In Search of Lassie: A Dog Owners Guide to the Lassie Myth

By Yvonne Done

Do you want a dog that lives up to the Lassie Story?

If the answer is yes, come on a quest through Eric Knight's book Lassie Come-Home to see the pitfalls of falling into the Lassie Myth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Academy Elite
• Release date: Jan 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647465599

Yvonne Done

Yvonne Done has always lived with a dog in the house. As a qualified dog behaviourist, and married to a vet, she uses her love of literature to delve into her greatest passion - helping people to improve their relationship with their dog.

Book preview

Part One

Think Dog—

Seeing the Myth

Step 1: L—Leave the Myth of the Perfect Dog Behind. After All, Lassie Wasn’t Perfect

I think every new dog owner comes to realise that their new puppy or dog is far from perfect, and their aspirations to own a dog like Lassie are dashed. Even if the owner does not know the Lassie myth, the myth that the perfect dog is out there has become part of our psyche. However, this dog is just a part of our collective imaginings. Today, the perfect dog has been proselytised through media and our culture, but to have a better relationship with our dogs, we need to understand the Lassie myth that drives such ideas and leave it behind. After all, Lassie was far from perfect as she goes through the harum-scarum yearling stage, bites people, and kills cute little rabbits. In short, when reading the story of Lassie, we come to realise that she is not a substitute human being—she is a dog. She is no less amazing for that, but some might try to raise a dog’s status to that of a guardian angel, which must be resisted. Rather, as we come to accept the wonder of our symbiotic relationship and how it began between our species, we are more able to grow our understanding of a relationship that can still benefit us even today.

Chapter One

‘Not for Sale’

The Lassie Myth

The rough collie, sometimes referred to as the Lassie dog, is, for many, the object of desire from a young age. After reading Eric Knight’s book, Lassie Come-Home, or watching the old Hollywood film with Elizabeth Taylor playing the Duke of Rudling’s granddaughter, they wanted a dog. To be honest, I was duped into buying into the Lassie myth when my children were small. I purchased my very own Lassie, hoping to capture something of the enchantment that Knight’s romantic quest novel offered. I wanted my children to enjoy the close relationship with a dog that Joe Carraclough enjoyed.

We all want the unwavering loyalty of a dog to its master, exemplified by Lassie as she made her momentous journey from Scotland back to the school gates in Yorkshire.

Fortunately, Barney was one of the best dogs we have ever owned. Nonetheless, he definitely went through the harum-scarum yearling phase, as described by Knight. Barney was by no means a perfect puppy, which is normal. As with all puppies, he went through adolescence, where dogs push at the boundaries of how we desire a dog to behave, as his breed patterns clicked into place. Each breed will often show a need for an outlet of its innate instincts; the collie will manifest the desire to chase and herd, which can stretch the patience of even the most experienced of dog owners.

Knight, was the proud owner of a collie called Tootsie who gave inspiration for his story, gives Lassie an almost mystical start to her life. The whole of creation for Knight has culminated in the making of Lassie and his special bond with Sam Carraclough’s son, Joe, and that, in some way, nature had conspired to produce this one perfect beast of the Yorkshire wildlands. And to emphasise the miracle that was Lassie, Knight alludes to the fact it was Lassie who wanted the Carraclough family and was meant to be theirs. Lassie was a gift from the landscape that Knight knew and loved, a landscape that played a large part in his childhood.

The origin of Lassie is almost given an immaculate conception in that out there is a supernatural place in a distant land where ‘the wind and the cold rains sweep over the flat moorlands,’ where ordinary men with magical abilities combine with this celestial land to produce the alchemy that creates the perfect dog.¹ Here, Knight is drawing on all his skills as a writer to conjure the romantic ideal where the ordinary landscape establishes feelings of the sublime, together with a sense of innocence of both the child and the dog. His writings evoke emotions that take us beyond our world together with the bucolic scene of the romanticised peasant, which were emblems that were often used by romantic poets such as Wordsworth and Blake. Knight creates a rustic world where ‘humble clad workmen’ utilise their supernatural abilities to bring out the best in their dogs, which ‘arouse envy of wealthier dog fanciers from other parts of the world.’ In this enchanted pastoral land, ‘the dog seems to thrive as it does nowhere else.’

Thus, Knight uses his skills to set up the story of a mystical dog who is part of nature any dog owner would yearn for, but in reality for the dog owner today, such a dog ‘is not for sale for no price.’² However, with Knight’s descriptions about his insights into the reality of dog ownership, the reader cannot help but feel such a relationship with a dog might be within their grasp. Interestingly, Knight dedicated his book to the vet who introduced the rough collie to America. The dedication page read: ‘To Harry Jarrett, A Man Who Knows a Dog,’ and I wonder just how much they discussed how Knight might make his creation as factually correct as possible.³

Nostalgia and the Lassie story

As a person who was brought up with dogs and has always had a dog in the household, I can look back at the various reasons for buying a new puppy. In hindsight, I can see the various motivations that drove the purchase. The motivations for purchasing a pup when I was first married was due to my nostalgia for my childhood memories of owning a dog and the story of Lassie.

