Our three day practice session in the city was proving both our safety and our portable happiness. Now and then we had to stop someplace just so I could hug her—we found a bench outside of FAO Schwartz, the famous toy store, and I took her harness off and scratched her chest. And then she flopped over demanding a belly rub. And wouldn’t you know it? Two children from Germany, a boy and girl, about ten years old, accompanied by their mother—they wanted to help give Corky a belly rub…we had a spontaneous belly rub klatsch. Then more people came. A dozen. People unbeknownst to each other, drawn by softness and animal faith in the heart of a great city.
“Animal faith” was philosopher George Santayana’s term for instinctive belief, belief without any rational foundation. I’d begun using the term for my own purposes—walking with Cork was opening things for me and I was starting to feel a foundational confidence and openness I’d never known before. Perhaps it wasn’t rational. But maybe it was? Animals keep us alive to perceptions we’ve given up on. I’d always imagined this was true. Now I was experiencing it. The belly rub klatsch was a little, impromptu church ceremony. Late afternoon sunlight was reflected by tall windows. Children and adults were laughing. Corky had all four feet in the air and a wizened dog smile.
Planet of the Blind 