Watchers

his nose to, or wagged his tail at perhaps a hundred out of the thousands of pictures, and his choices were of such variety that Travis could see no pattern to them, no way to link them and divine meaning from their association to one another.
    Einstein was fascinated by an automobile ad in which the car, being compared to a powerful tiger, was shown locked in an iron cage. Whether it was the car or the tiger that seized his interest was not clear. He also responded to several computer advertisements, Alpo and Purina Dog Chow ads, an ad for a portable stereo cassette player, and pictures of books, butterflies, a parrot, a forlorn man in a prison cell, four young people playing with a striped beach ball, Mickey Mouse, a violin, a man on an exercise treadmill, and many other things. He was tantalized by a photograph of a golden retriever like himself, and was downright excited by a picture of a cocker spaniel, but curiously he showed little or no interest in other breeds of dogs.
    His strongest—and most puzzling—response was to a photo in a magazine article about an upcoming movie from 20th Century—Fox. The film’s story involved the supernatural—ghosts, poltergeists, demons risen from Hell— and the photo that agitated him was of a slab-jawed, wickedly fanged, lantern-eyed demonic apparition. The creature was no more hideous than others in the film, less hideous than several of them, yet Einstein was affected by only that one demon.
    The retriever barked at the photograph. He scurried behind the sofa and peeked around the end of it as if he thought the creature in the picture might rise off the page and come after him. He barked again, whined, and had to be coaxed back to the magazine. Upon seeing the demon a second time, Einstein growled menacingly. Frantically, he pawed at the magazine, turning its pages until, somewhat tattered, it was completely closed.
    “What’s so special about that picture?” Nora asked the dog.
    Einstein just stared at her—and shivered slightly.
    Patiently, Nora reopened the magazine to the same page.
    Einstein closed it again.
    Nora opened it.
    Einstein closed it a third time, snatched it up in his jaws, and carried it out of the room.
    Travis and Nora followed the retriever into the kitchen, where they watched him go straight to the trash can. The can was one of those with a foot pedal that opened a hinged lid. Einstein put a paw on the pedal, watched the lid open, dropped the magazine into the can, and released the pedal.
    “What’s that all about?” Nora wondered.
    “I guess that’s one movie he definitely doesn’t want to see.”
    “Our own four-footed, furry critic.”
    That incident occurred Thursday afternoon. By early Friday evening, Travis’s frustration—and that of the dog—were nearing critical mass.
    Sometimes Einstein exhibited uncanny intelligence, but sometimes he behaved like an ordinary dog, and these oscillations between canine genius and dopey mutt were enervating for anyone trying to understand how he could be so bright. Travis began to think that the best way to deal with the retriever was to just accept him for what he was: be prepared for his amazing feats now and then, but don’t expect him to deliver all the time. Most likely the mystery of Einstein’s unusual intelligence would never be solved.
    However, Nora remained patient. She frequently reminded them that Rome wasn’t built in a day and that any worthwhile achievement required determination, persistence, tenacity, and time.
    When she launched into these lectures about steadfastness and endurance, Travis sighed wearily—and Einstein yawned.
    Nora was unperturbed. After they had examined the pictures in all of the books and magazines, she collected those to which Einstein had responded, spread them out across the floor, and encouraged him to make connections between one image and another.
    “All of these are pictures of things that played important roles in his past,” Nora said.
    “I don’t think we can be certain of that,” Travis said.
    “Well, that’s what we’ve asked him to do,” she said. “We’ve asked him to indicate pictures that might tell us something about where he’s come from.”
    “But does he understand the game?”
    “Yes,” she said with conviction.
    The dog woofed.
    Nora lifted Einstein’s paw and put it on the photograph of the violin. “Okay, pooch. You remember a violin from somewhere, and it was important to you somehow.”
    “Maybe he