I was walking my dog Jezebel last
night. Suddenly, she stopped, went stone
still, statue in the night—piercing the darkness with eyes like a knife. “What is
it girl? What’s there.” She was immovable. So I tried to look through her eyes. There was
something there. A spectre-like form stood under a tree. We took small steps toward it. Then, it turned, showing only the flash of its
tale—a fox!
How many of us would have first ignored
the dog and dragged her along? And then,
perhaps missed the fox itself as it quickly turned and vanished?
Have we learned to look through the eyes of a dog? Or, how about that fox looking at us? They see far more acutely than we can ever imagine. One time in Maine, I saw a fox trotting along. I followed it. Catching my scent, it ran off and down a hill and into the woods. I stood there looking for some time without the benefit of the many ways that fox could see me. As I made my way back toward home, who do you think was down the path in the underbrush watching ME? That's right. It did not run off. It back-tracked me to get a better vision of who this guy was that had tracked it.
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