Jackie Wells-Fauth
I read an interesting article the other day. According to some study out there, dogs dream all the time. And more than that, their dreams are about us, their owners. I’m not sure who interviewed the canines for this or how it was accomplished, but how interesting.
I looked at my dog, Josie, lying on the floor, just waking up from her tenth nap of the day. She blinked up at me and I said, “You must have a lot of nightmares.”
She simply yawned and went back to sleep. She has nothing to worry about as long as she has Roy.
I generally refer to Josie as “stupid,” but in reality, she is pretty smart for a four-legged mammal who drinks out of the toilet and chews on a rubber pig for fun.
When we plan any trip or activity, I plan what to pack and who to visit and Roy plans for the dog. I love to stop and eat at a nice restaurant along the way on our frequent trips to see the kids. But we can’t do that with the dog along—unless we can find a spot that’s shady enough or warm enough, or just plain fine enough for the dog.
We once parked three blocks out of the way of a restaurant, so the dog was in a shady spot. That, while we strolled through the hot sun to get to the restaurant. But normally, she’s much nearer to us than that. Roy has been known to go out during a meal and move the car, so he has a better view of her circumstances. Now, I don’t want the dog to fry in the car, but I also dread the day when we invite her inside to enjoy a steak and fries and maybe some ketchup to dip them in!
It isn’t only when we travel that the dog lives well. She has chewed up countless dog beds, I presume in protest to the indignity of lying on the floor. She leaves them in absolute shreds while she commandeers the couch I had planned as a bunk for grandsons when they visit. Not that they would mind sharing with her one bit—she has them wrapped around her paw as well.
Josie is beginning to show her age—and aren’t we all? She’s getting gray around the muzzle, and she takes a little more effort to jump in the pickup for a hunting excursion. And after an hour or two of tramping through the tall grass and chasing pheasants, she’s pretty tired, but she and Roy still enjoy the outing!
But even this doggy-master romance has its rough patches. The dog came home with a limp and a sheepish air about her from their latest outing. I noticed with surprise that her best buddy had a bandage on his hand and an air of regret.
Turns out loading an aging dog is not so handily done as before and as Roy was helping her in, she caught her leg. Roy, not realizing this, continued to push and in her distress, Josie drove home her point by driving her teeth into his hand. She obviously felt bad about what was, for an animal, a purely instinctive survival action, but I couldn’t resist a little “jab” of my own.
“So, biting the hand that fees you, are you, dog? That is not very smart.”
She turned and gave me that grave, considering look she has, as though she’s mentally measuring me for a pine box and a hole in the ground.
Yeah, I don’t think I’d care to analyze any dreams that dog has about me!
dropsinthewell 