Q & A with Lee Harrington
Contact Kate Blum, Director of Publicity
kblum@randomhouse.com

What inspired you to write REX AND THE CITY A WOMAN, A MAN, AND A DYSFUNCTIONAL DOG?
I hope it’s clear to anyone who reads the book that my dog Wallace inspired me to write REX AND THE CITY. (Rex is a generic dog name, by the way. My dog was named “Wallace,” not Rex.) Anyway, I was inspired by Wallace because he had a very sad, interesting, and ultimately triumphant life—he had rough beginnings, that may have involved abuse and neglect, and certainly abandonment. We found him in the shelter, without really realizing that we were going to take him home. Nothing was planned—all that we experienced with Wallace happened unexpectedly.  And I happen to think it was a fascinating story. You could say that Wallace comes across as a classic literary character. This dog had just as much of a journey as any human does (that is, any human who has had an unhappy childhood).  He had issues of character that he had to overcome in order to become a “complete” dog.  He had to learn how to trust people, and love us. He also had to learn how to figure out New York City, which is an impossible quest that can drive a lesser being mad. But he made it.  And being there for his journey, watching him change and grow, taught us a lot about life and love and trust.  REX AND THE CITY is the story of our dog’s evolution. But it is actually about our evolution too. I had a very unhappy childhood. “Ted” had his moments, too.  Anyone who has taken Psych 101 can see that we were projecting our own hurts and wants and needs onto this hurt and needy dog.  So as we rehabilitated him, he rehabilitated us.
Anyone who doesn’t have a dog is going to think this is nuts, of course. But I speak the truth.

How did REX AND THE CITY  evolve from a column in Bark magazine to your memoir?
REX AND THE CITY has always been a memoir—so the book is basically the columns published in chronological order (as it appeared as a serial in the Bark). For the book I just added more of the human story—because that was interesting as well. Our characters broadened and expanded right along with our puppy’s. Still, my first and foremost, however, tells the story of a dog, and how we, the humans, reacted to his story. He is the primary column in both the series and the book. We are secondary. He runs the show.

Were you scared to reveal so much of yourself, and your life?
Oh, it’s terrifying to reveal so much.  In the column, as I said, we focused more on the dog—all his little dramas and conflicts.  It is easy to hide behind that. But once we decided to focus more on the human drama in the memoir, the spotlight turned on me. And on poor “Ted”. It was fun for a while, to tell my story—for isn’t that what we all want: to be known, and understood? But then, the enormity, and seeming stupidity, of what I had committed to astounded me.

The thing is, I am an incredibly private person. I used to be cripplingly insecure. I used to have an irrational fear of being judged. Sometimes I still do. So why on earth I chose to write a memoir I cannot explain. I mean, there were times when I was writing this book that I got so frightened about the prospect about people actually reading up that I would seize up with fear. I couldn’t get out of bed. For like months.  I had to extend my deadline.  I never told my agent or editor, but there were many times when I wished I wasn’t a writer at all. I wished I was a dog, just sleeping and eating and being taken care of by a nice guy like “Ted”.

In fact, I got so nervous I decided I wanted to disguise my identity. Can you imagine—trying to pretend you are not the author of your own memoir? Can you imagine if I’d done that, after all the Frey stuff that is happening now? So when I first sold the book, I wanted it published under “Ted’s name. We were married, so I had that name for a while. I thought: well, that is not my last name anymore, so no one will know REX AND THE CITY is by me. But of course eventually I realized you can’t write a memoir and expect to hide. Plus, my agent told me my idea was insane.

So no, I can’t even explain what compelled me to write a memoir. Except that I wanted to write about my dog. That’s the real story I want to share.  I wanted to write about the transformation that took place in me and in “Ted” because this dog gave us what we had never known before—unconditional love.  That kind of love transforms you—it changes the rest of your life.  And I wanted to write about how astonishing it was a dog that brought us there—not another human.  This is the heart of my memoir, and this is what I hope will come across. Can I go so far as to say I wanted to change peoples’ lives? That may sound corny, but I bet there are a lot of fucked-up people out there who could really use a dog.

