From the Editor

MY BLACK DOG is the one who tends to partake of the magical. Maybe because we have spent so many silent hours together, he is the one who appears in dreams, uttering portents and taking on different shapes.
    If you are at all mystically inclined, you will know what I’m talking about. Animals have a talent for crossing the veil between the worlds.
    I had a reminder of this recently on a family trip to Sedona. We got caught in a freakish Arizona rainstorm, and spent most of the day in our camper, growing restless. When the clouds parted, we attempted a nearby trail that my husband Greg said we had hiked before. But after 30 minutes of intermittent raindrops, he declared the hike over.
    I balked, and carried on with Brisket as Greg dragged poor Wooby back to the campground.
    The rain eventually let up, and I kept meaning to turn around. But it had been so long since Brisket and I had walked alone together that we just kept on. He bounced along with his proud Scottie gait, pulling me down the trail. When we came to a junction, we took another trail, and a mile or so later, I finally decided to turn back.
    Now it was Brisket who refused. Showing none of his middle-aged lethargy, he was jumping up and down and yanking at the leash like a puppy.
    “We have to go back, Brisket. It will be three hours by the time we finish.”
    Yank yank.
    The thought suddenly popped into my head that this trail might be part of a loop that led back to the campground, something I seemed to remember discovering on a previous visit.
    “Are you sure, Brisket? For sure this is the right trail?”
    Yank! Yank! He skipped down the trail, leading confidently.
    After 10 more minutes, I realized that this was foolhardy and decided to turn back. Brisket was adamant. He was not usually so insistent, and it occurred to me that perhaps one reason I don’t feel refreshed anymore by time off is that I never do insane things like listen to my dog.
    We kept on past the sensible point of return, into the vast foothills of dry scrub. I could see where we were in relation to the campground, but it looked a long way off. Nervous, I texted Greg that we were taking a long loop back. He texted back that I was very foolish to hike alone, had a terrible sense of direction, and would likely lose cell coverage soon. I put away the phone and let Brisket lead me out.
    Two hours later, as we came upon the campground, I watched him transform back into someone’s dog, being led around on a leash. It reminded me of what Amata Bocella, the now-banished shepherdess at El Rancho de las Golondrinas, had told me about their flock—that they “act like sheep” around others, so no one ever witnesses their alert presence, the uncanny communication she had with them when we were alone.
    It’s a truth that animals point to sometimes that is right here in front of us, but unremarked because it cannot be verified or explained—as when decisions made by a rabbit or squirrel are so clearly guided by a higher intelligence. We see what we have been trained to see, so the vast majority of people, the vast majority of the time, see only the dumb, instinctive, mechanical beings that animals are portrayed to be by science.
    Yet, as more of us develop a deep fascination with our fellow creatures, from the ones most like us to those living with us, a change appears to be taking place that has less to do with demographics than with a great, shared subconscious longing.
    It appears we like the idea of an intelligence that is not human, and that many of us take comfort in it every day, even if we don’t consider it as earth-shatteringly important as rocket science or brain surgery. And if you are a person who cannot resist following a rabbit down a hole occasionally, you may glimpse the promise of a haven beyond the insanity of human thinking.
    Close your eyes sometime and let your dog lead, out beyond cell phone coverage. He just may show you the true way home.