Very early this morning I had a dream about dogs. I kept thinking about it as I got ready for work, realized I was running late for work, drove to work, cursed the traffic, cursed the fact that I work 20 miles from my house, bemoaned the lack of teleportation in modern society, and wondered what I would eat for breakfast. Oh right, I was starting to talk about my dog dream.
Normally I wouldn’t post something so mundane on the blog (who would care about my stupid dream?). But then I thought, “well, it’s not like I’ve been posting lots of other really interesting and thought-provoking things (you know, because I hardly ever post – feel free to virtually slap me on the wrist now).” And then I read this post from The Pioneer Woman, whom I love by the way (who doesn’t?!), and thought I should just go ahead and post my stupid dream and you guys can make fun of it and/or me all you like. Or share your own dreams and we can all make fun of one another. Just don’t make fun of Hamlet; he doesn’t have opposable thumbs and hence has an inferiority complex. Plus he overslept this morning and that always gets him started on the wrong paw. It’s not like sunbathing, bone chewing, squirrel watching, or an additional six hours of sleep require getting off on the right paw, but still. In any case, just don’t make fun of Ham because he’s my baby and I just couldn’t stand it.
Now that we’re clear on the rules, I’ll get on with the dream. In the dream it was Christmas or just after Christmas. In any case, I had received two puppies from my mom as my Christmas gift. At first they were Golden Doodle looking or Sheepdog-esque and were the size of teddy bears but then in a later scene they were both Boston Terriers and very tiny. Anyway, the magical, morphing dogs originally were a larger breed and were easy to keep track of as they romped around. But then they did their magical morph (apparently off-stage because I didn’t witness it) and were tiny. I’m talking teeny. Teeny tiny, fit into the palm of my hand. Ok, one was that small and the other one was about the size of a cantaloupe.
Now that they were small, it was time for them to go outside to go to the bathroom. Conveniently, although I was at my apartment in Denver, CO and it was December, it was no longer wintry; rather, it was warm outside and there was lots of lush green grass and the trees were full of leaves and everyone was in shorts and flip flops. Mind you, Hamlet was running around feeling like the now-forgotten-but-feeling-gigantic-compared-to-the-new-puppies oldest sibling during all of this. Ther’s a problem: I don’t have enough leashes. There are only two leashes and three total dogs so someone has to go without.
I leashed up the puppies, reasoning that Hamlet is oldest and most accustomed to being off leash, and we headed downstairs to the lawn. I remember carrying the puppies in my arms and being scared because they were so very small and squirmy. I felt like I couldn’t keep track of them even when they were right in my arms. I think the smaller one may have disappeared in the crook of my elbow.
We were met downstairs by my neighbor and some kids from around the complex, who were of course enamored with the puppies and convinced me to take them off leash so they could play with them. Never listen to nine year old children. Never. They live off of candy, video games, and their inflated sense of self esteem and will tell you whatever is necessary for you to put your magical dream puppies in mortal danger. Of course as soon as I took them off leash, the puppies disappeared into the grass. Like melted into the grass Field of Dreams style. I remember thinking, “I can’t believe Mom got me puppies for Christmas. I thought it would be great to have three dogs but they’re too much to handle. And I write a dog blog. I tout myself as a responsible pet owner. I can’t even manage three dogs. And birds might soon take to nesting in my hair. And I have zits on my face. And I have laundry to do. So much laundry. I need more dog food. I need LEASHES! I’m never going to find them, they melt-disappeared. They’re so crafty and small. I’m so worried. What am I going to do?”. I felt sick and terrified.
With the help of neighbors and the children, we found the puppies safe and sound and I basked in relief and banished the “what if…” thoughts from my head. However, during the fracas Hamlet had disappeared. Not Field of Dreams-ed into the grass but truly run away. He was nowhere to be seen, he wouldn’t come when called (some obedience school graduate he is!), and I immediately felt terrified all over again. My stomach dropped 10 floors. Then the “what if…” thoughts began and I was on the verge of tears.
I woke from the dream and still had that sick feeling in my stomach. And I felt around in the bed until I found Hamlet snoring right next to me. I realized I didn’t have two puppies and I was relieved for that too. The sick feeling took a few minutes to subside because Hamlet once ran away in real life so I unfortunately know what that actually feels like. I’m sure every pet owner has had a runaway scare at one point or another. Isn’t it the worst?
Lessons learned from this weirdo dream:
1. Don’t look at available Boston Terrier puppies from MidAmerica Boston Terrier Rescue a few hours before bed.
2. Don’t watch “MASH” and let it infiltrate your dreams; I think the puppy names Relo and Riley were a spin-off from Radar Riley.
3. Don’t share your dreams on the blog unless it is your goal to alienate the few readers you have left.
4. Do make sure your house has an equal ratio of dog leashes to dogs.
Do you ever have dreams (whether normal or weird) about your dogs? No? Ok, so I’m the only one. Or the only one stupid enough to post about it online. Thanks for indulging me and listening to my dream, that is if you haven’t fallen asleep on your keyboard yet. Hello? Oh no. I’ve lost you forever. Well, it was fun while it lasted.