Was it difficult for you to talk about your relationship with “Ted”?  How does he feel about it, now that the book is complete?
My former husband has been perfectly wonderful about this book.  From the beginning, he has been nothing but supportive. The columns have been around for six years, and not once has he raised any objection to anything I have written about us.  Perhaps because I am just telling it like it is, as they say.  But he really is fantastic about this.

I know it must be weird for him to have his former wife writing about his life. I mean, think about how hard it must be to be written about—to appear in someone else’s memoir. That means you have no control over how you are being presented to the world. It must be terrifying.  You are being presented through someone else’s eyes.  You don’t get to tell your own story.  Plus, it’s highly likely that I see “Ted” differently than he sees himself.  I mean, isn’t that one of the main problems in a relationship? We want our partners to see us as we see ourselves, and when they don’t, we feel misunderstood.  Thousands of couples’ therapists across the country are paid zillions to reconcile these misunderstandings.  And here you are asking me how “Ted” feels, and expecting me to answer that.

So I am concerned about “Ted”, even though he says he doesn’t have a problem with the book.  He has already hinted to me that some of the things I describe didn’t happen the way he remembers them. And this is always an issue with memoir, and with memory in general.  We all have different ways of processing events. We choose what we want to remember, what we need to remember, and discard the rest. Some people retain visual memories and others retain sounds (I, for instance, always remember conversations, word for word. My stepmother always remember what she wore on any occasion; my father remembers what they ate).

So which of two peoples’ memory of the same moment is “right?” Kirosawa attempted to answer this question years ago, in his movie Rashoman, and he didn’t come up with an answer. 

So I stand by my version of the stories.  And I am fine with “Ted” standing by his.  He said (teasingly) if he needed to he would write his own book.
 
I also want to stress that I have a lot of gratitude and respect for his decision to step away and let me do what I needed to do. I guess he knew at some level how much I needed to tell this story.  I told it for Wallace, but also for me, and us.  Did I tell it for him?  I can’t really say. Frankly, I am stunned at how magnanimous he is being. He has always supported the columns and has withheld comments or criticism about them. (Which is actually quite out of character for him, because he is very opinionated, and a good critic of writing). But his silence has always said, to me, that he wanted me to be free to say what I wanted to and stay out of my way. He was a wonderful partner and husband in that way—he supported my “art.”

Also, there is much about me, Ed, and our relationship, that does not appear in this book. We loved each other madly but we also argued a lot.  We were always on the verge of breaking up. We almost broke up right before we got the dog.  Also, Wallace literally got sick every time we fought—he got mange, and eye infections and all sorts of stress-related ailments. But I was not allowed to tell that story.  My editor made me cut it all out. She told me people wouldn’t want to read such a negative story. She told me people would not want to stick with me, as a narrator, if I told them so many truths.  So I had to cut all that out.  What is there in the pages of REX AND THE CITY is still the truth—it all happened—but it is not the whole truth. It is in many ways a superficial story. I have not told any untruths.  I just hope that enough of the “untold story” is there between the lines. I think it is, for anyone who reads carefully.

Plus, I imagine that ““Ted”” is certainly happy that not much of his dirty laundry has been aired. And I must say I am happy about that too. In hindsight, I am glad I cut all the ugly stuff.  The world does not need to know about that. The world does not need any more anger or sorrow. We all have enough as it is. So let them have the happy bits, and the cutesy stories about dogs.

How did training Rex change you the most?
This is all in the book, but the main change that occurred is that I learned how to be an authority figure. I grew up in a very strict household. I was not allowed to make any decisions, so I wasn’t able to develop many leadership skills.  But the main thing about raising a dog is you have to establish yourself as an alpha figure.  At first, the dog seemed to know what a wimp I was, and he wouldn’t listen to me like he listened to “Ted”. But eventually I learned how to be dominant.  It is a great skill—it carries over into all areas of your life. It’s just confidence, I guess. Confidence in your ability to communicate your needs and wishes to someone.

What did you learn about “Ted”, through Rex?
Well, the more time you spend with any person, the more you learn about him or her. But living with “Ted” and “Ted’s” dog, I got to see a really special and sweet side of him. I got to see the real “Ted” every day: the one not saddled by issues, or worries of work, or the future or the past. Dogs live in the moment and when you are with a dog you live in the moment too. It’s very Zen, that existence.

