I guess nightmares and bad dreams happen to everyone.
Frank sleeps at my feet on the floor. Sometimes he goes in his kennel which is ‘his room’ that he staunchly protects against intruders, and sometimes he sleeps on a piled up old comforter in the corner that he likes to make a nest of. Occasionally he will sleep in my laundry. But I always hear him. He is always close, nearby, attached. I’m not a great sleeper. I either sleep lightly and poorly or I slip into a deep and coveted coma. But I can hear him. I feel Floyd’s breathing and I feel her purr, her heart, I know she is with me. Together we have become dependent on the sound of the hound dog’s snore.
Last night he snored as usual. Until a few hours at, say, 3 or 4 am. I heard him get up and walk from the comforter pile to the laundry corner. I lifted my head to make sure he was ok, and watched him pace the room then settle in to my soiled laundry garments.
About half an hour later I registered that his breathing sped up. I opened my eyes, then returned to exhaustion. Five minutes after that his breathing became a panicked whimper, quick and frightened. I looked down to see him paddling through the air. I felt sad, wondering what sort of dream must be upsetting him (giant attack squirrels, inedible kibble, an endless meadow full of thorns…)? I laid back down. He yelped out loud, crying, growling, howling, woke himself up. I rolled over to a snout halfway on the bed, fully in my face. He crawled in, curled up, and fell asleep by my belly. I guess he’s still a baby enough to need to sleep with his mommy when he has a bad dream. Swoon. October must creep out everyone, even my furry family. Maybe he watched too much Walking Dead with me Monday night?