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Spike braces against it, staring steadfast to the river. I figure we’re stuck here forever, where we can be breakfast lunch and dinner for the hairy monster and her family, but then Brooklyn reaches forward and head-butts Spike on his hip, knocking him sufficiently off balance for Taylor to get the front end moving back onto the path where they walk happily in the direction of the barn. And safety.
    â€œDid you go for a swim?” she calls over her shoulder. “Brooklyn looks kind of wet.” She hasn’t noticed that he’s also breathing hard.
    I can’t tell her what really happened. If it gets back to my parents I’ll never be allowed to ride again.
    â€œIt was deeper than I thought,” I say.
    â€œSilly goose,” says Taylor. She scratches Spike between his ears then loops her arm over his withers, the lead rope slack in her other hand. “Animal communication is easier than I thought. I bet I could teach it to you.”
    Is she not even going to ask why I’m on foot and not riding?
    â€œI know you don’t think of yourself as being very spiritual, but I think all of us are born psychic, then most people forget. It’s kind of a mass psychic amnesia.”
    I wouldn’t mind a little amnesia right now. I keep seeing in my mind the image of that creature’s face and it freaks me out and makes me feel sick again. I’ve seen something I shouldn’t. I can’t make sense of it. It’s almost like the time that Taylor and I were trying to haul Bunga out from under Auntie Sally’s bed so we could clip his toenails and we found her vibrator, and I thought it was some special kind of curling iron so Taylor had to explain it to me so then on top of feeling mortified and embarrassed I also felt really stupid. I had to work hard at not imagining Auntie Sally with a sex toy. Which is probably what I should do now: I should work hard at not picturing that creature. I should tell myself I just imagined it.
    â€œSpike says to tell you that you don’t need to be frightened, because he will protect us,” says Taylor.
    I draw in a breath then slide my fingers up under Brooklyn’s mane and hang onto the crest of his neck. “What would I be frightened of? Animal communication?” There’s a sneer in my voice that reminds me of Franco, and I’m not proud of it. Taylor is, after all, trying to be helpful.
    â€œI’m just telling you what he said,” says Taylor. “Spike is very intuitive. Plus donkeys and hinnies and mules are used as livestock protection animals. I’ve seen a video on YouTube where a mule kills a cougar.”
    There are some crashing sounds from the bushes, then a deer bounds across the trail ahead of us. I break out in a fresh sweat. The deer is nothing to be frightened of, but what if something was chasing it? Something tall and hairy that moves with the grace of a werewolf and has the face of an ape? Have I discovered a were-ape?
    Taylor is humming. Taylor who is usually afraid of everything, and here she is in the woods with wild animals all around us and she’s contented and relaxed and totally oblivious.
    â€œSing with me,” she says. “Let’s do Sound of Music songs.” She launches into the title track.
    I don’t want to sing, especially not Sound of Music songs. I’m not retro like Taylor but it occurs to me that the more noise we make, the better chance there is of scaring off the unclassified wildlife. So I draw a deep breath and join her, and when I can’t remember the words I la-la-la as loud as I can. Taylor stops singing and looks back over her shoulder at us, then carries on with another verse.
    When we reach the barn, Auntie Sally is waiting for us. She’s sitting in her car reading a home decorating magazine.
    â€œWe went for a walk,” explains Taylor. Then, almost as if she knows something is going on and wants to distract Auntie Sally, she