Jon Katz Quotes

I think if I've learned anything about friendship, it's to hang in, stay connected, fight for them, and let them fight for you. Don't walk away, don't be distracted, don't be too busy or tired, don't take them for granted. Friends are part of the glue that holds life and faith together. Powerful stuff.

It is difficult to see ourselves as we are. Sometimes we are fortunate enough to have good friends, lovers or others who will do us the good service of telling us the truth about ourselves. When we don't, we can so easily delude ourselves, lose a sense of truth about ourselves, and our conscience loses power and purpose. Mostly, we tell ourselves what we would like to hear. We lose our way.

The immature conscience is not its own master. It simply parrots the decisions of others. It does not make judgments of its own; it merely conforms to the judgments of others. That is not real freedom, and it makes true love impossible, for if we are to love truly and freely, we must be able to give something that is truly our own to another. If our heart does not belong to us, asks Merton, how can we give it to another?

We are human, and we suffer, and unlike the animals on the farm, we are self-aware, and we know that we suffer, and it doesn't hurt more or less if God caused it or could stop it, at least for me. I am definitely of the school that believes God has bigger stuff to worry about than me.

The relationship between a dog and a human is always complicated. The two know each other in a way nobody else quite understands, a connection shrouded in personal history, temperament, experience, instinct, and love.

There's a vulnerability about Rose, even a sweetness in her eyes, but there's no mistaking her priorities. Smart, tough, determined, she is essential, but rarely the dog that people melt over or want to take home. Yet she's a great dog.

Dogs are born knowing exactly what they want to do: eat, scratch, roll in disgusting stuff, sniff and squabble with other dogs, roam, sleep, have sex. Little of this is what we want them to do, of course. We ask them to sit, stay, smell peasant, practice abstinence, and be accommodating.

I am no theologian, and do not have the answers to these questions, and one of the reasons I enjoy the animals on the farm so much is that they don't think about their pain, or question it, they accept it and endure it, true stoics. I have never heard a donkey or cow whine (although I guess dogs do). I told my friend this: pain, like joy, is a gift. It challenges us, tests, defines us, causes us to grow, empathize, and also, to appreciate its absence. If nothing else, it sharpens the experience of joy. The minute something happens to me that causes pain, I start wondering how I can respond to it, what I can learn from it, what it has taught me or shown me about myself. This doesn't make it hurt any less, but it puts it, for me, on a more manageable level. I don't know if there is a God, or if he causes me or anybody else to hurt, or if he could stop pain. I try to accept it and live beyond it. I think the animals have taught me that. The Problem of Pain is that it exists, and is ubiquitous. The Challenge of Pain is how we respond to it.

That, even with imperfect masters, the canine soul is pure, loyal, and dependable.

Being able to use the word “geek” has helped me a lot to define myself, but not as a mold for me to fit myself into, as a template to help accentuate my differences.

Our task, wrote Einstein, is to liberate ourselves by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty.

I am not mad here, but clear and calm. I am not transformed, but allowed to be wholly myself.I am isolated, but have never felt more connected to people. I am not imprisoned, but free. I am not cut off from my family and my roots, but am brought back to them. I am not living alone with dogs, but permitting my dogs to lead me somewhere I need to go, and it has been a great trip. We have more distance to travel together, I'm sure, before we are through.

Where does it begin this sense of being the Other?

I am lucky in marriage and in dogs.

Rose is undistractable, indefatigable, a problem solver. Work is her essence, her animating spirit, and the core of her impact on me. Her dedication to it helps make my life possible, connects the two of us in this powerful way.

An old tradition holds that at the Last Judgment, the non-human creatures of the earth will be called by God to "give evidence" against each human being. The idea pops up in books and stories about the Creation, deemed a myth, but a persistent, imposing, even haunting one: We will be judged by the very creatures so dependent on us. So I treat, and will continue to treat, my animals - the dogs, cats, sheep, donkeys, chickens, and cows - with that in mind. They will give evidence. What would I want them to say?

Learning what really makes a dog like him tick had forced me to grasp more about what made me tick. I often didn't like what I saw in me, but I was determined to do right by him. Which meant, as Carolyn had suggested, that I had to be better. Orson, like all my dogs, was a measure, a barometer, a mirror of me.

Whenever I hear people clucking about the decline of civilization, what's wrong with young people, how vulgar popular culture is, how confusing and frightening they find the internet, alarms go off. I know I'm around somebody whose hinges are rusting. Death will be bad enough, but for me, this early harbinger is more fearsome, because a part of one's spirit and openness and ability to learn and grow disappears.

