Dreaming of Dogs

I dream of dogs. Often. Their presence in my dreams is a reflection of their presence in my life.

They've been with me since the start, as regular a part of my family as a sister, a mother, a grandmother. In fact, because my father's truck driving job frequently took him away from home for days or weeks at a time, I've actually logged more days with a dog at my side than a dad. To put it in their way of seeing things, dogs are part of my pack, and my world feels unbalanced without them.

I know this bond has been a natural habit for humankind since cavemen first took wolf pups into their den. We are both social animals. On that primal level, we think alike. We share our lives. We work together. We comfort each other. We are family.

Many have weighed in on the subject of this ancient association. Here in modern times when the connection results in a pet relationship more often than a working relationship, the opinions often fall in the extremes. On one side, there are those who see dogs as just a step above objects. They scoff at the idea of attributing them with human emotion, or any feelings at all above survival level. On the other, there are doting doggie parents who are sure their dog understands every word they say, including the complexities of human relationships and aspirations. As usual, I think reality favors the middle ground.

Any reasonably aware human being who has spent time in the company of dogs (or any other animals, in fact) knows that they do have emotions, ideas, personalities and modes of communication. The idea that humans are distinct from animals in these respects is a conceit based in the old "us and them" concept that has caused trouble for mankind throughout history. Dogs do experience joy and loss. They play. They work through problems and respond to the moods in their environment. Yet, to assume that dogs think or communicate in exactly the same way as humans would be a mistake. Just as there are differences between human societies, there are differences between human and dog society. It is the first step in a good man-dog relationship to recognize and respect both the similarities and differences in your culture. You find this sort of mutual respect common in the working dog relationship.

Even with pet dogs, though, many families find the comfortable acceptance of their dog grows into a true pack bond. They start to understand their dog's communications, perceive their moods, and develop patterns of life that include their canine friend. For their part, a dog similarly molds its behavior to its family. Loss of their canine companion is keenly felt by the human family, and loss of any part of that pack is also keenly felt by the dog.

A particular example comes to mind as I write this. Many years ago, my husband's cousin was killed in an accident, and his mother couldn't take care of the dog he had raised. Though my husband is allergic, we took in the dog, a boxer mix named Joy. Joy was anything but joyful when she came to us. She moped. She cried. She wouldn't eat. Whether she understood that her master was dead or not, Joy was mourning the loss of her packmate. Gradually, she warmed to her new family, brightening and enjoying her last few years surrounded by love. Joy's passing left us with a sense of loss that matched hers when she had come to us.

Years later, we were still dogless, having chosen to avoid complications with my husband's allergies, when our daughter's friend was facing the prospect of losing her own dog. She and her dog Tasha had met when she was in kindergarten and Tasha was just a puppy, but economic problems were forcing her family to move to an apartment that didn't allow pets. So, we offered to care for Tasha until they were in a more stable place. She was with us for years, becoming a beloved part of our family while staying in touch with the first family she had known. Tasha moved back with them when they were able to buy a house, and though that separation has been tough for us, we are happy to see her growing old with the people she knew as a puppy.

In Tasha's absence, my daughter adopted a shelter dog, a little border terrier mix she named Freya. Freya is quiet, nervous and a little stubborn, and she brought a number of health problems with her. She was allergic to all sorts of things, and she and my husband both suffered from the itchy skin and watery eyes that contact with their allergens provoked. Still, they bonded and could usually be found sharing a chair despite the trouble it caused. Freya is such a sweet creature, she even inspired two relatives to adopt dogs into their own families. But, when my daughter moved out, Freya went with her, and now our house is dogless again.

We have, as many times before, decided not to get another dog. The allergies have worsened over the years, and there are fewer people in our house over the course of the day. Odd schedules would make caring for a dog complicated at this time. Still, the absence is felt, and I find myself thinking of the dogs I've known at odd moments. A little thing like opening the front door has me replaying canine greetings in my memory. Hearing tales of a coworker fostering puppies or another going on a dogsled adventure is enough to fill my dreams with their presence again.

In my dream the other night, I was buying dog food to save for the next dog who joins our family. Despite our logical decision not to seek another pet, there is yet the sense that one may need us some day. In the past, Fate has offered connections and opportunities to help, whether we planned it or not.

Until that time, I'll have to be content with visiting or dog-sitting the ones I know. I'll continue donating to local shelters to try to ensure that every lost pet has a chance at a new family. And I know that I will always be dreaming of dogs.