The Eyes Have It

by

Lev Raphael

I grew up with a German Shepherd, but like most adolescents, though I played with him, walked him and sometimes brushed him, his care and training weren’t really mine and so were of minimal interest to me. Ten years ago, when my partner and I decided that we wanted to adopt a West Highland White Terrier, I knew I had a lot of work to do. I explored Westie web sites, read books about the breed and about dog rearing and training, and was especially fascinated by two well-known books authored by The Monks of New Skete, who retrain troubled dogs: How to Be Your Dog’s Best Friend, and The Art of Raising a Puppy. The approach was loving and firm, but what struck me most was their advice to accustom a puppy to holding eye contact with you, because that will be the cement of your relationship. This had never occurred to me, and seemed a revelation.

My partner’s a psychologist and explained, “They’re taking about extended mutual facial gazing”—the same thing mothers and infants share. It was all theoretical to me, however, until we brought twelve-week-old Kobi home. Creating a framework for our new life together was all-consuming, and luckily I wasn’t on a book tour at the time or even writing a book, because the work truly felt like it was 24/7. Initially Kobi was confined to the pet-gated kitchen with its easily-cleaned linoleum floor and I spent a lot of time down there with him, constantly on call, except when he was napping and I could either nap myself or try to read a magazine.

Amid the controlled chaos of teaching Kobi schedules for meals, sleep, play, and walks, and acclimating him to obedience training, there were countless moments of sheer, unmitigated joy as a relationship developed between us. We allowed him on our furniture once he was able to jump, and he often would clamber onto the couch where I’d be reading or relaxing, march up onto my chest, settle down, and look me in the eyes. Remembering the advice of the Monks, I’d calmly repeat “I love you” until he fell asleep. Just watching him sleep acted on me like a drug and filled me with contentment. In fact, watching the smallest thing he did–nosing a leaf, playing with a ball, sniffing the wind, eyeing a squirrel, drinking from his water bowl–could cast a spell on me. My partner and I spoke about the most minute aspects of his behavior with unending fascination.

Kobi was very quick to accept eye contact with both of us, and in some situations, he led the way. If his water dish wasn’t clean enough, he’d sit by it and look at us until we got the message. If he wanted help getting onto a chair or couch he’d sit there, glance at us, glance at the chair and back again. Sometimes he’d stop on a walk and stare almost defiantly at us, chin up, if he wanted to take a different route. If we didn’t get the message, he’d put his paw down on the leash and wait, eyes locked with ours. Since we had followed the Monks’ advice of blending discipline with love and respect, we typically had no problem with making the detour he wanted, though he didn’t always get his way. Still, he sought out eye contact in ways that other dog owners noticed, and my partner, who is the father of two boys, said rearing Kobi reminded him over and over of the early days and months of raising his two sons.

That’s not a misplaced, naive comparison. At deep genetic and biochemical levels, the bond we share with our infants and growing children is identical to the bond we share with dogs, cats, horses and even herd animals. That bond makes us profoundly human and is a source of mental and physical health, according to Meg Daley Olmert, author of Made for Each Other: The Biology of the Human-Animal Bond. It’s also tens of thousands of years old.

All dogs today are descended from the wolf, so how did we get to bond with the wolves that were the ancestors of our pets, since we were both predators? Our fascination with animals is as old as we are–for they had powers we didn’t, and Olmert speculates that our ancient cave paintings were a combination of admiration, and identification with their speed, grace and power. We wanted to be like them, and observing them gradually made us more human, developed our consciousness of difference, of identity.

We watched them, and they watched us. Then, at some marvelous moment, brave humans and brave wolves began to share food and even space. From digs at ancient human sites, it’s clear that our hominid ancestors preferred bone marrow to meat and so the discarded meat was likely to have been tossed and may even have been feasted on by wolves who entered their camp or cave.

