Today is the first anniversary of my darling Iota's departure to 'go on ahead', as I like to think of it. He was a dog whose most predominant characteristic was that he was full of the joy of life. He was my Scruffy Ray of Sunshine, my Small But Mighty Butterfly Hunter, and Sir Marks A Lot, amongst other monikers. He was the third member of the crew who became my Fantastic Four, and he was/is a light of my life. I am so deeply grateful for all he brought to me, for the laughter and adventures we shared, the quiet depths and delighted heights of what it was to love one another, and the connection that lives on, golden and shimmering, undimmed. I don't feel up for writing up the remembrance post he truly deserves, but wanted to acknowledge him for the wondrous being he was and is. I love you my remarkable, darling boy. Always and always.

Long before our cities, screens, and Google calendars… we gathered as small tribes, huddled around campfires. Each night, a circle of humans gathered together… faces illuminated in the dark by the flickering flames. Stories, told in the dark, rising to fade in the night sky with the smoke. Hearts comforted by the steady crackle of wood. And even today when we sit by a fire, we feel it is comforting. But it is older than comfort… older than memory. Something in us remembers those early days, when humans first coaxed fire to life. Fire meant belonging. Fire meant we had made it through another night. Fire meant that for just a little while, the dark, and what dangers lurked out there, stayed back. And who slipped into the circle with us, not quite human and not quite wild? Dogs. Before they were our companions, guardians, and guides, they were simply the ones who stayed. They snuck close to the warmth and became used to our laughter, our hunger, our fear. And the snacks! And on the nights when hands pounded on drums, when our ancestors danced and sang to the gods… for the hunt… for rain… for tomorrow… dogs were there too. Tails thumping in the dust. Eyes and ears alert. Their bodies experiencing the music they could feel but not quite understand. They were there to share our stories. Not in words... but as witness in presence. And as our tribes grew stronger and larger, we drew them closer into our lives. So the next time you sit by the campfire, and feel something stir within you, or when a dog rests against your leg and you suddenly soften... that’s an old, old thread being pulled from across the ages. We are remembering that life is not just calendars and chores. It’s flame and fur. It's smoke and heartbeat. It's snacks, and a snoring dog. Dogs… the companions who have walked beside us, for longer than history itself. This to me, is The Magic in Dogs. An ancient pact written in warmth, work, and wonder. And now we are part of a modern tribe, with a chance to pause and rekindle some of that old fire.