Book Review: Puppy Chow Is Better Than Prozac

It took me much longer than I anticipated to read Bruce Goldstein’s Puppy Chow Is Better Than Prozac – The True Story Of A Man And The Dog Who Saved His Life. Not because the book was a difficult read (on the contrary, it was quite an easy read, especially given Goldstein’s conversational writing tone) and not because I didn’t like it (I did like it). It took me so long to read the book because once I sat down to read, I was completely engrossed.

So, I quickly learned that I could only curl up with Puppy Chow Is Better Than Prozac and a cup of coffee when I had absolutely nothing else to do for the rest of the evening, which turned out to be about one evening every week or two.

Not an ideal reading speed, but well worth it.

It’s clear throughout the beginning of the book that, had he never had bipolar disorder, Bruce Goldstein might have been one of the people who contribute to the stigma that surrounds mental illness. Quietly, of course, and perhaps completely unknowingly, because he doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would have openly and consciously stigmatized; Goldstein was simply a product of a society that, for the life of it, still isn’t as educated about mental health as it should be – a society that can’t get past the “crazy people in the movies, psychopathic killers” who surely were the kinds of people who needed psychiatrists. It seems his thoughts during the beginning of his symptoms, and then treatment, are not really about getting better, but about hurrying up and getting better because he’s not crazy damn it and no, no, no he’s not bipolar and he’ll be damned if he takes medication.

That is, until he can’t handle the knives in the kitchen sink telling him to kill himself anymore.

Over the course of 41 fairly short chapters and an epilogue, and in a tone that suggests the two of you are sitting on a park bench having a regular conversation, Bruce Goldstein very openly tells the story of his beginning battles with bipolar disorder, his struggles with finding the right mental health professionals and “cocktail” of medication, and his decision to wage war with Hurricane Bertha in order to claim Ozzy, the black male Labrador that plays a key role in saving Goldstein’s sanity, and possibly his life.

Like all new dog owners, Goldstein soon discovers that raising a puppy isn’t all slobbery kisses and wagging tails. Once Goldstein feels comfortable enough with Ozzy to actually take him home, he realizes owning a dog is work. Real, committed, sleep-deprived work. (I laughed at Goldstein’s frustration at trying to potty train Ozzy, and his excitement when he eventually started adding one, two, and three hours to his sleep schedule – I’ve been there!)

Unlike many new dog owners, however, Goldstein realizes that he has to learn how to manage his bipolar disorder and take care of Ozzy.

Dog poo won’t wait on the owner’s depression to pass before it needs to pass, after all.

In addition to forcing him to leave the house, showing him unconditional love, and reminding him that the world doesn’t stop spinning just because the throes of mania are on the horizon, Ozzy also teaches Goldstein a very valuable life lesson about patience. One passage that stuck the most with me comes from Chapter 18, page 143:

Patience, now there’s a new word in my vocabulary. There weren’t any short cuts. Raising a puppy was going to take a lot of time and energy. I had a lot of hard work ahead of me. Starting immediately.

Not only is patience something dog owners have to learn, but it’s also something people with mental illness have to learn. Goldstein clearly illustrates the importance of patience when he tells us about his frustrations with trying to hurry up and get better, i.e. find the right mix of therapy and medicine to get control of his bipolar disorder, and some people think Goldstein isn’t being rational when they find out he wants to add the additional patience-zapping presence of a helpless puppy.

However, after conquering manic shopping sprees for pet supplies, surviving their first serious trip to the vet’s office, and making tons of new friends, Goldstein and Ozzy triumphantly emerge from the sleepless nights and pee-stained hallways as an unbeatable team.

I highly recommend Puppy Chow Is Better Than Prozac to anyone with a mental illness or a loved one with a mental illness. Not only does the book offer a good look at the struggles and successes a person with a mental illness experiences (as well as all the other health problems and situations we experience in life, such as Goldstein’s Crohn’s Disease and devastating break up with his first true love), it also offers insight to additional recovery options. While I don’t think taking on more responsibility would be the right choice for everyone (we’re all different), it was right for Goldstein and it may be right for others.

To learn more about Bruce, Ozzy, and the book that’s made them famous, check out the Web site, Puppy Chow Is Better Than Prozac. And, if you’ve already read the book and want to share your thoughts, feel free to leave them in the comments!

Image: Courtesy of Da Capo Press/Perseus Books