dog people

Book review: ‘You Tell Your Dog First’ by Alison Pace

/ Meg / 5 Comments

In a world of cat people and dog people, Alison Pace is firmly in the dog camp.

Well, actually . . . that’s sort of underselling it. Pace, author of novels like Pug Hill and A Pug’s Tale, is a serious dog person. In You Tell Your Dog First, a serious of canine-related essays, Pace recounts her fur-filled childhood, creation of a life in New York City, writing career and — eventually, quite happily — the adoption her own West Highland White Terrier, Carlie. It’s heartwarming non-fiction with chew toys, cute guys and dogs roaming free in Central Park.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m also in the dog camp. I mean, my golden retriever has an entire category on the blog devoted to him. I grew up with dogs, love dogs, get excited at the prospect of visiting a friend with a dog. When others coo over adorable babies, I’m reaching for the squirmy mutt at their feet. If my boyfriend had a dollar for every time I squealed, “Oh my God, look at that dog,” he could retire quite happily, get a bunch of cats and leave my dog-hair-covered self in the dust.

I’m glad he doesn’t have that many dollars, by the way.

So for someone like me? Someone who, as Pace’s title suggests, tells her dog the big news first? I was all about Pace’s funny, cute look at life with canines. I loved her descriptions of growing up with a literal pack at the homestead and could relate to her feelings of being a dog person without a dog. Living in New York City, Pace’s options regarding pet-friendly rental buildings are complicated. And when Carlie, a former show dog, comes into her life? Well, Pace will move mountains to find a good living situation for them both.

If you’re not nutso for pets, I can see readers rolling their eyes at some of the antics — but the charming thing about Pace is that she never takes herself too seriously. Aware that some of her behavior could be seen as excessive, she often pokes fun at herself and reminds Carlie that she knows “Mommy is acting crazy.” It’s funny, and I understand. I’m not above dog-talk myself. I mean, my dog has a theme song; we sing Rudy’s favorite tunes when he walks into the room.

Dogs. They’re just really great.

You Tell Your Dog First is a quick read with insights as to how four-legged friends make our lives all the richer, and I really enjoyed Pace’s musings on the unconditional love and companionship of dogs like Carlie. If this book sounds like it’s up your alley, it probably is. And if you skipped over this review as soon as you saw mention of a canine, well . . . you’re not even reading this ending graph, are you?


3.5 out of 5!

ISBN: 0425255875 • Goodreads • LibraryThing • Amazon • Author website
Review copy provided by publisher in exchange for my honest review


Giveaway results on Nov. 9: Congrats to Summer, our randomly-selected winner! Summer, I’ve emailed you.


Not quite a cat lady

/ Meg / 24 Comments

My boyfriend loves cats. And when I say “love,” I mean giant swirly-pink-glitter-confetti-type love. If I’m not Spencer’s soul mate (and I certainly hope I am), I’d believe an adorable British shorthair is.

I’m coming to terms with this.

For as much as he likes kittens, I’m afraid of them. I’ve never been a cat person. My family has a big ball o’ fun golden retriever, Rudy, and we fall decidedly on the pup side of the eternal Cat vs. Dog debate. I’ve always had a big dog running around, desperately hoping you’ll “drop” something from the dinner table. In the homes of our family and friends, dogs are a given.

Cats? They’re an entirely different animal — um, pun intended. Until I met Spencer, my experience with felines was limited to cat-sitting our neighbor’s black-and-white angry puss, Stripe, and his successor. If those guys weren’t kicking up kitty litter, hissing or passively-aggressively refusing to eat, they were blocking the door so I couldn’t flee without losing a chunk of my ankle.

They scared me.

It’s the stealthy nature of cats that really freaks me out. When my 80-lb. dog is hurtling down the hallway, I have time to make decisions. I can evade his bulk by side-stepping all that slobber or find a treat to tame him. Rudy is not quiet. He couldn’t sneak up on someone if he put all his goldie-brain-power behind the goal. He’s a big, lovable doof. Who gets mad when you wake him up with a camera.


Rudy is not amused.


Cats are quiet. They hop onto the tops of cabinets and nestle into couch cushions. You might not hear or see them until they dart out from behind a door, scaring the ever-livin’ tar out of you, and the idea of having a cat around demonstrates how unbelievably skittish I am.

On our trip to New York last weekend, Spencer and I spent time with his parents’ cats. The first time I came up to meet his family found me cowering in a corner as Zoe, probably the calmest cat around, innocently tip-toed up to this stranger in her house. I freaked out so bad that Spencer ran in, surprised at desperate way I was calling for him, and I had to explain that yes, I was completely panicking over a little cat walking up to me.

Not my finest moment.

This vacation was my third or fourth time around Zoe and Max, a brother-and-sister pair adopted years before. While Max darted from the room as soon as Spencer and I entered, Zoe didn’t seem bothered by our presence. She hung out with us pretty regularly. Toward the end of our long weekend, she was even cuddling up in my lap and allowing me to pet her. She never took a swipe at me, bared her teeth or tried to sever my limbs. She was just . . . a cute cat. Calm and sweet.

Totally un-Stripe-like.

Knowing Spencer wants to get a cat of his own soon, I’m trying to wrap my mind around cats. As a concept. Having one around, feeding one, cleaning up after one . . . it’s all very mind-blowing. I’m used to the rough-and-tumble nature of a big dog, and the dainty sneak-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night idea of cats causes a bubble of panic to rise in my throat.

Can cats smell fear?

Each feline is different, I tell myself. Not all cats are mean. And not all cats are nice. I have to learn the ins and outs of each — their quirks, personalities. If I’m around Spencer and said cat enough, hopefully the cat will like me. And we will be . . . a little family.

I’ll keep some catnip on me just in case.