Izzy & Lenore Two Dogs, an Unexpected Journey, and Me

by Katz, Jon

• ISBN13: 9780812977745
• ISBN10: 0812977742
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2009-08-18
• Publisher: Random House Trade Paperbacks

Summary

In this wonderful book, Jon Katz, the owner of Bedlam Farm, learns once again about the unexpected places animals can take us. As trained hospice volunteers visiting homes and nursing facilities in upstate New York, Katz and his affectionate and intuitive border collie Izzy bring comfort and canine companionship to people who most need it. An eighty-year-old Alzheimer's patient smiles for the first time in months when she feels Izzy's soft fur. A retired logger joyfully remembers his own beloved dog. As Izzy bonds with patients and Katz focuses on their families, the author begins to come to terms with his own life, discovering dark realities he has never confronted. Meanwhile, Lenore, a spirited, bright-eyed black Labrador puppy, arrives at Bedlam Farm. Her genial personality and boundless capacity for affection steer Katz out of the shadows, rekindle his love of working with dogs, and restore his connection to the farm and the animals and people around him.

Author Biography

Jon Katz has written eighteen books–six novels and twelve works of nonfiction–including A Dog Year, The Dogs of Bedlam Farm, A Good Dog, and the New York Times bestseller Dog Days. A two-time finalist for the National Magazine Award, he writes columns about dogs and rural life for the online magazine Slate, and has written for The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, Rolling Stone, and the AKC Gazette. Katz is also a photographer, a member of the Association of Pet Dog Trainers, and co-host of the award-winning radio show Dog Talk on Northeast Public Radio. He lives on Bedlam Farm in upstate New York with his wife, Paula Span, and his dogs, sheep, steers and cows, goats, donkeys, barn cats, irritable rooster, Winston, and three hens.

www.bedlamfarm.com
www.photosbyjonkatz.com


From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpts

CHAPTER THREE

Izzy Katz, Volunteer

The county health department was housed in a small wooden annex in run-down Fort Edward, near the county jail. I parked the Blazer and opened the rear door for Izzy, who disembarked, sniffed around, then paused to look at me, awaiting instructions.

“This way, boy,” I said, and he trotted along next to me toward the annex, ignoring a dog being walked nearby, a number of trucks and cars in motion, other people walking through the parking lot.

At the door, he walked inside, scanned the half dozen people in the meeting room, and headed straight for Keith Mann, a muscular, bald man in a polo shirt emblazoned with the Washington County logo. Keith was running the series of hospice volunteer training sessions, held in the annex over several weeks.

Izzy sat down in front of Keith and put his nose in his hand. Keith handed us our name tags, as if it were perfectly ordinary to have trainees with either two legs or four. One said: “Izzy Katz, Volunteer.”
This training would test both of us. I had a book coming out, so I was about to start an extended tour. Insanely busy running the farm, I was already harried and drained, struggling to find time to write.

Besides, hospice work was no simple undertaking. The training alone was thorough and demanding, involving considerable role-playing, reading, and memorizing. The volunteer’s handbook weighed a good three pounds.

As a former police reporter, I’d seen plenty of bodies, but I’d rarely known anything about the people who died. Here, I would be going into homes and nursing facilities, getting to know people who were failing, getting to know their families, too–and ultimately seeing them die. How would I handle that? Could I do a good job, or would it be one of those projects I sometimes took on obsessively and then, exhausted, had to drop?

I’d gone back and forth about making this commitment. I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish, yet I was learning the hard way how unpredictable and cluttered my life had become.

At first, I’d thought that my busy schedule, complete with book tour, might cause the program to cut me some slack. Could I really drive three nights a week, for several weeks, to Fort Edward?

But it was clear, as Keith explained the volunteer training to me, that there would be no slack, no shortcuts–and that there shouldn’t be. The hospice program needed to make quite sure that the people who entered patients’ homes, where the psychological and physical issues were often intense, knew what they were doing and could handle what they encountered.

Accordingly, our training involved talks with social workers, doctors, and other volunteers, field trips to the homes of patients, quizzes–and constant monitoring by hospice staff, alert for weaknesses or problems that might arise. I found my motives questioned again and again. I actually had to defend my desire to enlist.

Keith was a skilled instructor, adhering strictly to his orientation and lesson plans–but he also kept a sharp eye on the volunteers to see how we reacted.

From the outset, at least one volunteer paid rapt attention. Izzy sat staring at Keith throughout nearly the entire session. Sometimes, I did look down to see Izzy dozing. But usually he was locked onto Keith, as if listening intently to every word. I half expected him to take notes.

When we took a break, Izzy followed me outside, where he found a bush to mark, then came back in and approached each of the other volunteers, putting his nose in their laps or on their knees. If they responded, he stayed a while. If they didn’t, he moved on. Keith always brought a biscuit or two, so Izzy made sure to visit him during the break.

Several things struck me during our early training. Izzy seemed to have an innat

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Excerpted from Izzy and Lenore: Two Dogs, an Unexpected Journey, and Me by Jon Katz
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