Pathologically Genuine, Post IV: Autism and Pets

Research has shown that dogs can improve wellbeing and reduce suicide risk for autistic adults. I know they did that for me.

This chapter is about autism and pets, particularly dogs.

I would pretty much always rather be with a dog. We’ll get to that in a second.

Before I get to dogs, you might want to know how I feel about other pets. Pet rocks are a distant 2^nd as pets behind dogs for me. Wilson (the volleyball in the movie Castaway) might be a close 3^rd. I don’t really know because I never met Wilson, but he seemed like a good companion for an autistic person. There definitely are times when being autistic feels like being stranded on an uninhabited island with only a few Fed Ex packages. So, I can understand having a friendship with a volleyball.

Pet Rocks that made someone rich in the 1970s...

Wilson from Castaway

There are reasons why I thought they might be good for me as an autistic person. Pet Rocks and volleyballs don’t require much care. You don’t have to feed a pet rock, meaning there was one less thing to worry about in my executive functioning. Volleyballs need pressurized air sometimes, which can be a problem. Neither rocks and balls have digestive systems so you never have to take them out to pee in the middle of a hurricane. They never need to go to the vet, which reduces anxiety and increases cash flow. Both are noticeably quiet and very good at listening- a dream for many of us autistic types. They don’t even make annoying noises like chewing or walking on wood or concrete floors with hard-soled shoes. It is easy to imagine that they love you because they can’t tell you otherwise with words or actions. They are both really genuine, which is an especially important trait in socializing with an autistic person. But they don’t have much emotional intelligence and don’t get up uninvited to cuddle with you when you are hurting. They also don’t share the rush of oxytocin with you when you look in their eyes.

What about other pets?

I have as hard a time reading cats as I do people. And I am allergic to cat hair and urine. So, they are not on my list. I am a bit worried about publicizing that. You’ll know why when you read in the paper that I was eaten by a Mountain Lion in retaliation. However, cats are also important pets for neurotypical and autistic people. It is hard for me to acknowledge that. It is even harder to acknowledge that one of my friend’s cats seems to actually like me.

I have a fondness for turtles; nature’s representation of how autistic people are. But the idea of needing to take care of terrarium goes against some challenges with executive functions I have as an autistic person. Plus, I am jealous of turtles who can just withdraw into the dark, safe place inside themselves when they feel like it and I don’t have a way to do that.

Parakeets and Myna birds make too much noise.

Snakes are cool but suffer from the terrarium problem and I wouldn’t enjoy needing to feed them other animals. Snakes also seem like bullies, often the villains in the story of autistic people.

Lizards are cool, but I also wouldn’t enjoy feeding them insects. Tobacco hornworm larvae are sold as food for them. We studied tobacco hornworms in my laboratory. Despite vomiting nicotine on you when disturbed, they are so pretty, soft, cute and they make decent pets until they pupate. I am an autistic empath so I can’t send hornworms to a painful death.

Tobacco hornworms in action (yes they are blue when young and turn more green as they consume more leaves. They get big.

Rabbits are just too promiscuous. I would be jealous of their sex drive. My drive is exceptionally low like some autistic people.

I love frogs, but our dogs love to make them jump and so they would risk death from exhaustion. The autistic empath in me could not stand for that.

I haven’t figured out how to bond with a fish and you can never tell what they are looking at, which can give me anxiety.

We don’t have space for horses at our house, and I was thrown by one at camp when I was ten years old. Dogs and Horses are great in detecting anxiety in their people. Dogs lean into that with love. Horses throw anxious people off as if they were merely shaking off a few fleas. Nonetheless. many autistic people bond with horses, and I am sure I could if I lived on a farm.

While pet rocks are low-maintenance and 100% genuine, dogs bring a special kind of connection that’s been vital for me. I need dogs as companions. I have bonded in some way to fourteen dogs over my lifetime. I think it is safe to say that I might not have made it this far without those companions, especially in my adult life. Mental health issues and suicide can be more frequent in people with autism¹. And research has shown that dogs can improve wellbeing and reduce suicide risk for autistic adults. I know they did that for me.

There is no empirical evidence that pet rocks or volleyballs can do that despite any claims to the contrary.

