The Barker Street Regulars

assured me that she and Ceci had already been in touch with Jonathan. “Jonathan is, of course, in a temporary state of considerable imbalance,” Irene informed me, “but a radical change at the physical level is far easier to accept when seen in its spiritual context. Ceci is finding great comfort in the continuation of contact.”
    “I didn’t know you did people,” I said. “1 thought—”
    “What I do, as you put it, is cosmic balance. We are a hierarchy, you see, each of us with a particular place, each perfect in that place, provided that it is known and cherished.” She paused. “And your pets?”
    The word always throws me. In my cosmic hierarchy, dogs occupy the pinnacle. Pets always makes me think of creatures incapable of such splendidly unique canine accomplishments as precision heeling and perfect empathy. I mean, did Senator Vest deliver a Eulogy on the Goldfish? Well, there you have it. Without protest, however, I presented Irene Wheeler with two color photographs. One showed Rowdy and Kimi on a pebble beach by the ocean in Maine. The other had been taken indoors at home. Its quality was so-so, but I’d caught the dogs in a characteristic pose, stretched flat on the kitchen floor facing each other, their forepaws almost touching. “Rowdy and Kimi,” I said. “Rowdy is the male, and—”
    Irene Wheeler put a finger to her lips. “They will speak for themselves.” Resting a hand a few inches above each photograph, she closed her eyes. I kept mine open and thought about what Rowdy and Kimi were undoubtedly thinking about, namely, the cat, which I’d locked in my study to prevent if from reclaiming its refuge under my bed.
    Irene opened her eyes. Her face bore a mildly accusatory expression. “Their color is not blue.”
    “Oh.” Had I said that it was? Casting my eyes downward, I realized that I’d dressed for the appointment by wearing a blue denim skirt. I usually wear jeans. Blue jeans. With pockets full of cheese, roast beef, and liver. If blue made the dogs feel anything, the anything was hungry.
    “They wish to be children of light.”
    A primordial longing for the midnight sun? Nonsense. What dogs care about is not color, but odor, the Worse the better. If consulted about my wardrobe, Rowdy and Kimi would advise me never to change my clothes.
    “They are close to nature,” Irene continued.
    “That’s true,” I admitted. “The closer, the better.« The dogs are especially crazy about chasing down nature when it’s small and furry. If pressed, however, they’ll settle for feathers.
    Abruptly switching topics, Irene announced that she was sensing something about teeth.
    “What? ”
    “Teeth,” she repeated. She apologized for not being more specific.
    “There’s nothing wrong with their teeth,” I said.
    “It’s the message I’m receiving,” she said. “I have no doubt whatsoever. Teeth.”
    I was startled. The dogs have wonderful teeth, strong, white, and clean. Because my father thinks that fluoride is part of a Communist conspiracy, I, however, grew up without it and have to go to the dentist all the time. The weird thing was that my teeth look fine. The psychic couldn’t have noticed anything. And the dogs and I are genuine kindred spirits. Was it possible that they or I had somehow radiated vibrations about my teeth?
    “Teeth,” I said. “Well, I’ll bear it in mind.”
    In another abrupt shift, Irene said, “These animals are ancient souls.”
    Give me a break. One look at malamutes, and you can tell they’re ancient souls, the essence of dog primeval.
    Irene then launched into a lecture about—and I’m not making this up—dogs and the solar plexus, of all things. Let me repeat: solar plexus. According to my definition, the solar plexus is the place in your middle that hurts if it gets punched. But according to Irene Wheeler, the solar plexus of the dog radiated cosmic energy that united with human consciousness and raised it to new levels of constancy, loyalty, and bliss. What was special about dogs was that their solar plexuses were cosmically better than anyone else’s. I’m always happy to hear a new theory about the benefits of dogs, of course, but frankly I’d have been equally willing to believe that the power of dogs sprang from the pasterns, the stomach, the pancreas, or a really likely spot such as the brain or the heart.
    Unasked, Irene then began to tell me about myself. I liked navy blue. I responded positively to challenges. I