Is there anything cuter then a dreaming dog?

Gonzo has his share of "puppy dreams," and usually they seem to involve running, yipping, and eating. Sometimes, though, at night, I'll wake up to hear him whimpering and whining. He seems to be asleep and dreaming, so they're not the happy dreams of the afternoon naps on the sofa. Our boy is a rescue dog, so it makes me wonder.

Do dogs have dreams of things they don't know? I mean, if they haven't experienced it, can they conceive of it? Are all they thoughts of actuality, and not fantasy? When our boy is dreaming, is he remembering something that had happened, or do dogs have imaginations? I sort of hope they do, and can have nightmares based on things they haven't experienced. Otherwise, our boy might have have some mean people in his life before we came along.

Our boy just loves older people. Where my parents come for a visit, Gonzo will stick with my mom or dad like glue. The same for any older visitors to our house. When we first got our boy, I was walking him around the neighborhood when we passed the apartment building two streets up. There was a little white haired lady walking into the building, when Gonzo spotted her. Our boy whined and pulled toward the lady, which he hadn't done before for anyone but my husband. I believe that our boy thought he knew that lady. I started to think that maybe, just maybe the reason our boy was given to the humane society had nothing to do with him. Maybe he was owned by a sweet older person who couldn't keep him anymore. Maybe that poor person had to go live in a home, or worse, passed on, and the owner's family put Gonzo in the pound. I hope that's the life our boy had before us, and that the nightmares come from his stint at the pound. I'd like to think that he's never met mean people that would hurt him, but sadly, I can't be sure.

Good Boy, Gonzo. Dream a little dream of me (or Mama Cass).

"Trying to find a job, but it just keeps getting tougher every day..."

So I am currently way underemployed. I have a extremely part time job (not scheduled to work for the rest of the month already) and I am actively seeking. I have two jobs that I have interviewed for and am waiting to hear back from, and another two that I am going to interview with next week. That's why I'm home often enough to talk to the dog too much. Poor thing. That's him in the picture. He doesn't know what the heck I am saying, he just keeps listening in case I say, "Out," or "Eat," or " Would you like filet mignon for a snack today?" Well, I've never said that, but a dog can dream, can't he? He's a rescue dog, meaning that we saved him from the Humane Society. Well, they were taking pretty good care of him, but he wanted a home.

Gonzo's story-

My husband and I and his kids would often go the the Humane Society to drop off donations of cat and dog food that I had gotten cheap or free with coupons. (my lifelong hobby, coupon shopping for cheap stuff) While we were there, we would always go visit the puppies and the kitties (yes, I refer to full grown dogs as puppies). Our boy was there, and we met. He took to my husband immediately, but we weren't looking to get a dog just yet. I mean we had talked about getting a dog, and we now had the back yard that we needed to hold a dog, but we really weren't looking. So we left, and went about our lives.

The next week, more donations, another visit, and our boy set up such a racket when he saw my husband. (it sounded like he was being poked with a pin, kind of a "i,i,i,i" in a high pitched squeal, truly unpleasant) so of course, we all went over to see him again. "Gonzo" is his name, and he's a mixed breed, dog-by-committee kind of fellow, with a head that's too small for his body. I start the "He's was funny looking." "Whadda mean, funny looking?" dialog from Fargo, when they were describing Steve Buscemi's character. We all laugh, and hoped for the best for this poor pup with the tiny head and dated name. But we go home without him.

Another week, more donations, although I think I just brought newspapers that time to see the dog again. "I,i,i,i,i,i!" My husband stayed down at the end with Gonzo the whole time we were there, but still wasn't going to take him home. I stage-whispered to Gonzo our house number and told him to go over the wall that night. As we were walking away, my stepson said,"you're so mean; you didn't give him the street name!" That night, my husband said, " I think they going to put the orange tag next to his name. I think he's done for." We got him the next weekend.



Gonzo loves my husband with an adoration that creeps him out sometimes. Gonzo's ideal place is next to my husband on the sofa, staring at him. A dog and his boy.



More to come, so come back if you're interested.