Anne Abel is the author of the new memoir Mattie, Milo, and Me. It focuses on her relationships with two of her dogs. Her work has appeared in a variety of publications, including Lilith. She lives in New York City.
Q: What inspired you to write Mattie, Milo, and Me?
A: I was inspired to write Mattie, Milo, and Me because I wanted to share with people who think they are not dog people, that dogs really can add joy, love and comfort to your life.
I was an anti-dog person before I finally relented after almost a decade and got my son the dog he always wanted. Much to my surprise, I fell in love with Mattie the moment I met her. She was like a living, breathing hug. And absolutely no work. She didn’t even need to be walked.
When Mattie was killed, I unwittingly adopted Milo. He was the exact opposite of Mattie and was everything anyone would not want in a dog. But I did not have the heart to return him. I grew to love him as much as Mattie, but in a different way. No two loves are the same.
I want people who think they don’t want a dog, or that they can only have one kind of dog, to know that different dogs can offer different, wonderful things, and that they should be open to these possibilities.
Q: Can you say more about your relationships with Mattie and with Milo?
A: Mattie was a very easy dog to love. She did nothing but give love and take love. I suffer with depression and just looking at Mattie lifted my spirits.
I hadn’t known when I adopted Milo that he was aggressive and that we were the third family he had been placed with in 18 months. But, even as he revealed himself almost immediately to be an out-of-control dog who would require a lot of time and work, and also learning on my part, I could not send him back. I believe every living being deserves a second or third or fourth chance.
My mother repeatedly reminded me when I was growing up, “I was only 22 when you were born. I didn’t want to have you. I had other things I wanted to do.” So, I knew what it was like not to be wanted. I wanted to do for Milo what no one had done for me.
He was a lot of work, even after the six months it took to get him (mostly) under control. But I grew to love him so much. I appreciated his athleticism, curiosity and energy. I loved that whenever I came into a room, his Lion King tail did a 180-degree swish.
Unlike my parents, Milo was happy to see me. It gave me such joy – empathetic joy – to be able to help Milo be the living being he wanted and needed to be.
Q: How are your two new dogs you write about in the book doing now?
A: Sadly, “the two new dogs” at the end of Mattie, Milo and Me have died. Ryan died just a few months ago at the age of 19.5 years old. He was completely incontinent for several months before he died. My husband washed the bathroom and gave Ryan baths multiple times a day.
Each time he wrapped him in a towel after the bath, or anytime he picked him up he’d say to Ryan, “Do you know how much I love you?” And OMG I am sure Ryan did. I get tears just remembering these and so many other Ryan-moments.
Ryan was a fighter when it came to his life. He defied death multiple times. We were determined to keep him alive only as long as it seemed he was still enjoying his life.
One morning after what was probably a mini stroke, Ryan made it clear to us that he was ready to say goodbye. I am looking forward to the day when memories of Ryan will bring a smile to my face instead of tears to my eyes.
Q: What impact did it have on you to write this book, and what do you hope readers take away from it?
A: In addition to the idea that dogs of all kinds can be a source of so much joy and love, I would like readers to consider the importance of individuality in all living beings.
My parents systematically extinguished any individuality I might have had. When I was raising my sons, I was committed to helping them become the people they wanted to be. I encouraged them in their interests and helped them work towards their goals.
Likewise with Mattie and Milo. Mattie was easy for me to encourage and enable. She just wanted to love and be loved.
Helping Milo be the living being he needed to be required me to step outside my realm of abilities and expertise. With the help of a dog behavior expert, I worked tirelessly with Milo to teach him how to fit into society and our family as a (mostly) non-threatening dog.
Then, following the expert’s advice, when the six months of intense classes were over, I began taking him to the woods for an hour every morning to let him run free and be the hunter, athlete he was meant to be.
It gave me so much joy and satisfaction to be able to do this for a dog I had seen curled up in a cage on a bed of rags. I hated daily hour-long walks in the woods. But, as much as I hated the thought of them, that is how exhilarated I felt each time Milo went soaring past me from one side of the woods to the other.
I had heard about sympathetic joy in meditation classes. But, until my walks in the woods with Milo, I had never experienced it so purely and viscerally.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: My second memoir, A Sunny Day Bruce Springsteen and Me, will be published September 23, 2025 by She Writes Press.
After having one desk too many thrown at me at the Community College of Philadelphia where I had taught for five years, I walked out the door and thought, “That’s it. I am never coming back.”
But, as soon as I was making a U-Turn headed home, I was panicking. I suffer with depression and I was terrified of falling into the abyss. Again. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
As I was merging onto the expressway I thought, “I know. I’ll go to Australia in three months and go to eight Bruce Springsteen concerts." A year earlier, at the age of 59, I had never been to a concert. But, then to spend time with my son and daughter-in-law who had come to visit, I went to a Bruce Springsteen concert, a man I knew nothing about.
As the crowd mysteriously rose in unison, I rose too. Up on the screen was the face of a man with the biggest, kindest smile I had ever seen. And, for the next three-plus hours that man’s energy, enthusiasm, and humanity lifted me. For three-plus hours Bruce Springsteen made me feel like I had a chance. He made me feel alive.
So, even though I hate to travel, and I hate to be alone, I went home and booked the trip. Twenty-six days, five cities and eight concerts. I went on the trip for structure and focus. I did not go to change. Much to my surprise, I came home a different person.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: I suffer with severe depression. I have had three regimens of electroconvulsive shock therapy (ECT), been inpatient in a psychiatric hospital twice, and tried over 20 anti-depressants. But, now at the age of 70, I am doing much better.
I believe that something that has helped me is my being open to new experiences. Getting a dog. Getting and keeping an insanely difficult dog. Going to a first concert and letting my heart and soul open to the music and lyrics.
And, going on a solo trip to Australia, something that absolutely terrified me. I was not going to have fun. I was going to avoid a fourth round of ECT. The trip was not easy. But I listened to the positive words of many strangers who told me that I was courageous, even exceptional. This was so different from the eyerolls of the people back home.
And I tried to see myself as these strangers saw me. These strangers, the concerts, and a lot of introspection, gave me a positive ball of energy that I had never had before. I was determined not to lose this positive energy when I returned home.
To do so, I ended up making major changes. But every single change contributed to the fulfilling life I lead now.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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