Dog Dreaming

I don’t dream often during sleep other than to carry on working out problems of great logical importance, the solutions to which seem to slip through my fingers like the sands of time when I hazily emerge from my nightly coma.

Once or twice a year, I have an unbridled sex dream. It usually involves the same jet black haired Italian goddess with piercing blue eyes riding me like a prize stallion to the finish line of the Palio. I always wake up abruptly next to the gorgeous Mrs. BB, my sleeping beauty, worried I may have woken her with all of the commotion, and feeling pangs of guilt.

Once every few years I have a nightmare. Avalanches seem to be a common theme, maybe because I spend so much time in the mountains skiing. I get caught in a huge avalanche and wake up just before suffocating feeling almost paralysed for a minute. Terrifying and feels close to the real accounts of survivors I have read.

Last week I had a dream that caught me off guard, one out of my regular pattern.

My dog, an Irish Setter was speaking to me. Now this is strange as I don’t have a dog, though I did have an Irish Setter when I was growing up. Oddly, it did not occur out of the ordinary at the time that the dog was speaking to me, in a rather posh English accent.

“Beaverboosh, may I have an iPhone,” asked the dog?

My initial reaction was one of surprise. I mean, why would a dog need an iPhone, or any phone for that matter. Understandably I said no.

The subsequent lucid clarity of the dog’s rather comprehensive and well thought out requirements were compelling. Though I cannot recall the argument, which was lost in the mists of dreamland, I remember being impressed and thinking the dog must have read classics at university or at minimum be a fan of Cicero.

“You make a number of excellent points, and a very good case,” says me, “sure, I’ll pick up a 3Gs for you this afternoon.”

“Super,” said the dog, “and thank you, I greatly appreciate it.”

Some believe dreamland is a ‘rubbish bin’ for the conscious mind to discard un-required information.

I have a lot or rubbish on my conscious mind most days.

I just hope I don’t dream of being talked into having sex with a posh dog and the Italian babe, while I am trying to solve some great problem of logic, before being struck by an avalanche.

Beaverboosh