Have you ever had one of the those days? I ask my Favorite Kid. Where so many weird things are going on that you start making mental notes so you can blog about it later? And then you wake up?
No, Ma, says my Favorite Kid. I haven't.
Hang on, don't leave just yet. I say, following him out of the living room. Heh, this one was a doozy, kiddo. Lemme tell you what happened in it.
Please don't, Ma. he says.
|Every dog should have a chance to be this happy.|
Because the kid graduated with a double major in psychology and sociology, so he must know this stuff. Surely they covered dream symbolism in some college course. Because why else even have this field of study? And whether he wants the job or not, the kid is stuck as my sounding board as I recount my subconscious goings-on.
And food buffets, too. I say. Always food. And something always keeps me from having any. What does that mean, do you think?
It means, he says. Whatever you want it to mean. It's different for everyone.
Huh, I say. Well, that's helpful not at all. And now I'm hungry.
I head back to the kitchen for my secret chocolate stash*.
Hey, but there's usually a dog or two with me, I say. I guess you don't need to be a psych major for that one, do you?
No, I guess not, says my Favorite Kid. Well done, Ma. See you've figured it out all on your own. Good talk. So can I go now?
And you, dear reader, may relax now as well. We won't be delving any deeper into the dark soul of the overly active id of my subconscious. Well, at least not right now. This split personality will likely come up in conversation again. After all, our alternate world of dreams takes up about a quarter of our lifespan, right?
But sure, it's true that dogs accompany me in my dream world. And how cool is that? I can pretty much count on the presence of a faithful canine all the time. Like 24/7. Yep, envy me y'all.
I wonder, too, what my dogs dream about. Wouldn't you love to be a fly on their nose during their diurnal REM transactions? I sure would, because if the twitching snooter and freely running legs** are an indicator, I really don't think they're slogging through worlds of inaccessible destinations and deprivation of pleasure as some of us human beans are wont to do.
Instead, could our dogs be reliving their awesome day, only better? More intense odors upon the air, longer walks, three tennis balls to chase at once and other wondrous things? Maybe rides in the car where the Food Lady really, really lowers the window so they can stick more than a nostril out?
Oh hey, speaking of nostrils, d'ya ever stick a dog cookie under that twitching nose pad of a sleeping dog and they wake up in momentary disbelief and blink their eyes and then think oh my dog dreams really do come true? That's good times all around, people.
It's entertaining to me to think that Micron has rich dreams. Built on the memories of people he's met and the places he's been.
Like, fer instance, our annual road trip to the pumpkin farm.
Could a visit to the pumpkin farm bring upon an enhanced dreamscape of a field of huge orange tennis balls?
|Dream big, says Micron.|
Or on the other brain node, maybe one of those big orange tennis balls has gone very, very wrong.
Giddyap, my li'l doggie friends, drawls the cowpokin' scarecrow.
Taking a pass, says Micron.
|I close my eyes and still see it, cries Micron. Thank dog|
the thing is lasered in on Fergo.
|One punkin' head too many here, say|
Or the heck with rolling down the car windows. Micron commandeers his very own monster truck with no bothersome barriers whatsoever.
Finally, sighs Micron. I can feel the wind in my ears.
|I call this My Mister Mighty Micron Mad Max|
Muscle Machine with a Huzzah , says Micron.
Or mmmmmmmmwah for short.
So what to do, but gently place a dog cookie in front of his adorable boop button.
And make his dreams come true.
*Cleverly hidden in a complex system within the pots & pans drawer. Good luck stumbling across that stash, Men o'The House.
**And that one time as we were watching Yaxley lie flat on his back with legs galloping onward, we wondered if perhaps he was dreaming he was flying. Like a pegasus or something.
Halloween Memories of YoreOther stories celebrating this mystical time of year. Grab yourself one of the season's ubiquitous pumpkin spice beverages of choice and enjoy these past posts.
A true-ish ghost story at Ghosts in the Walls
A troubling Halloween night babysitting gig when I confirmed the theory that an opposum in a cornfield sounds exactly like three men with an ax at Spirits of the Season.
A Mom Fail story that I somehow segued into Yaxley's first Halloween at When Spots are Scary. It's a gift, this ability to segue two totally random things together. Or a fluke. Either one.
And a couple of short photo posts involving bananas and sharks, but not at the same time. Because that would be messed up, people. At A Vengeful Spirit and Land Shark