Dogs

Personification is something that happens when a writer gives an animal human-like emotions, thoughts, or traits. In cartoons, this happens all the time—think Scooby, Snoopy, or Disney movies like Lady and the Tramp and 101 Dalmatians.

In My Life with Dog Years, Paulsen's a little more serious about it, but he still personifies all the livelong day. It's clear that he thinks the line that separates man and animal isn't as clear as most people believe. (Also, with some dogs like Josh, Paulsen suggests there isn't a line at all.) Has Paulsen been spending too much time with his canine companions? Or can dogs feel love, sadness, and other emotions like we do?

It's tempting to think—so we'll do it—that each of the dogs Paulsen writes about could represent a different type of relationship.

From the first chapter (a heartfelt dedication to Cookie, a dog who saves his life), we know that Paulsen sees dogs as more than just man's best friend. "She was a good friend, a kind of dogsister or dogmother to me," he writes (1.4). He's not trying to say that a dog can be your blood relative, of course. By using words like "sister" and "mother" that apply to human relationships, Paulsen shows how much Cookie meant to him—she was family. She was a good substitute for his neglectful parents, loving and protective.

Snowball's definitely the childhood best pal, the one we hang out with constantly and who, lucky for us, is a little braver and more adventurous than we are. She's the friend you look back on and remember all the things you did and saw together at a time when everything was new and exciting.

Then there's Ike, Paulsen's mysterious hunting partner who materialized in the woods, seemingly out of nowhere. After they got to know each other better, Paulsen says, "I would talk, tell him all my troubles, and he would sit, his enormous head sometimes resting on my knee, his huge brown eyes looking up at me while I petted him and rattled on" (3.49). Tolerance, compassion, generosity—these are human emotions, and Ike seems to have them in spades. Ike was the confidante.

Rex the farm dog cared for humans (the farmer's little girls) and barnyard animals. He always did so not just with care, but with genuine love and affection. You could say he's in a caregiver role.

Finally, there is Josh, of whom Paulsen straight-up says, "He is a person. I do not think in my heart that he is a dog" (9.6). In this book, Josh plays the role of BFF.

We don't mean to say that Paulsen only tells us about his dogs as symbols of human relationships. They're real and important relationships in their own rights. But it's easy to see how they each filled just the right role for him at a time when he badly needed a friend, protector, or just someone to talk to.