Merle's door Lessons from a freethinking dog

Review by Booklist Review

"*Starred Review* Merle showed up at the San Juan River at the same time Kerasote and his river-rafting friends arrived. Merle looked at Kerasote as if to say, You need a dog, and I'm it. He accompanied the group down the river and then went home to Wyoming with Kerasote. A dog who was eager to please and almost trained himself, Merle learned the ways of bison, ground squirrels, and coyotes. Merle then taught Kerasote the fullness of the hunt, leading Kerasote to his favorite prey. But, after Kerasote installed a dog door, the main thing Merle taught him is that a dog develops to his full potential, becoming the dog he was meant to be, when allowed to make his own decisions. Merle developed a life of his own, patrolling the small settlement where they lived with his dog companions, and yet was always very aware of Kerasote and his schedule. In telling Merle's story, Kerasote also explores the science behind canine behavior and evolution, weaving in research on the human-canine bond and musing on the way dogs see the world. Merle is a true character, yet Merle is also Everydog. An absolute treasure of a book."--"Bent, Nancy" Copyright 2007 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Kerasote, winner of the National Outdoor Book Award, draws on inspirational experiences with his beloved canine companion, Merle, and extensive research in animal behavior to advance the notion that living in harmony with our dogs requires us to embrace-rather than suppress-their natural instincts. Patrick Lawlor delivers an animated performance, both literally and figuratively. His renderings of Merle's incessant pants of enthusiasm evoke the essence of canine loyalty. Lawlor successfully navigates the potentially tricky terrain of the book's anthropomorphism. He gives voice to Kerasote's human interpretations of Merle's expressions and behaviors in a manner that manages to preserve a healthy measure of mystery and wonder. Lawlor does slightly over-reach with regard to his performance of relatively extraneous human dialogue, especially some of the ethnic accents of experts that Kerasote quotes in the text. While not all pet owners may be able to grant the degree of freedom that Kerasote afforded Merle, this heartwarming story will still manage to enlighten and entertain fans of four-legged memoirs. Simultaneous release with the Harcourt hardcover (Reviews, Apr. 9). (Aug.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

When Kerasote and his friends geared up for a boat trip down the San Juan River, he had no idea that a golden-red dog would wander in from the desert and become such an important part of his life. Merle happily joined Kerasote back in Wyoming and became his partner. The dog door that allowed Merle more freedom helped the author learn and understand the complex social life of dogs. Filled with interesting data, this book answers many questions about the domestication of dogs, but the heart of the work is the story of Merle's life in Wyoming. The animal led an idyllic life--with the Grand Tetons as his backyard, he enjoyed the outdoors with Kerasote, and at night he went to sleep to the twilight serenade of coyotes. Patrick Lawlor's narration adds more tail-wagging enthusiasm to this book. This audio version of the successful 2007 hardcover is sure to be popular with all the canine crew and is highly recommended for all public libraries. [Kerasote's Out There: In the Wild in a Wired Age won the National Outdoor Book Award in 2004; Merle's Door is also available as downloadable audio from Audible.--Ed.]--Theresa Connors, Arkansas Tech Univ., Russellville (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Wilderness writer Kerasote finds his place in the pack with the help of a sociable dog. While camping with friends along the San Juan River, the author was approached by an emaciated Labrador retriever-mix. Merle, as the stray would come to be named, "looked back to the shore, and let out a resigned sigh--I was to learn that he was a great sigher." Then he boarded Kerasote's raft. At journey's end, the author took Merle home to Kelly, Wyo., a half-mile square of private land nestled among Grand Teton National Park, the National Elk Refuge and the Gros Ventre Wilderness. In this rural setting, Merle's obvious desire for independence led Kerasote to install a dog door: "Why should I treat Merle--who had become the best of friends--like an indentured servant, at my beck and call in return for food and lodging simply because he didn't have an opposable thumb with which to manipulate the knob on the front door?" Each day, Merle (soon nicknamed "the Mayor" by neighbors) would exit through the dog door and into the heart of the village, eagerly making his rounds. A careful observer with far-reaching interests, Kerasote reflects on everything from canine decision-making to the possible origins of dog domestication to animal consciousness. In this idyllic corner of the West, the two find love (both human and canine) and friendship, forging a remarkable bond that endures until Merle's death. His passing--and the author's bereavement--are recorded with Kerasote's customary discernment. A thoughtful look at animal intelligence and the human-dog connection. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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chapter 1From the WildHe came out of the night, appearing suddenly in my headlights, a big, golden dog, panting, his front paws tapping the ground in an anxious little dance. Behind him, tall cottonwoods in their April bloom. Behind the grove, the San Juan River, moving quickly, dark and swollen with spring melt. It was nearly midnight, and we were looking for a place to throw down our sleeping bags before starting our river trip in the morning. Next to me in the cab of the pickup sat Benj Sinclair, at his feet a midden of road-food wrappers smeared with the scent of corn dogs, onion rings, and burritos. Round-cheeked, Buddha-bellied, thirty-nine years old, Benj had spent his early years in the Peace Corps, in West Africa, and had developed a stomach that could digest anything. Behind him in the jump seat was Kim Reynolds, an Outward Bound instructor from Colorado known for her grace in a kayak and her long braid of brunette hair, which held the faint odor of a healthy, thirty-two-year-old woman who had sweated in the desert and hadn't used deodorant. Like Benj and me, she had eaten a dinner of pizza in Moab, Utah, a hundred miles up the road where wed met her. Like us, she gave off the scents of garlic, onions, tomato sauce, basil, oregano, and anchovies. In the car that pulled up next to us were Pam Weiss and Bennett Austin. They had driven from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, to Moab in their own car, helped us rig the raft and shop for supplies, joined us for pizza, and, like us, wore neither perfume nor cologne. Pam was thirty-six, an Olympic ski racer, and Bennett, twenty-five, was trying to keep up with her. They had recently fallen in love and exuded a mixture of endorphins and pheromones. People almost never describe other people in these terms noting first their smells for were primarily visual creatures and rely on our eyes for information. By contrast, the only really important sense-key for the big, golden dog, doing his little dance in the headlights, was our olfactory signatures, wafting to him as we opened the doors. It was for this reason--smell--that I think he trotted directly to my door, leaned his head forward cautiously, and sniffed at my bare thigh. What mix of aromas went up his long snout at that very first moment of our meeting? What atavistic memories, what possibilities were triggered in his canine worldview as he untangled the mysteries of my sweat? The big dog now appearing reddish in the interior light of the truck and without a collar took another reflective breath and studied me with excited consideration. Might it have been what I ate, and the subtle residue it left in my pores, that made him so interested in me? It was the only thing I could see (note my human use of see even while describing an olfactory phenomenon) that differentiated me from my friends. Like them, I skied, biked, and climbed, and was single. I had just turned forty-one, a compact man with chestnut hair and bright brown eyes. But when I ate meat, Excerpted from Merle's Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog by Ted Kerasote All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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