My first dog was bought with my pocket money when I was fourteen years old—I desperately wanted the friendship of a dog, just like Joe Carraclough had with Lassie. In storybook fashion, it was Toby who introduced me to my husband four years later. When I was eighteen, my family had moved from Yorkshire to Cambridgeshire, and whilst my family looked for a house, we stayed in a motel just outside of the market town of St. Ives. On our first night’s stay, I was allowed to take my Yorkie into the motel because the owners were dog lovers. As I walked into the bar, I met their son, who they proudly told me was a vet. He seemed somewhat perturbed by his mother’s boasts as all grown-up sons might in the same situation, and he was quick to remind them he was only a student. Turning to me, he bluntly told me that I shouldn’t ask him anything about my dog, as he had only studied anatomy. I remember I was not too impressed, but as fate would have it, my parents decided to buy a house opposite these hoteliers, and the said vet student visited during his college holidays. Well, as they say, the rest is history.

As I write about those days, a sense of nostalgia bubbles up for my little dog, Toby. I realise his story has become a myth mixed up with the ideal dog, Lassie, and his story of how he brought us together has been told and retold in our family.

Our next dog was bought to fill the gap of loneliness. I soon realised a vet works long hours, and I found it difficult to cope with an empty house. I naively sought to fill this gap with a dog, but I chose to forget the realities of what Toby was really like—I was unable to separate his story from that of the faithful Lassie. Toby was a dog who did not choose to be faithful to me. He was far more attached to my mother. Even though Robert and I took him to our new home after we were married, Toby pined so much that we took him back to be with his true master.

Knight’s observation from the beginning of the book shows his insights into how the perfect dog was the holy grail of dog ownership. Through this first chapter, he shows his inside knowledge of how the dog world functions with its whispered secrets as he encapsulates the quest that breeders have in finding the perfect dog through his character, the Duke of Rudling. With money readily at his disposal, he had tried for three years to buy Lassie from Sam Carraclough. His kennels were ‘full of fine dogs,’ but perfection had still eluded him, and he wanted Lassie and kept on raising his price, but ‘Sam had merely stood his ground.’⁴

Today, we will still come across the rarity of a good dog. Over the years, working alongside my husband as a behaviourist, I have come across many a client who has been eager to own a certain breed but has been told that they will have to go on a long waiting list. If they haven’t the patience to wait, they become open to unscrupulous dealers. Or they may save a dog from abroad because they came across a street dog on holiday and felt compassion for its plight.

Interestingly, Carri Westgarth, a research fellow in human-animal interactions at the University of Liverpool, believes a great demand for adoption of dogs from overseas results in a greater potential for profits to be made through puppy farms. These farms may now be breeding ‘street dogs’ to satisfy this demand.⁵ In his paper, Should we legitimise puppy farming? Josh Loeb points out these statistics:

The UK dog population stands at around nine million, a figure that is fairly static for the past few years.

If the average life expectancy of a dog is assumed to be 12 years, at least 750,000 puppies are needed each year to maintain the current population size.

The Kennel Club registers around 243,000 dogs per year.

And rightly asks, ‘so where are the remaining half a million dogs coming from?’⁶ Of course, he is not suggesting that we allow poor breeding practices to go on, but he does bring up the question that I am asked by many a client. Where can I get the perfect puppy? And I have to answer, It’s not for Sale, not for no price.

Look beyond the Lassie Myth

Because of the Lassie myth, we have a skewed view of what a real dog is, and the dog has now become a construct of our imaginations. By insisting the myth of Lassie is attainable, we are not caring for the dog in front of us. The relationship between dog and owner is likely to break down as our aspirational expectations are not met.

James Serpell reflects on human attitudes to the dog in his book section, From Paragon to Pariah, on how dogs are often seen to ‘represent unconscious aspects of ourselves.’ Consequently, as Serpell points out, it is one thing to have a dog show you its unconditional devotion where we see ourselves increased in stature through their ‘hero-worship’ as being esteemed by ‘a paragon’ could be seen as therapeutic, but when we realise that this creature ‘eats shit, sniffs genitals and bites people,’ then the clash occurs between our two cultures.⁷

Jean Donaldson has written about this clash and has done much to open the eyes of the dog training world to how this conflict between our species plays out in our society today. Often, we look to our dogs to be more than they are; we ascribe behaviours and motivations related to our emotions rather than the motives of a dog. For example, as Donaldson points out, a dog who is chewing furniture when left alone could be ascribed with feelings of resentment; they often look guilty when the owners return. This is what Donaldson calls the Walt Disney assessment of the situation; she recognises how story has influenced our attitude to dogs.

