My Dog’s Dreams

Does a dog know the difference between awake and dream?

My lady and I crawl into bed, turn on reading lamps and open our reading. Once Winter, my dog, is sure we have settled in for the night, she comes up stairs. The floor creaks loudly as she walks down the hall and into our bedroom. The loud creaking makes Winter sound ten times her size, like a giant guardian coming in to protect our dreams.

The floor at the foot of our bed gives one last huge groan as she lies down. Winter releases a giant sigh, relaxing completely, stretched out on her side. During the day she only snoozes, rarely getting into a deep sleep or REM, because she might be called at any moment to accompany us to the store or on a hike. But at night she can finally keep track of us because we will be in one place for a long time.

About the time I finish my fourth page, Winter begins dreaming. She starts quietly at first, a high-pitched wine, coming from far off in the distance, over a hill. Small twitches move her legs. The movements and vocalizations build quickly. At about page six I hear a muffled, “arr-ooff-ooff, arr-ooff-ooff, arr-ooff-ooff,” and her legs rub the carpet in big, jerky movements. It seems that in her dream Winter is in full sprint, barking furiously and chasing something. I almost always chuckle, thinking of her finally catching that squirrel.

But, her REM movements and vocalizations are muted, seeming to emanate from far off, over a hill, in another world. I know it’s another world because she never barks like that in this one. At most she gives one little excited bark when I throw a stick or a ball. Or, when chasing the big grey squirrel in our back yard, her vocalization is low and quiet like a whispered threat.

(Can you find the Dog in this photo?)

Both species (human and dog) have an amazing ability to read emotions. But, a dog’s world is built around associative memories while human’s world is based mainly on interpretation. The ability to interpret means we have more ways to remember (and imagine) events by adding meaning to these events. Naturally, because humans feel our world contains more meaning and it contains more depth.

But, depth and meaning are a human construction, created by us to give our big brains something to do. We add the meaning to the events of our life. Holidays, birthdays, deaths, and disasters are coated in layers of emotional meaning given to us by culture and personal experience.


Dogs add association to the events their lives. When Winter hears her collar jingle as I pick it up she gets excited because she associates the sound with “it’s time to go somewhere.” She doesn’t care where, she just cares that we are going. But, to me, a collar means identification, decoration, ownership, means of restraint and avoidance of a ticket.

The truth is I don’t know what she dreams. If Winter has the ability to distinguish between awake and sleep I doubt she cares because she doesn’t have the need to understand and interpret everything. Dogs exist in the moment.

So why would it matter whether it’s a dream moment or a waking moment to a dog?

First Portland Road Trip - (Part 1)

Same Trip - Different Worlds (Part 1 of 3)

Being new to the area we enjoy exploring. Last week we drove towards the coast to hike an old inactive volcano and see the ocean. Jen usually drives because she gets car sick as a passenger (I swear it has nothing to do with my driving). I navigate and play I-pod DJ. Winter, my dog, sticks her head out the window and reads her own version of a map (I'll explain shortly). We live in southeast Portland so we have to navigate our way though a series of city streets and highway interchanges to head west out of the city.

We zig, zag, u-turn and backtrack our way through the city. If there are any govenmant agents following us I’m sure we’ve lost them. Finally, we are heading west out of Portland I begin to gloat internally about ditching Johnny Law. But, my elation is short lived when I remember that these days they track people using satellites. I don’t share our brief life on the lamb with Jen and Winter because they seem wrapped in worlds of their own.

The four-lane road narrows to two as we climb into the Coast Range. Tightly packed underbrush and tall trees line the road and obscure the sight of surrounding terrain. This makes it feel like we are an X-wing flying the trench. Occasionally a clear-cut slashes open the view exposing stumps, sickly bushes and naked ridges. Often a lone tree stands on a ridge. The backlighting of the sky obscures the tree's details leaving a human-like silhouette twisted with radiation sickness. I think it was left standing in the middle of the blast zone so it can warn future generations of vile brethren about the evil of congregating in public places. For some reason I don’t think they’ll listen, repeat offenders never do.

None of this matters to Winter as she hangs her head out the window. She’s reading her version of a map and catching a buzz. Her sense of smell approximately 1000 times better than ours so her cues about place come mainly from her nose not her eyes. I can only imagine the individual smells she picks up as we drive along – squirrels making babies, oil dripping from a parked car or, maybe, eggs and fried potatoes wafting from a passing house. Also, these smells are bombarding her at 60 mph, creating sensory hyperactivity and causing her to catch a buzz. I read this in Merle’s Door, which is it great read and has an extensive bibliography for all such claims.

During her olfactory adventures, in a doggy version of a farmer's hanky, Winter occasionally blasts snot out of her nose. Sometimes she gets the back of our neck and shoulders. “Eeeewwwwww. Winter!” is the usual response but we are use to it by now, so our statement is weakened by giddy laughter. I’m not sure if her wagging tail is because she thinks it’s funny she just blew snot on us, we said her name or she can now inhale and smell freely. Probably some combination of the three.

Winter clears her sinuses so incoming smells have an unobstructed path to her olfactory receptors. Because she has never been west of the Rockies she is in new terrain and since the ocean is about 30 miles away I’m sure she smells it. It’s a neuron party in her brain as they absorb new information and spark with new connections. Her eyes look like fireflies when she brings her head in the window and puts it on my shoulder. I am happy she wants to share her world with me.