The contact could also have initially been with wolf pups because their helplessness and adorableness would have triggered the same compassion, empathy and warmth in human mothers as their own children did. It’s possible that some abandoned cubs were nursed by human mothers. We probably began hunting together and we both got something out of the relationship beyond safety and physical nourishment: contentment. Petting an animal, even looking at one for an extended period releases the hormone oxytocin in our brain, a hormone that makes us feel quiet ecstasy–a Zen state. It does that for the animal, too. Oxytocin diminishes the fear response, making the initial contact between “strangers” possible, and the contact itself–visual, tactile–releases more oxytocin and so we get a feedback loop going. Oxytocin creates a sense of well-being and connection, without which relationships of any kind would be impossible. Brain studies that Olmert examines prove all this, and so holding an infant, holding a cat, murmuring to either doesn’t just feel good, it’s part of who we are. It makes us and them feel good, so both are recipients, and this holds true across species, cultures and also across time.

Olmert explores pre-literate herding cultures and finds that they, too, talk about their animals ad infinitum, as do peoples near the Arctic Circle whose life revolves around dogs. Every group involved with domestic animals that Olmert looks at in this book is made happier and healthier by the interaction. Conversely, those removed from this bond are likelier to exhibit a whole host of problems ranging from high blood pressure to depression. Perhaps some of the most remarkable pages here chart experiments with autistic children that show interaction with pets or zoo animals brings them out of their locked-in state, just as children with behavioral problems calm down around animals. Just watching pets or animals soothes their nerves. Can this be a way to rid our American culture of its over-dependence on Ritalin and anti-depressants? Olmert sure thinks so and when you read the evidence she marshals, it’s hard to disagree.

Olmert has elegantly furthered our understanding of the neurobiology behind social bonding though she herself is not a scientist; she’s a documentary film maker and her eye for detail is superlative. The book is a deft, charming mix of science and speculation, anecdote and analysis, written in a style that’s smart, engaging, and witty.

Made for Each Other is short and I found myself reading it slowly, savoring each chapter and the reflections it stimulated. It’ll likely make you conscious the next time you hold or just speak to one of your pets that you’re engaged in something that isn’t just ancient, it’s essential to making us human. We have bred animals to respond to us and our genetic inheritance makes us eager in turn to respond to them, to make them part and parcel of our lives. This human-animal reciprocal bond keeps us healthy, long-lived, and connected to ourselves and the world around us. 

So for those of you who don’t have pets and squirm when you hear someone talk baby talk to a dog or cat, remember: it’s not goofy, it’s good health; it’s not weird, it’s wired.

Books mentioned in this column:
How to Be Your Dog’s Best Friend by Monks of New Skete (Little Brown & Company)
The Art of Raising a Puppy by Monks of New Skete (Little Brown & Company)
Made for Each Other: The Biology of the Human-Animal Bond by Meg Daley Olmert (Da Capo Press)


Lev Raphael grew up in New York but got over it and has lived half his life in Michigan where he found his partner of twenty-four years, and a certain small fame. He escaped academia in 1988 to write full-time and has never looked back. The author of nineteen books in many genres, and hundreds of reviews, stories and articles, he’s seen his work discussed in journals, books, conference papers, and assigned in college and university classrooms. Which means he’s become homework. Who knew? Lev’s books have been translated into close to a dozen languages, some of which he can’t identify, and he’s done hundreds of readings and talks across the U.S. and Canada, and in France, England, Scotland, Austria, Germany and Israel. His new memoir My Germany will be published April 2009 by the University of Wisconsin Press and in September 2009 by Parthas Verlag in Berlin. You can learn more about Lev and his work on his website. Lev has reviewed for the Washington Post, Boston Review, NPR, the Ft. Worth Star-Telegram, Jerusalem Report and the Detroit Free Press where he had a mystery column for almost a decade. He also hosted his own public radio book show where he interviewed Salman Rushdie, Erica Jong, and Julian Barnes among many other authors. Whatever the genre, he's always looked for books with a memorable voice and a compelling story to tell. Contact Lev.