By looking again at the story of a dog looking guilty, she advocates that the dog who discovers that chewing furniture calms its slightly anxious feelings when left alone also discovers it helps to pass the time. The dog has previously learned that such behaviour is unadvisable when the owner is present, as it will incur their anger. Consequently, the dog learns they are safe to do as they please when the owner is not present. Then, when the owner comes home, they behave appeasingly, as they have learned that will turn off any harsh treatment that has often happened on previous occasions.⁸

Another clash that occurs is when a dog chases down and kills another animal. Our dogs have innate instincts that are part of a breeding history that we took advantage of in the past. In our urban environments, a clash occurs when we have given them an equal role in the family. Then unpredictably, they have acted on their breeding history, which leads to the relationship between dog and owner to break down. We do not like to face their animalistic tendencies, especially if we have made them a reflection of our subconscious.

This is where the ambivalence towards dogs starts to creep into the dog-owning world. We lose heart for our dogs. I would argue that we are still working out our collective past. I believe before we even start to look for a dog, either from a rehoming centre or from a breeder, we need to understand the emotions that we have inherited from our culture. It will not only be a remnant of Victorian ideals of the aesthetic, but it is also the inherited need to compete for the best-behaved dog because of how much human values we have projected onto them. A dog becoming more human started with status-seeking Victorian dog shows, which became an outworking of cultural anxieties; they sort to manage and make sense of race and class distinctions through selective breeding of dogs, which was an outworking of their need to be in control.

Today, our culture, with all we have discovered, can truly embrace the dog for all it is and rightly wonder at the magnificent relationship we have been gifted with.

Therefore, when we understand our dogs and how they think and learn, we will be able to step away from comparing our dogs not only with the dogs in the socialisation class but also with the myth of Lassie, the perfect dog. With a new mindset, we can achieve a more honest and fulfilling relationship with the dog we have.⁹

---

¹ Probably because a children’s book is part of the construction of childhood innocence and cannot involve sexual knowledge

² Knight, Eric. Lassie Come-Home. 75th Anniversary Edition. New York City U.S. : Henry Holt and Company ebook, 2015 p. 1.

³ Jenkins, Henry. Her Suffering Aristocratic Majesty; The Sentimental Value of Lassie. [book auth.] Marsha Kinder. Kids’ Media Culture (Console-ing Passions). Durham US : Duke University Press, 1999.

⁴ Knight, Eric. Lassie Come-Home. 75th Anniversary Edition. New York City U.S. : Henry Holt and Company ebook, 2015 p. 2.

⁵ Why are we adopting so many dogs from abroad. Loeb, Josh. 20, 2018, Vet Record, Vol. 183, p. 615.=

⁶ Should we legitimise puppy farming? Loeb, Josh. 20, London : Vet Record, 2018, Vet Record, Vol. 183, p. 607.

⁷ Serpell, James. From paragon to pariah: some reflections on human attitudes to dogs. The Domestic Dog; its evolution, behaviour and interactions with people. Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1995.

⁸ Donaldson, Jean. The Culture Clash: A revolutionary new way of understanding the relationship between humans and domestic dogs. 2nd. Berkeley : James & Kenneth Publishers, 2005 p. 9.

⁹ Puppies are now regularly taken to socialisation classes in the hope to prevent dog on dog aggression. These classes have sprung up all around the country, and for some it is an ideal opportunity to learn more about dog ownership. However, the herding dog might find these classes too challenging as they find the movement too difficult, and often practice poor behaviour in order to cope with their frustration. This cannot be managed in a classroom setting, and I prefer to teach herding breeds in smaller classes with barriers or outside.

Chapter Two

‘I Never Want Another Dog’

Lassie and Our Emotions

I walked into a dirty, cold barn and sat down on a straw bale to cuddle the puppy the breeder had allocated to us. The mother had already been euthanised as her puppies had been weaned. The mother was under a destruction order for killing sheep, and the breeder had managed to have it delayed until after her puppies were independent. The sire of the puppies I met was so unruly; his owner seemed unable to handle him. Why then did I not walk away? All these issues should have been a clue to the upcoming reality. Our first puppy we bought together as a newly married couple wasn’t going to be the easiest of dogs to raise. Sam was a Weimaraner, a large hunting dog, with a high prey drive, and he was a dog who forced me to question myself and my abilities.¹

