He says he’s bored with his food. He wants salmon. Also, he’s telling me he’s your boyfriend,” said the animal communicator, gently touching my dog’s hips.
My Wheaten Terrier, Lincoln, and I were seated at a table on the patio of a coffee shop that was hosting a psychic fair to raise money for a cat rescue. For $20, I got 15 minutes’ worth of insight.
“Tell him that he turned his nose up at salmon too many times for me to keep offering it to him,” I said.
She kept looking at me, waiting for me to acknowledge my dog’s declaration of our relationship status. “As for my boyfriend …” I laughed awkwardly and made an “eeesh” face, the kind where you rear your head back and show your gritted teeth—like a horse running into a mountain lion. It felt weirdly inappropriate to agree with him.