Atherton et al (2022)² published a paper with this title that expressed two reasons why I would rather be with a dog, “They ask no questions and pass no criticism.” Their results found specific ways that pets improve the lives of autistic people. Their conclusion states it well, “Importantly, establishing an animal-human bond between an autistic person and a pet may provide a unique benefit over and above other interventions typically offered. As autistic people often experience social rejection, criticism, and even bullying when interacting socially with other humans, the positive social interactions they experience when caring for an animal appears to be critical in boosting social self-efficacy and fufilling social needs. …. understanding an animal’s wants and needs could be a valuable way to build skills that may transfer to other settings. Importantly, attachment through animal contact is naturalistic and based on genuine relationships rather than scripted interactions in artificial settings.”

Please read that quote again if you want to understand how valuable pets are to pathologically genuine autistic people.

I can have a challenging time when invited to someone’s house for a party with many people. There are times that I can shut down because of the noise, light, and the general terror of walking into a room filled with people I don’t know, unless I am the host or have some sort of role. In those situations, if the host has a dog, you’ll find me on the floor somewhere less crowded with the dog in my lap, no matter how large. A dog in my lap makes me feel invincible even if it weighs over two hundred pounds and slobbers. And that eases the terror of small talk with people I don’t know. Small talk with dogs is always easy.

When I was provost at the University of Arkansas, I served on a panel of provosts for a Southeastern Athletic Conference at a leadership development program. This is one of the few events in SEC schools that aren’t about football. We were given a set of topics to reflect on. One of the topics was work-life balance. I am truly the last person in the world to give advice on work-life balance. I think my autism drove me to work to avoid life, so the balance for me was a bit one-sided.

At the time, the greatest joy every day was coming home and being greeted by our Bichon Frise, Halley, who threw a 4^th of July celebration complete with confetti, a marching band, and free face washing every time I came home. I arrived home stressed. It was hard not to smile in the face of her unbridled joy.

So, when it was my turn to talk about work-life balance, I told the story of Halley’s greetings and how important having a dog was to me. That was the only thing I had to talk about, albeit I might have mentioned playing guitar and piano. One of my colleague provosts summed up my response to the work-life balance topic this way. She said something like, “You just told a group of aspiring deans, provosts, and university presidents that your only advice was that they needed to get a dog to balance work and life!” She thought it was funny. I did, too. And, it may have been the best advice I ever gave

This is Halley. This is just prove to you that she knows how to party

I am less stressed now that I am no longer a provost. But, our two dogs, Brea (English Cream Golden) and Kira (Bichon Frise) continue the tradition of reminding me that life is good and throwing July 4^th celebrations every time I come home. They also make me get up and walk them on the beautiful nature trail behind our house. And Brea and I always cuddle on the floor before I go to bed. She just melts as she lies against me, making me feel absolutely loved. If I were to mistakenly lock either or both of them in the trunk of my car (I would never do that), they would throw me a July 4^th celebration because they would be happy to see me as soon as I rescued them. If I locked my wife or my brother in my trunk, they wouldn’t respond that way.

me and Brea

Kira

Once I was assessed as autistic, I started to wonder why my relationship with my canine companions was so important. Although, I can now see all the benefits described in the two research papers I cited, and many others. The reason I came up with was that dogs are completely genuine so are great companions for a pathologically genuine person like me. One never has to read between the lines of a dog’s behavior. That made relationships with dogs so much easier than with people. Challenges with people in the South were significant. There it felt like reading between the lines was required for survival. You will know what I mean if anybody ever said “Bless your heart” to you in Arkansas.

If I had my choice I would return to Maine. When I lived in Maine, the culture was very much do whatever you want, just don’t bother anyone else. And, people didn’t say much, but they usually meant exactly what they said when they spoke. Also, everyone in Maine seemed to be fine with t-shirts, flannel shirts, jeans, LL Bean boots or sneakers for most any occasion. Being a forestry major, LL Bean played a significant role in my undergraduate experience providing all the essentials like hard hats, steel-toed boots, pack boots, an axe, DBH tape, and endless supplies of DEET needed to survive the Jurassic Park biting insects of the Maine woods. My image of myself became, and still is, a casually dressed Mainer with a golden retriever walking in the woods during the peak of fall colors, thanks to the LL Bean catalog.

So, it should not be a surprise that I shared my life with seven golden retrievers- Seamus, Bodega (named after Bodega Bay, not a small grocery store- she was part collie); Shasta, Tahoe, Ginger, Annie, and Brea.

Seamus got me through graduate school. Feeling socially isolated and not being able to find a girlfriend made that the most vulnerable time for me with respect to suicide. Seamus came everywhere with me. Well, not always, and he gave me a look that could kill when he realized he wasn’t spending the day with me.