She lived upstairs in the farmhouse; guests and visitors occupied the B&B rooms downstairs. She kept crates tucked all over the house, in which herding dogs-border collies and shepherds-slept while waiting to work, exercise, or play. These working dogs, I'd come to learn, led lives very different from my dogs'. Carolyn let them out several times a day to exercise and eliminate, but generally, they were out of crates only to train or herd sheep. While they were out, Carolyn tossed a cup of kibble into their crates for them to eat when they returned. I asked her once if she left the lights on for the dogs when she went out, and she looked at me curiously. "Why? They don't read... Still, they were everywhere. If you bumped into a sofa it might growl or thump. Some of her crew were puppies; some were strange rescue dogs.

It's interesting that my neighbor Irv, who saw dogs so differently, knew all the kids and people on the block and could recite the family history of each house until about a decade ago. Now few of our neighbors can name more than a handful of people who live on the street. They have little to do with local government, and vote sporadically, at best. In the evenings and on weekends, they go their own ways. Their kids are repeatedly warned about talking to people they don't know.

My soul mate on this journey has been Orson. He brought me here. He stand with me here. Dogs are emotive, affectionate, and stimulating far beyond the capacity of the brightest-colored fish. A life with dogs - since the are animals, not human - is always an encounter with nature, no matter where it occurs, one that quite frequently connects us to our pasts. They're simple creatures, but they provide sensory diversity, opportunities for discovery and imagination, both connection and solitude - they are certainly radioactive jewels of memory.

The true heart of Carolyn's farm was her kitchen, where sausages and pungent dog treats lay scattered over they counters, along with collars, magazines and books, trial application forums, checks from her students (Carolyn, not big on details, often left them lying around for months), leashes, and dog toys. Pots of coffee were always brewing, and dog people could be found sitting around her big wooden table at all hours. Devon and I were always welcome there, and he grew to love going around the table from person to person, collecting pats and treats. Troubled dogs were familiar at the table, and appreciated. If we couldn't bring our dogs many places, we could always bring them here.

But the foundation of a good relationship with any dog is a clear line of authority. They’re pack animals. You have to help a dog understand exactly where he or she ranks in the pack, and the dog can never be number one.

If you don’t establish your dominance, you’re not making life easier for the dog, you’re condemning him to a life of confusion, disappointment, and destructive behavior.

Dogs are blameless, devoid of calculation, neither blessed nor cursed with human motives. They can't really be held responsible for what they do. But we can." --from The Dogs of Bedlam Farm

The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another and all involved in one another. —THOMAS MERTON

Hey, Izzy, boy, let's go chase a sunset.

Rosie, let's get to work

Had Sam been in the farmhouse and looked out, he would have been amazed to see this solitary dog, covered in a coating of white, staring up the hill, giving eye to the wind, the snow, the coyotes, to life and the world, to her choices and her duty. He would have marveled at her responsibility, her loyalty, and her bravery. Rose had never run, never backed down, never failed to get it done. He had said that about her so many times – he bragged about her like she was his child, although never in her presence. It would have been patronizing, even insulting, to praise Rose so much to her face. Work was her reward. But there was no one to see this dog on the hill, and no human would ever know what was about to happen there.

This was her place, in front of her sheep, guarding the flock, keeping them safe to the end. This was her work, her destiny, the point of her. Katie flashed into her head, her calm, sure voice. Rose, too, felt calm and sure. To get them to pasture, to give them time to eat, to protect them. To keep them from ravines and gullies into which they could fall, streams in which they could drown, woods in which they could wander and become lost. To get them home before dark. She did this for them, and to serve the humans her kind served, who had worked with her line all the way back through time. She kept them safe. She would do that now, whether Sam was here or not, whether it was possible or not.

The beauty of herding sheep with dogs, isn't displaying or winning awards. I'd never entered Rose in any competition. It's the sense of wordless partnership, the moment where the dog's instincts and the herder's experience fuse into that moment, if she wasn't already there. She wasn't merely resting by the tree; she was sitting with her sheep, watching over them, staying among them, comfortable enough with herself and with them to be still.

If you have a border collie, and do your job, you will learn patience. if you have Labs, you will learn to stretch the boundaries of hygiene. I'm told that the original Labs hailed not from Labrador but from Newfoundland, where they worked with tough and tired fisherman who let them hang around but didn't provide organic or vegan dog food. As a result, Labs became scavengers, with little fussiness about what they ate.

The more you open to connection, the more you get. The more you believe you are worthy of connection, the more connection appears in your life.

Speak for me. Help me to make the decisions that I cannot make. Do not ask me to tell you when it’s time for me to go, for that is beyond my simple province. I love you and trust you, and I have depended on you all of my life to make decisions for me. Now, when I need you the most, do not fail me. Whatever you decide, I know it will be your best decision, and I wish you nothing but peace with it.

