I happened to look over at the extra large dog bed the other night and I saw a fairly familiar sight. My 8 year-old lab mix, Butch, had his arms outstretched as if he was clawing at something. Of course, his eyes were closed and he was obviously dreaming, but that was all I could tell. I had no way to tell if it was a pleasant dream or a nightmare. There was no sign that Butch was upset as he was not whimpering or showing any sign of displeasure. On the other hand, his tail wasn’t wagging and he certainly didn’t seem to be exhibiting a playful posture. I didn’t see any reason to disturb him, so I let the sleeping dog lie. Still, what was going on in his head?
Scientists tend to back up the more than logical assumption that our dogs dream. Less complex mammals with far smaller brains such as rats, appear to dream, so there is every reason to assume that dogs do as well. There is also no reason not to assume that most the dreams that come to my Butch in his custom heated dog bed are based on his daily routine: eating, getting walks, running around the yard, digging holes, romping about with the kids, and generally making a delightful nuisance of himself.
Still, since human dreams often tend to be surreal versions of our daily lives, it’s tempting to wonder just how many liberties our dogs’ brains take with the mundane details of canine existence. Students frequently dream about taking tests and turning in term papers, for example, but what would be the canine equivalent of the typical nightmare about suddenly realizing you have signed yourself for a class months prior and completely forgotten it? Or the chestnut about delivering a report in front of a large class in your pajamas and/or underwear? Not that a resident of a dog bed ever wears PJs, but are dogs even capable of embarrassment? It’s wrong to anthropomorphize pets too much, but something tells me there dreams may be even stranger than the ones we humans have.