 70’s, when every gay man, lesbian, or transgender person you saw in a movie was going to bite the big one before the final reel. The Children’s Hour, The Sergeant, Freebie & the Bean, The Fox, and Cruising were just a handful of films from that era where folks like us met predictable, violent ends. Russo believed that audiences were curious about our lives but could only indulge that curiosity if the moral code of the day remained intact by the time the lights came up. And so, we had to die.
I’m almost certain that’s not what’s going on in the world of “dog lit.” In contrast, what every dog lover knows is that dogs are too good for us. Therefore, it’s not the dog that’s being punished at the end of the story; it’s the person who gave their heart away.
And still, I’m writing a novel about a dog who gets kidnapped. I’ll leave a few surprises for you, but I’ll give away the most important point now. In my book, the dog lives at the end.