It is a scientific fact that our brains are wired to respond to our caregiving instincts through both auditory and touch stimuli. In his book Affective Neuroscience, Jaak Panksepp describes the underlying neural dynamics within the PANIC system that triggers this caregiving response. This is when caregivers’ distress circuits are aroused by the sounds of crying and with mutual contact the opioid brain systems are activated in both the human and animal brain.² Consequently, if a potential new owner goes to see any puppy and the pups seen are whimpering as well, the new unsuspecting owners are undoubtedly hijacked by their primal communication systems. So, as I viewed the squirming Weimaraner pups, my primordial brain had taken over. In my defence, it would take great strength for anyone to walk away once exposed to such caregiving stimuli. I think Knight instinctively knew this. After his character, Sam Carraclough, sells his son’s dog, he rightly has Sam reply to Joe’s assertion that he never wants another dog: ‘ye’ll all love it just as much as ye did this one.’³

Interestingly, the ‘biologist E. O. Wilson hypothesized that our species has an instinctive affiliation with the natural world,’ which explains our attraction towards caregiving of another species other than our own. Hal Herzog often proves this trait known as biophilia by including pictures of kittens and puppies in his talks, which usually evoke a chorus of ‘oohs and ahhs’ from his audience.⁴

In the book Attachment to Pets, Henri Julius et al explain the phenomenon of the ontogenetic development of human-animal relationships. They argue that early humans were—starting way back in our history—probably profoundly biophilic. Our early ancestors became interested in how the natural world functioned around them as they sought to make sense of their world. As Julius et al point out, this led to social behavioural systems towards the animals they hunted, which, in turn, increased their connection to the natural world. The offspring of the animals they hunted were, partly for spiritual reasons, adopted and raised. This was done probably for the pleasant feelings they gained, and they may have believed that it would appease the spirit of the killed mother.

Ultimately, Julius et al argued the importance of animals in the social group and saw biophilia as a ‘syndrome of cognitive and emotional traits that seems to be uniquely human and as the main factor explaining why humans are able to invade more environments than any other species on earth – to make a living from rainforests to deserts and from the equator deep into the Arctic.’ Interestingly, they quote from Shipman’s paper, The animal connection and human evolution, in the journal, Current Anthropology (2010), which states that biophilia feedback was instrumental in the evolution of the brain and ‘may have catalysed its ability to process language, myths, and symbols.’⁵

As we continue to battle with global climate change and the threat of global health crises, I would argue stories, myths, and symbols have never been so important to us. Avatar (2009), a film that so aptly captures the themes of biophilia is one such story, as the film’s focus encourages us to look to our better selves so that we might come to live in harmony with the natural world in which we live.

Such stories often encapsulate the hazards of our natural world. And similarly, to our ancestors, we capture our anxieties through symbols. Although we are no longer painting pictures of sabre tooth tigers on the walls of our caves, we are waving banners that carry symbols that represent the Holocene extinction of earth. For example, a circle represents the earth, and within the circle, a stylised hourglass warns us that time is running out for our species.

Today, we still utilise the motif of the Lassie myth to impart cultural values; we continue to retell her story through our stories of dog ownership and in the latter Lassie reincarnations, which have included stories to encourage us to look after our natural world. All these stories are told to alleviate the anxieties of this complex, uncertain world full of injustice. The motif of the heroic dog has become part of our need to explain our place in the world.

In her book, Animal Grace, Mary Lou Randour explains this phenomenon and gives her hypothesis, explaining how our relationships with animals ‘allows us … to gain a spiritual advantage,’ as they ‘offer us a unique opportunity to transcend the boundaries of our human perspectives, they allow us to stretch our consciousness toward understanding what it is like to be different. This stretching enables us to grow beyond our narrow viewpoint.’ She asks, ‘How can we possibly appreciate and move toward spiritual wholeness if we cannot see beyond our species? How can we come to know God, or grasp the interconnectedness of all life, if we limit ourselves to knowing only our own kind?’ Then, she concludes, ‘the goal of compassion is not to care because someone is like us but to care because they are themselves.’⁶ And here lies the crux of Knight’s story. His characters learn about themselves as they play their part in helping Lassie on her journey homeward. By having compassion for Lassie, they are able to stretch their consciousness to grasp a new viewpoint on their lives.

Indeed, although I still mourn for Sam, owning him taught me a great deal. It was ultimately the choices we had to make for Sam that led me to study about dogs. The grief I felt pushed me on to learn all I could. I was determined not to make the same mistakes with the dogs I would subsequently own. I also wanted to learn more about the special bond that goes back at least 12,000 years and how our dogs affect our emotions for both good and bad.

Knight has each companion come to terms with their sense of loss as they allow Lassie to continue on her journey. They do not hold onto Lassie; they are able to let go of their