Even as far as deserts go, the Bisti Badlands in northern New Mexico are inhospitable. I have rarely seen so much as a lizard among the stone hoodoos and petrified logs. That’s why I was astonished one wintry day to see a long-eared jackrabbit tear out from a gravelly wash, its lithe body moving so fast it almost floated above the landscape. Two dogs bolted in maniacal pursuit. The dogs belonged to my friends, who screeched at them to stop, but the canines were already too intoxicated with instinct to register any commands. They chased the hare for hundreds of yards, eventually around a corner and out of sight. It took a while for them to return, but they did not come back with a dead rabbit. My friends laughed, as if agreeing that all’s well that ends well—dogs will be dogs! We kept walking. But I felt sad.