A doggone delight

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This article was published 24/06/2023 (858 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Former Chatelaine editor Rona Maynard is a prominent figure in the Canadian writing community. In 1995, Maynard assumed the editor’s chair at Canada’s pre-eminent consumer magazine. It’s a prestigious post she occupied for a decade.

In 2007, Maynard penned a searing memoir, My Mother’s Daughter, about her storied life with her formidable mother, Fredelle Bruser Maynard.

Born in Saskatchewan in 1922, Fredelle Bruser Maynard was an acclaimed journalist with a PhD from Radcliffe — a celebrated memoirist who also freelanced for Chatelaine magazine. Big shoes to fill.

Rona Maynard’s second memoir, Starter Dog, is a thematic departure from her mother-daughter narrative. It’s a warm, captivating and charming account of Casey, Maynard’s rescue mutt.

Who doesn’t love a good dog yarn? Maynard’s dog memoir is readable and it has depth. As Rona and Casey roam the streets of downtown Toronto, the author acts as articulate flâneur and doting dog mum.

But don’t ever call her that. Maynard, a language pragmatist, rejects the inaccurate use of parental terms to describe pet owners.

At first, dog adoption isn’t Maynard’s idea of an engrossing retirement project. The ambitious writer is still searching for that elusive activity, an exciting new enterprise, when she breaks down and assents to pet adoption — thanks to effective prodding from her canine-fancier husband, Paul Jones.

As the over-achieving offspring of two demanding parents, Maynard yearned for a regular family, one that wasn’t driven by an overarching need to achieve: “I envied people who didn’t have to justify their existence. It seemed to me they all had dogs.”

Casey’s timely entry into Maynard and Jones’ daily lives proves to be more than just a welcome distraction. The rescue dog endears himself swiftly into their good graces.

The difference in Maynard’s demeanour is clearly evident in a Facebook post. It prompts a call from her younger sister, novelist Joyce Maynard, who pronounces: “I’ve never seen that expression on your face before. You look cracked open.”

“I thought we were done with family-making,” writes Maynard. “My photos told the truth: he (Casey) was reconfiguring us as only a new family member can.”

It’s not that life is easier with Casey, whom Maynard dubs a “complication.” It’s just that it becomes richer with Casey’s company.

Prior to Casey, retired life for the Toronto couple was predictable and quiet: “And one day now unfolded much like any other, no calls from the school or crises at the office to disturb our peace. In fact, hardly anyone called us now except scammers and the dentist’s office.”

Maynard’s dog memoir is also a requiem for an illustrious career. The quiet life is a major departure from dinner with Queen Elizabeth at the Royal York Hotel “along with some 700 other local worthies.”

Throughout Starter Dog, Maynard muses about the need for a new Project. Halfway through the narrative, she’s still searching for an all-consuming activity to bolster her already bursting portfolio and provide stimulation. It’s a familiar trajectory.

The Project in Maynard’s wildest imagination didn’t include stooping to pick up Casey’s excrement from a Toronto sidewalk. Nor does Maynard complain about her humbling new job.

Starter Dog is a secular memoir, but it echoes The Confessions of Saint Augustine: “Oh Lord, help me to be pure but not yet.” Maynard’s articulate cynicism is familiar. But there’s something of the disappointed romantic undergirding her incisive prose.

Casey is just the unlikely cure for a lost author in search of meaning and renewed purpose. The loyal mutt proves his worth as her daily companion while Maynard stoically cuts an original path to “joy, belonging and loving this world.”

Read Starter Dog. You don’t have to be a dog lover to appreciate Maynard’s insightful narrative. It’s a hopeful interlude made for turbulent times.

It’s the kind of book you consume in one sitting — and then heave a sigh as you reluctantly read the last sentence.

Patricia Dawn Robertson still finds poopy bags from her departed border collie, Laddie, in her pockets. Her memoir, Media Brat, is forthcoming in fall 2023.