Dogs: If therapists didn't charge you and were willing to chase sticks, they would be dogs. The kindly and receptive silence, the respect for secrets, the inexhaustible supply of attention-these are a dog's, and a therapist's, finest qualities. Dogs, though, are more fun than therapists, more tender, more dear, and certainly more admiring. Turkeys: I never expected to have any feelings about turkeys, but I love them. They follow me around like puppies. If I say "gobble" to them, they all start gobbling, in unison. Sometimes they show up outside my office and tap on the windows until I look up at them, and then they wait there, with endless patience, until I come outside and greet them. Chickens: Tweed and Mabel Black Label, my Araucana hens, are somewhat antisocial. When I pick up either of them, they eye me with such deep suspicion that I feel like they can smell omelets on my breath. Pet tigers: You know how it is-you start with one tiger, then you get another and another, then a few are born and a few die, and you start to lose track of details like exactly how many tigers you have. Cats: The cats were acquired to deal with the mice in the basement, but they don't like being in the basement because, well, I don't know why. Maybe because there are mice down there. Coyotes: Like everyone in Los Angeles, the coyotes I've seen there look like they work out a lot with personal trainers. Book jacket.