Dog Dreams

the art of being present

Howdy friends and readers. I hope February is unfolding gently for you. After you read today’s brief offering, I hope you’ll share whatever it brings up for you. Thanks for being here. I appreciate you all so much.

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I’m sitting in my favorite spot on our sectional sofa indulging myself in some mindless television viewing. Tonight’s selection is a show on Paramount Plus called The Agency, starring Michael Fassbender, Jeffrey Wright, and Richard Gere. It’s a CIA/MI6-type thriller—a genre that Ann and I like to watch. The show is based on a French series created by Eric Rochant called The Bureau.

As I’m watching the show, my attention is diverted to one of my dogs Willie. At approximately eleven years, he’s the senior member of our current pack of rescues—a 95-pound Catahoula mix with a beautiful brown brindle coat—and sprawled next to me. Willie is my boy. All of them are, but Willie is particularly attached. A potent mixture of fear—and resultant protective aggression—and incredible sweetness. Ann can always tell where in the house or property I am simply by locating Willie. She calls him—well she calls all of them—my loving appendage.

At this particular moment Willie is dreaming furiously. I choose this adverb for a reason. Willie does very little gently. He is furious in his attention—in his ball play—in his love—in his snoring—and yes in his dreaming.

Last night my focus was drawn away from the layered attention I give televised entertainment. Typically, I’m enjoying the visuals—listening closely for the dialogue—my favorite part as a writer—and carrying on a silent conversation with myself about the goings-on.

Would the CIA really do that nefarious shit?

Of course they would—and do.

Is spyfare really a business, or more like a game? Either way, some of it looks fun.

All the lying and deception must get really tedious. How does one maintain any integrity at all, or do they just give that up in the pursuit of the flag?

Does any of this shit help us be safer?

Whoa—that must have hurt like hell.

Stuff like that rolling around in my head is my normal state while watching agency A lie to agency B about plot C in country D.

Back to my sleeping Willie Beamon Monster Little Bear. Both massive front paws are digging for imaginary turf. Back legs pushing the blankie completely off the couch. The stiff black hairs on his snout dancing as his big, greying snout sniffs for the track he’s following at top speed. The little nubbin he has for a tail—mangled and soon amputated after he was rescued—is bouncing in rhythm. The hackles on his brindled back are raised and rippling which tells me he has a prey in his sights. Squirrel!!!!!

According to researchers at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology concluded that animals have complex dreams, and they can remember and replay long sequences of events when they are asleep. Most dogs spend about half their day in various stages of sleep. Older dogs even more so. Their dreams—like ours—tend to reflect what happened during their active waking hours. If a dog has a healthy happy life spent in the outdoors with loved one and their pack, then they tend to have more active dreams.

According to the researchers, there is a part of our brain stem called the Pons just below the Medulla Oblongata, which is involved in regulating sleep cycles and also inhibiting the movement of our muscles during deep sleep. If you’ve ever had the shit slapped out of you accidentally by your bed partner, it was likely because they were coming out of a dream and the pons part of their brain was deactivating. The Pons is a junction of nerves connecting our spines to our brains and is key to pain signaling and movement throughout our bodies—and those of our animal friends.

Stanley Coren, a professor emeritus of psychology at the University of British Columbia, has done research on dog dreaming. His findings indicate that the Pons is underdeveloped in puppies and also less efficient in senior dogs as they age. Those age groups of canines tend to twitch and move more actively during dream state. He also found—by temporarily disabling the Pons for testing—that senior dogs dream fewer but much longer dreams.

As I watch Willie dancing and running in the youthful and ageless nature of his dream—unconcerned with his osteoarthritis and slowing metabolism—I am taken completely. My attention is so utterly focused on him that I miss a few moments of spies saving—or destroying—their fictional, aggrandized world.

I am overwhelmed by two emotions. A quick burst of fear that my time on earth with him would not last much longer. Having lost Oliver last June, I am acutely aware of the brilliance and brevity of a dog’s life. This quick burst of fear is replaced by a strong surge of gratitude. To be sharing this time and space with this creature that came to me at a year-old back in May of 2015. Both of us survivors. He has lived his entire life with my sobriety—as have all of my current pack. Never have they been neglected by my staying out all night, forgetting to feed them, subjected to my angry shouting or howling at the moon. They’ve had peace, protection, and days of sunshine and fun. The nightmares of Willie’s abusive youth on the reservations of Arizona scrounging and fighting for food and shelter are long past.

I think I’ll stay right here in this moment for a while as he wrestles with the ongoing puzzle of why squirrels can climb trees and he can’t. Spies be damned.