Togo Goes to Dream World

Several months when I was making a list of where I should go next, I was eating peanut butter-flavored crunchies, which made me think of peanuts, which made me think of elephants, which made me think of Dumbo, and so, of course, I thought of Disney World.

So, when Daddy told me I needed to tell a story about going to Dream World, I immediately protested.

“I said ‘Disney World,’” I proclaimed. “I remember that because I was eating peanut butter-flavored crunchies, which made me think of peanuts, which made me think of elephants, which made me think of Dumbo, and so, of course, I thought of Disney World.”

“But you said ‘Dream World,’” Daddy said.

We’ve had these discussions before, and because Daddy is hard of hearing, I’ve been secretly recording our work sessions so that truth and justice will prevail.

With a look of triumph, I pulled out my phone, found the audio file, and hit play.

My voice came through as clear as could be, “I should go trick-or-treating, sunbathing, and then *munching sounds* — these are really good crunchies — I should go to *more munching sounds* D*garbled word* World.”

Daddy pointed out that he presented the final list for approval and that I had no corrections to offer. And that final list had “Dream World” as the very last entry. I seemed to recall being very drowsy that night — probably because I had way too many peanut butter-flavored crunchies. And there was my pawprint of approval at the bottom of the page.

Thus, I bring you “Togo Goes to Dream World.” I guarantee, we’d all have more fun at Disney World.

The rumor is that I sleep a lot. The truth is that I sleep just a little more than the average number of hours for an adult dog. If you’re counting, I sleep just over 14 hours a day.

It’s really not all that much time because I divide most of it into short naps. Anywhere between 5 minutes and 5 hours. Give or take an hour. And I do have dreams.

My dreams come in two main categories. Running and eating. And sniffing. Although a lot of my sniffing happens when I’m running and eating. Daddy says that sniffing is merely a subcategory.

When I’m dreaming about running, I usually lay on my side so my feet are free to move. And I bark a little bit. And I smile. You see, running is one of my favorite things.

I run in my backyard all the time. And I try to get my Daddy to run with me. But he has a condition and said he doesn’t like to talk about it. So I asked Mom and she told me confidentially that Daddy’s condition is that he is slow. I checked into treatment programs, and apparently, there is no help on the horizon for Daddy. Don’t tell anyone. Daddy is a proud person and wouldn’t want your sympathy.

My dreams about eating also bring me great pleasure. I get a variety of treats as a reward for doing different things. I sit, lay down, extend my paw, eat my food, and, most of the time, look adorable. Every one of those things brings a treat.

In addition to dreaming about treats, I also spend a fair amount of my sack time dreaming about my dog food because it comes in a sack. The food is actually pretty good and I like the pretty photos of the dogs on the outside. But mostly I like the food.

And do you know why I like eating and dreaming about eating? Because I convince Daddy to hang out with me while I eat. Sometimes when he forgets, I tap on the glass door to remind him. And he grumbles a bit, grabs his coat, and stands beside me while I eat. That’s why my dreams about eating are so good. It is my assurance that I can talk Daddy into almost anything. No matter how silly.

So I smile a lot when I dream about eating, too.

I told you this wasn’t as good as Disney World. But you have to admit that there is something very calming about watching a dog sleep. And now you know that the old saying is true: You should let sleeping dogs lie — even if it’s only for your own mental health.