I am in favor of personal superstitions.
Not the kind Granma mumbles
Or the stuff of fright-night moves
But the ones that grow on you
When you notice which incidents in a day
Are shadows cast by something ahead
And get to know which clues from the world
Are reliable road signs.

I think a black dog, if friendly,
Is always a good omen
And could be a god traveling in disguise.
Some days you don’t have to figure this out.
At the door of possibility on San Francisco Bay
A black dog crossed my path.
His walker, a ruddy man in a red pixie hat,
Told me the dog’s name is Pollo,
Short for Apollo.
I have a black dog of my own.
His name is Nubie, short for Anubis.
He lives on my dreams
And takes on many bodies in the world.

I’ve noticed again and again over the years that in my life the appearance of a
friendly black dog, especially under unsual circumstances, often presages
something good. My feelings may be related to the fact that I shared my home
for many years with a couple of big, sloppy black dogs; one of them returned to
me in dreams, after his death, as an impeccable friend and guide. 

In the midst of a rather difficult phone conversation with a powerful producer
who had not quite been “sold” on doing a certain show with me, we
were interrupted repeatedly by the barking of a dog. Finally I asked,
“What kind of dog is that?” “It’s a black lab,” the
producer explained. It turned out she was sitting a friend’s dog for the day –
a black dog. I knew in that instant that the conversation would turn out just
fine. I proceeded to tell the producer stories about black dogs who
have given me messages (some of these are in The Three “Only”
Things) – and the producer did not waste another second before agreeing to
put me on the show. “How soon can we book you?”

On my way home from leading another workshop, I stopped for essential
groceries. When I came out of the supermarket, I noticed that the car parked
beside me had a decal that read: “Black Labrador Taxi Service.” Yes,
the rest of the evening was just lovely.

Now I have a small and very woolly black puppy. Even when he pulls me out of a dream for an early walk, I know he’s good luck. When I first brought him home, he decided the pile of papers at my left hand might be chewies, and pulled out a document. When I grabbed it from him, I discovered it was a letter from several years ago, containing a dream report from a person I was going to speak with that day – exactly what I needed to know as background for that important conversation.