Every so often along comes a book that just gets to you, and for no particular reason that you can exactly nail down. It doesn't provide a new metaphysics, contain proofs that unify general relativity and quantum mechanics, offer brilliant economic analyses, or cure cancer. It isn't a Great American Novel. But it's honest and it's real, it's well written and it's haunting. Job Michael Evans' Training and Explaining: How to Be the Dog Trainer You Want to Be is one such book. As a posthumous work, it's a touching legacy to both professions that meant so much to him: dog training and dog writing.
Job Michael Evans died of AIDS-related complications over a year ago. Evans was the author of numerous articles and book reviews published in a wide variety of canine publications, as well as several books, including (co-authored with the Monks of New Skete) How to Be Your Dog's Best Friend, The Evans Guide for Counseling Dog Owners, The Evans Guide for Housetraining Your Dog, The Evans Guide for Civilized City Canines, and People, Pooches and Problems. He had been a New Skete monk, a New York City-based professional dog trainer, a giver of seminars, an active president of the Dog Writers Association of America, and an all-around thoughtful and intelligent human being. All of that clearly comes through in this charming collection of essays and vignettes.
Training and Explaining is an eclectic collection, bound loosely by the fact that all the topics were of interest to Job Michael Evans, and thus all should be of interest to those of us who admired Job Michael Evans, care about dog training, and love reading and writing about dogs. Evans took the dog fancy seriously, and he invites his readers to do the same. He recognizes the dangers facing dog fanciers today, dangers ranging from breed-specific legislation to the serious threat posed by animal-rights groups. He is aware of poor breeding ethics, faked x-rays, the swearing and backbiting that occur at obedience trials, and the ego-gratification at the expense of the animals themselves. Evans contended that professional dog trainers have a responsibility to present a better image of both dogs and the fancy itself to the public at large by training well, explaining training well, dressing well, and handling their students and themselves with proper dignity. His book is an attempt at reforming his world.
The book is divided into four parts: On Training, On Explaining, Interviews on Training and Explaining, and On Dog Writing. The section on training includes a wide variety of essays. Evans discusses the benefits of serving a formal apprenticeship and includes some fascinating glimpses into his own apprenticeship at New Skete. He theorizes on the importance of understanding emotions like anxiety and despair in the training of aggressive dogs. He describes what he aptly terms "first night freak-out"--that first night of a beginning obedience class with a roomful of untrained dogs and nervous, novice handlers--as well as an effective training program for subsequent nights. He reprints the code of ethics (which he co-authored) of the Society of North American Dog Trainers. He muses on the questions of what talent and intelligence actually means to and for a dog ("Is it our own alienation from the natural world that makes up attempts to drag the gifted pet into our own artificial realm? Is it a better dog if it can count? Can a dog count, and should it?" [55])
"On Explaining" contains a variety of short pieces on the nuts and bolts of being a professional dog trainer. In this section, Evans concerns himself with the psychological, emotional, and financial lives of dog trainers--subjects discussed all too little. He elaborates on his "unbreakable, unshakable" rules for dog trainers: get educated; train how you are comfortable training; but train the dog; and train the owner; keep careful records; have your work evaluated periodically; be honest, be ethical; if possible, keep a journal; keep up--increase your knowledge; pay yourself first; and take time to love. Evans believed this last point to be perhaps the most critical one in a world where many dog owners, troubled at home, add dogs to the problems they feel themselves incapable of solving. "Balance your feelings of comfort and control that quite naturally flow out of training dogs with the risk-taking and possible loss of control that might happen in human relationships. Stop running. Stop running away at the expense of your dogs, your clients, and, most importantly, yourself. Balance is the key. Take time to love. Perhaps even more accurately I should say, find out how to love yourself and then take time to love others" (86). Evans' education as a monk was clearly never forgotten.
Some of Evans's advice to professional trainers is more mundane but no less important. He provides a useful chapter on the business aspects of running a training service, including keeping records on clients, publication legalities, and advertising. He discusses the importance of dressing well while training and instructing and of developing a personal style. Evans provides details on telephone manners, the mysteries of call waiting and answering machines, and the special problems of telephone consultations. He even talks about how to survive a trip to Westminster and the reasons why some veterinarians remain ignorant of canine behavioral matters.
Part three of Training and Explaining is perhaps the most interesting section of the book. Here Evans includes four interviews with four well-known dog trainers: Carol Lea Benjamin, Amy Ammen, Ian Dunbar, and Myrna Milani. The cynical might assert that he chose his subjects strictly from among his own inner circle of New York dog writer friends and acquaintances. But something about Evans defies my natural tendency toward cynicism. He writes, "ultimately I needed to talk with people who knew something about life, not just dogs; about love, not just bonding; about symbol and substance; about communication and motivation" (118). The four interviews succeed in providing a snapshot into the lives and methods of four remarkable trainers, writers, and human beings. They're not to be missed by anyone who enjoys understanding what makes people tick.
The last section of the book, "On Dog Writing," may be Evans' most personal legacy. His "How to Avoid Dog Writing" will touch a chord with anyone who's ever felt that blank and panicky feeling at the thought of an article that simply must be written, although you don't have the foggiest notion just what you're going to write. Evans' tips at procrastination are true to life: exhibit at dog shows, volunteer everywhere for every conceivable canine cause, teach seminars, get a retriever and be prepared to throw a ball all day long, write a single book or article and convince yourself that you've told it all, and (painfully in this case) get sick. He muses on the methods used to select dog training books for purchase. He argues against those who claim that city dogs have a less-fulfilling life than dogs in the suburbs and the country. Somberly, he urges dog writers to signify the concern about AIDS within the dog fancy, just as they have bombarded the media about parvovirus, Lyme disease, brucellosis, and other maladies. And he ponders the importance of friendships among writers, in which points of style and, research, and the "stuff" of good writing in general are discussed, self-confidence is bolstered, and writing is ultimately improved. Evans also includes an interesting annotated bibliography of training books that he feels are particularly valuable to read and to acquire.
Training and Explaining ends with an excerpt that appeared in the April 1994 issue of DWAA Newsletter, the official publication of the Dog Writers' Association of America. It was Evans' wish that it should conclude his last book; the piece was originally written in August of 1992, after he began to experience his first serious symptoms of neuropathy in his hand, making typing difficult for the first time. This little piece is the most moving of all the essays included in Training and Explaining; it's something that should be read by anyone who has ever attempted to write about dogs and anyone who has reflected upon the prejudice against HIV-infected individuals in the United States. Job Michael Evans' last book is quiet, thoughtful, and at times very funny; it's a worthy legacy of a thinking dog person offered to other thinking dog people. Simply put, we're lucky to have it.