Alexandra Day Defends Rottweilers' Honor in Good Dog, Carl

There are certain breeds of dogs who are always getting a lot of flack. Pit bulls. Dobermans. Rottweilers. I wonder if Alexandra Day encountered a lot of ill will toward the latter that led her to attempt to give them better publicity. Starting with Good Dog, Carl, she has produced a series of books in which a Rottweiler is depicted as the most saintlike of dogs.

Good Dog, Carl is a beautifully illustrated, mostly wordless picture book focusing on the dog’s day at home attending to the family baby. His mistress, who promises to be back home “shortly” but seems to stay away much longer than that, has no qualms about leaving Carl in charge. She knows how responsible he is. We’re about to find out.

Carl is no ordinary dog, and that’s what makes these books both so appealing and vaguely unsettling. For instance, I recently watched Kipper’s Playtime, a collection of cartoons about an anthropomorphic dog and his friends. In one of the shorts, he babysits his friend’s toddler cousin, who happens to be a pig. But Kipper behaves like a human, so there’s nothing very odd about this situation.

By contrast, Carl lives in a very realistic world, and he clearly is supposed to be a realistic dog. But not even Lassie was capable of turning on the record player or making a sandwich or operating a hair drier. Carl does all of these things, using his teeth or paws to assist him. He’s absurdly nimble. Granted, he’s not quite as coordinated as a human would be, so some messes are inevitable, but Carl is also adept at cleaning after himself. Is there anything this dog can’t do?

Day’s tempera paintings are soft and lifelike. While perusing the pictures, it’s tempting to reach out and ruffle Carl’s ears. Stripped of the fierce connotations that often accompany this breed of dog, gentle Carl is quite adorable. There are many irresistible illustrations of his young charge clinging to his fur, and the mutual affection is apparent.

On the other hand, because of the realism, the general concept of a dog babysitting an infant is unnerving, and certain moments within the book seem downright troubling. I’m thinking especially of Carl placing the baby inside the aquarium so she can go for a swim and dropping her into a bathtub in which the water looks fairly deep. These both seem like accidental drownings waiting to happen. Meanwhile, the painting of him trotting up the stairs with the baby on his back invites visions of tumbling head over heels and losing a tooth or breaking a bone.

Good Dog, Carl is a lovely book, and like other books in which the pictures tell the whole story, it offers an opportunity for youngsters to hone their own storytelling skills as they describe what is happening. Mostly, I’m inclined to overlook the strangeness of the situation. But there’s still that little voice inside nagging away. I’m convinced that Carl is a good dog. But I still wouldn’t want a Rottweiler, or even a Golden Retriever, having sole responsibility for my baby.