So “Ted” is an intense person. He is intensely smart and driven. His sense of humor is brilliant—you have to have studied psychology to get it sometimes. He works hard, but is also able to relax with complete abandon. He also approached our relationship with an intensity: very loving, but also very stubborn, as we all can be.With the dog all of that intensity and fierce drive dissolved and softened. He talked baby talk to the dog. The dog was perhaps the most stubborn member of our household, so he always got his way. “Ted” was happy to let the dog have his way. He was happy to spoil him. The care with which “Ted” attended to him was so cute—never letting more than 4 hours go by without a walk; making sure he had the best food; buying clothing for him in the winter, so that he wouldn’t be cold—spending more on his neoprene fleece lined jacket than I was allowed to spend on my winter coat. He bought Wallace a little life preserver vest for the first time we went out on the boat. He bought him little booties so that Wallace wouldn’t cut his feet on the glass. He talked worriedly of the time Wallace would have arthritis and cancer. He took out veterinary insurance, to prepare for all this.
 
“Ted” is an incredibly responsible, nurturing and caring man. I saw how much “Ted” wanted to protect and preserve our dog, to keep him safe from all things. And I saw that he wanted to protect me, too.  When the three of us snuggled on the couch, I felt like we were in a safe cocoon. The world was perfect.

The moment I met “Ted” I knew he had all these loving qualities, and I am lucky that I got to see them everyday in the few years we were together. Not a lot of couples in who live in a 300 square foot apartment can say that. You’re living inside a pressure cooker. It’s like a reality show. All our friends were always waiting to see which of us would explode first. But the dog, he settled everything down.

“Ted” always said that the dog brought out the best in him. I only wish that I had brought out the best in “Ted”, too.  But it wasn’t our time I guess.

Do you think you would have eventually discovered this anyway?
No, because we would not have been challenged in the same way. Unless we had had a child, which we didn’t in the end. Before Wallace, we were not mature enough to have a child. And we were wise enough to know we weren’t mature.  So no, I really don’t think we would have gone in the directions we went without the guidance of our wonderful dog.

What do you think of as dogs as “starter children?” Do you think adopting a dog is a good indication of what parenting is like?
A lot of people scoff at the starter children theory, and I respect their point of view. But for a certain type of person—a crazy dog person—a dog is absolutely a starter child.  The writer Ann Patchett wrote a great essay about this in Elle Magazine.  People observe the way she babies her dog and tell her “maybe you should have a baby.” Then she turns to them and says: maybe you should get a dog.  I learned about nurturing and caretaking and generosity and responsibility.  I learned about the joys of giving. And of receiving. These are all qualities a good parent needs to have, don’t you think? Someone should write a book: “Everything I Learned About Parenting I Learned From My Dog.”

You say in the book that raising Rex forced you and “Ted” to grow up. Why?
I think the only time a person grows up is when she realizes that she is on this earth to take care of others—to love and to serve.  As long as you expect others to take care of you, on whatever level, you are still a child.  There are a lot of children on this planet.  So yes, even taking care of a dog, or a cat, or a spider plant can help you grow up.

Pre-Rex, you enjoyed a very Cosmopolitan, life in New York City but once he came along all that changed. Did you ever miss your old life? When were you happiest?
I will always miss my old life—but only because I am the type of person who misses people even when I am with them, because I know that soon we shall have to part. I am sentimental in that way. Being happy makes me sad, because I will someday miss that happy moment.  Anything glorious I miss. I miss “Ted”.  I miss my dog in ways I will probably never fully recover from.  But who I am now does not have any need to put on a red rubber miniskirt and drink at a night club. I am done with that. My favorite part of the day is still, and will probably always will be, those morning hours when I walk with my dog. That’s a pure experience,

What are the obstacles of raising a dog in the city, as opposed to the suburbs?
There’s a whole section of the book that lists all the reasons why city dogs have a great life. I actually think city dogs have it far better than country dogs, or suburban dog.
Dogs are pack animals. Dogs love to be near people. How much closer can you get than inside a tiny apartment? Most of the suburban dogs I know stay home alone all day while the parents work and the kids go to school. I’d also argue that city dogs are better-exercised than suburban dogs.  Most suburban dogs have yards—fenced in yards, and the dog is “let out” to do his business and sniff the ground. Imagine sniffing the same grass for 14 years. And having to share a yard with all your own poop. The Monks of New Skete have this whole thing about “barrier frustration.” They think dogs confined in fenced in areas get too frustrated because they cannot see. That is why they bark and howl.  City dogs do not have barrier frustration, for some reason. Maybe because they have tivo?

