Trend Alert: Pill-Popping Pets

Max retrieves Frisbees. He gobbles jelly beans. He chases deer. He is -- and this should be remembered when discussions of cases like his blunder into the thickets of cognitive ethology, normative psychology and intraspecies solipsism -- a good dog. A 3-year-old German shepherd, all rangy limbs and skittering paws, he patrols the hardwood floors and wall-to-wall carpets of a cul-de-sac home in Lafayette, Calif., living with Michelle Spring, a nurse, and her husband, Allan, a retired airline pilot. Max fields tennis balls with his dexterous forelegs and can stand on his hindquarters to open the front door. He loves car rides and will leap inside any available auto, even ones belonging to strangers. Housebroken, he did slip up once indoors, but everybody knows that the Turducken Incident simply wasn't his fault. "He's agile," Allan says. "He's healthy. He's a good-looking animal." Michelle adds, "We love him to death." That is why they had no choice, she says. The dog simply had to go on psychoactive drugs.

I arrived the night Max was to receive his first pill. He picked at the food in his chow bowl while the Springs sat at the kitchen table discussing his problems. For starters, there was his overpowering need to be near people, especially Allan. If they put Max outside, he quickly relieved himself and then rushed back indoors; he raced into rooms that Allan was about to occupy; he rested his head against the bathroom door during his master's ablutions. "Watch this," Allan said. He and Michelle stood up to hug. The moment they touched, Max unleashed a string of high-pitched barks. "He likes being close to us, but he doesn't like us being close to each other," Allan said.

These behaviors, however, weren't what prompted the psychiatric intervention.

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