I understood, as I had explored in this book, that death is not just an end, but sometimes a beginning, a part of life. It can be a gift. You grieve what you love. You love what you grieve.

they said, with some adoption papers if we decided to keep him. I think Simon decided

Contrary to what many may believe about these horses and the environment that they live in, the horses are in good health and are living in an appropriate stable with excellent care. These horses are being treated with pride and compassion, often by their individual owners/drivers." He found the horses were housed in comfortable, clean, spacious box stalls that allowed them to lie down in comfortable bedding. They are provided, he said, with quality food and water throughout the day. After his first visit, Dr. Jordan returned a second time unannounced and examined the stables again. He also went to Central Park to look at the horses there. "The horses at Central Park were all in good weight, well shod, and prepared for their work." None appeared to be overworked." It was clear, Dr. Jordan said, that the horses are "living happy lives with owners who truly care for their well-being.

She seemed to have a sort of map of the farm inside her head, a picture of how things out to be. Whenever something was wrong or out of place – an animal sick, a fence down, an unwelcome intruder – she knew it instantly, and called attention to it, sniffing, barking, circling. She constantly updated the map, it seemed to Sam. Occasionally her map failed her – but that was rare. Sam saw to it that Rose was always with him, that she was appraised of everything that came and went – every animal, every machine – so she could keep her mental inventory.

Maria loved Disney World because I loved Disney World, the same way I was coming to love secondhand clothing stores, Indian music, and brussel sprouts. We each loved what the other loved, with an open heart and soul. Over time, I came to see, we loved almost everything we did together, because we were doing it together. This kind of selflessness, was new to me, and I was grateful to learn it and live it. What, I asked myself, is love, really? I thought about that on that ride, as we dried ourselves off and looked for popcorn. It is about the other, I decided, not the self.

think Devon sensed that we were going to duke it out, and gave no quarter. In this context, we were both true to our natures. He could have given in, I could have looked the other way. Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to happen. The battle was joined.

Deanne had nailed it: this was a battle of wills, and victory would go to the most stubborn and patient. I couldn’t really say I had him beat on the first count, but I had an edge on the second.

Some of the reasons for this change were obvious: Devon understood that he now had a leader, someone he had to obey. He knew his place in the pack. This seemed to calm him, soothe his anxiety. I think he understood my promise, which I could now make freely and could truly mean: now he could feel my love, relief, and appreciation. Whatever happened, this dog had a home with me.

I cherish the predictability of these creatures, their sociability, their contented acceptance of life. I wish I possessed even one of those traits. I’m working on it.

It’s easy to avoid suffering and easier to feel disconnected from the people experiencing

It’s easy to talk about being merciful and compassionate,” I said to my donkey. “It’s not so easy to figure out how to live that way.

Humans have a need for compassion, but they also have a lot of anger, envy, frustration, and resentment, all the enemies of compassion.

Merton’s idea—the interdependence of all things—was something I found in Saint Francis, Einstein, and in almost all of the great writings about compassion. “In the first step toward a compassionate heart,” wrote the Dalai Lama, “we must develop our empathy or closeness to others.… The closer we are to a person, the more unbearable we find that person’s suffering.” It is not, says the Dalai Lama, a question of physical proximity; it is a feeling of responsibility.

Is a connected medium the same as a compassionate one? I don’t think so.

Because of them, I met all kinds of people. I was herding sheep again, greeting visitors in the barn, sharing images of them with people all over the world. This was a powerful triangle, and I was right in the middle of it. In the following weeks and months I would come to see clearly that these three animals were, in fact, connected to one another, and all three of them were connected to me.

Dog training was little known and little needed, since most dogs merely wandered their neighborhoods and were seldom walked on leashes. Mailmen and children got bitten from time to time, but it hardly ever made the news. Fighting breeds were almost unheard-of. People surely loved their dogs, but by contemporary standards, few spent much time or money on them. Dogs were in the background, not at the center, of family life. They slept in the basement or—unthinkable today—in a backyard doghouse, chased after cars and other dogs, ate table scraps. They came and went. Some got hit by cars, others ran off or were put down when they got sick or old. When that happened, people went to the pound for another dog. Beyond the initial round of puppy shots, people rarely invested much in veterinary care.

It inspires a bit of awe to see working dogs really do their jobs, to see thousands of years of history, instinct, and breeding well up and become manifest in a sunny pasture. It transforms the way an owner sees a dog, and the way the dog sees himself. This, perhaps, is the bond people talk about between working dogs and their masters. Working

Gandhi believed that the greatness of a nation and its progress can be measured by the way it treats its animals. I would add that the humanity of individual people is reflected in the way they treat animals.