Bodega got me through my assistant professor years where I experienced tenure and professional anxiety a very deep depression and was saved by the magic of serotonin uptake inhibitors. I also finally understood depression, especially after reading William Styron’s “Darkness Visible.” Bodega was the hairiest dog in the universe, so I always was covered in hair. She also came into the office everyday with me. We would arrive at 8:00AM and she would run to get a treat in the main office. Then she would sit under my desk most of the day. Bodega even rode the elevator by herself, which surprised a few people.

Tahoe and Shasta transitioned us to Missouri. They were both retired breeders. Each of them seemed predetermined by the universe to find us. We drove 500 miles each way to get Shasta, who was retiring as a breeder. Her original name was Nina, and at the time, I didn’t want to have a dog with a person’s name. My wife and I wrote down maybe 100 possible names on the drive down. We met Shasta about 8:00 PM, fell in love, and then went to a hotel for the evening. My wife and I walked into the hotel room, looked at each other and almost simultaneously said, “We should name her Shasta.” We picked her up for the drive home in the morning. We were given her AKC papers. Shasta’s grandmother was named Shasta Golden Lake. It was meant to be.

Ginger was a rescue who helped me survive my time in Houston by myself. My wife had little interest in living in Houston. Although my wife hadn’t figured out I was autistic yet, she knew me well enough to feel certain I would embark on another nomadic transition within a few years. She was right.

Annie helped heal the grief of my father’s loss, even though she had a penchant for eating dishtowels and potholders and put fear into everything in our house made of fabric. She also auditioned for the cover of the LL Bean catalog as you can see below.

Brea recently joined us. Brea is a retired breeder from Arkansas. But, she is not a creature of Southern culture in the sense that one never has to read between the lines. Brea has bonded with me more than any dog I have ever had. I also trained her to be a therapy dog.

I trained Brea as a therapy dog for two reasons. First, I knew my students at UNCG would love to have her visit class and office hours. Fifty-three percent of students in my 150-student ecology course this Fall indicated to me that they suffer from mental health issues, anxiety, and twenty percent indicated they are neurodiverse. Over one hundred of the students were enthusiastic when asked whether they would like Brea to come to class for pet therapy. There was only one person that would have preferred she not to come. In fact, it is safe to say that the only two things these students agree on: 1) They are far too busy: 2) They like therapy dogs.

Brea is magical. You can see their anxiety disappear when they come up before and after class to get hugs. And Brea loves it too. Her goal is to accumulate as many pets and treats as she can during her lifetime. Here is Brea in action.

Brea showing her pet therapy skills

I probably would not have survived without the unconditional love of dogs along with my commitment to the responsibility to take care of them, which was a reason not to die by suicide.

Once I knew I was autistic, I understood what dogs really meant to my life. So, Brea and I also volunteer as a pet therapy team at a 4-12 grade school for autistic students in our hometown. She is an exceptional pet therapy dog, which means she is happy to sit still and let as many people pet her as possible. Again, some of the students at the school have their autistic anxiety melt when they see her, pet her, and be healed by her eyes.

Brea’s superstardom as a therapy dog led to me joining the Board of the school. I have learned so much. Most importantly, the school works hard to meet each student where they are. And I discovered that although autism can be defined by a series of traits, the way individuals experience those traits differs dramatically.

For example, I was surprised that not all the students were dog people, and some are quite scared of dogs, even Brea, who has never even growled in her life. I had mistakenly assumed that the relationship between autistic people and dogs was a result of tight co-evolution.

I was wrong.

Nonetheless, statistically pets really help autistic people. My own thought is that pathologically genuine people like me deserve companions that also do not know how to be anything but genuine. Wilson and Pet rocks fit with these criteria. But dogs also genuinely shower love on people and know exactly how to interact when they detect a person’s emotions. Inanimate objects are still not able to do that. So, my advice to you and to myself is still to get a dog!

References

¹Brown CM, Newell V, Sahin E, Hedley D. 2024. Updated Systematic Review of Suicide in Autism: 2018-2024. Current Developmental Disorder Reports 11:225-256. https://doi.org/10.1007/s40474-024-00308-9

²Atherton G, Edisbury E, Piovesan A, Cross L. 2022. ‘They ask no questions and pass no criticism’: A mixed-methods study exploring pet ownership in autism. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders 53:3280-3294. doi: 10.1007/s10803-022-05622-y