Also, if a suburban dog is walked, it is on a leash, on some bland suburban block (in the book I say “with nary a drag queen or a tasti-d-lite in sight.) And New York City is so dog-friendly. They can run off-leash in the parks, they can come with you to restaurants and to stores.  There’s a doggie day care on every block. And if you have a weekend house—kaching!  They have a saying at the Animal Haven animal shelter in New York, that if a dog gets adopted by a couple with a city apartment and a country house that the dog has “landed in a pot of jam!”
 
Obviously, I have a lot to say on this subject, so it’s probably better just to read that section of the book. We city people want a certain kind of life and do our damn best to live that life.  Yes, suburban life is easier—you can always find a parking space. But I think our dogs like the excitement.

What is the best, most succinct advice you can give to a couple planning on adopting a dog? Should they start with a puppy? Is an animal shelter better than the pet store?
I’m all for shelters. I am all for adoption and rescue.  Something like twelve million animals enter shelters in the United” States per year, and of that 12 million, nine million are euthanized In New York City alone, over 100 dogs are killed each day.  So I don’t see the need to introduce more dogs into this equation by breeding them for profit.

People should NEVER buy dogs from pet stores. I cannot stress that enough. The puppies in the pet stores come from puppy mills. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. I still can’t believe people don’t know this. I still can’t believe there are pet stores in malls.  That smacks of lack of compassion.  You don’t sell living creatures in malls. 

Some people will avoid the shelters because they are afraid of getting a “problem” dog. And this is a valid fear of course. Look at the dog I adopted—he was a nightmare. But I hope my book will at least show people that even the most screwed-up dog can be turned around with patience, proper care, and love.

A lot of people go to breeders rather than shelters for this very reason. And while some breeders are responsible, the same laws that support breeders support puppy mills. So I cannot in good conscience support a breeder until those laws are changed. 

Recently a breeder in Vermont had his kennels invaded by the police because of complaints from neighbors.  There, hundreds of Irish Setters had suffered from neglect. They were crammed into cages, unable to move, forced to eat their own feces, and sometimes their own puppies, for food.  Female dogs were bred over and over again, until their weak bodies could no longer bear more puppies, and then they were—this is so awful—put out to die for the other dogs to eat.  There were carcasses in many of the cages—of puppies and adults.  Many of the dogs had no fur, because of poor nutrition.  They couldn’t walk, because they had literally never walked. All they do is produce puppies. The puppies are shipped off in these Nazi cargo trucks—stuffed into cartons and then trucked off to pet stores.  The rescue group who saved all these Irish Setters did a tremendous job. I saw one photograph of a female being carried off in a stretcher.  The look on her face was one of hope—after all that she had still not lost her faith in humans.  I tried to adopt that mother dog.  But she found a home within days of that news report.
So this is why I support shelters.  Because the people who run them are willing to head into these war zones and carry the needy dogs out on stretchers.

This is just my opinion of course. I cannot condemn those who choose a breeder over a shelter. They’re all nice people, I’m sure, who just want to love nice dogs. But I would advise people who go to pet stores to please, please, please reconsider.    

One last comments on shelters:
I’m donating ten percent of my paperback sales to the Mayor’s Alliance in NYC, which is a consortium of shelters whose mission is to have the whole city be no-kill by 2009.
This book was written in honor of Wallace. I want to try to give back somehow what he gave to me. I want every single person who reads this book to go out and adopt a needy dog—I really do. So in that sense, I am glad I wrote this book. If I can help one or two dogs get adopted, then I have done good work.