Dog Dreams

The other day, I dreamt I was my dog. My light, golden fur was shining brightly, reflecting off the sun. Indoors, my fur would be a bit darker - part of it is a duller gold and other parts are merely a light brown. A tennis ball rolled down the driveway, toward an old silver fence that remained closed by a string hooking the gate together. I ran down the driveway, in pursuit of the ball. Past the spot where the ex-family dog was accidentally killed by one of the family cars backing up. But of course, I didn’t know that. In fact, I don’t think I was born yet. It continued rolling like a skee ball, only it wasn’t going up a ramp – the driveway was fairly straight. Thank goodness for that.

The tennis ball’s momentum stopped when I found my mouth around it. That was it. Game, set, match. I’m a regular Roger Federer. As I turn my head around toward the house, curious as to who had rolled the ball, my eyes gazed downward before I knew what to make of it. Another tennis ball was coming my way.

What to do, what to do? I quickly analyze the situation in my head: once something is in motion, it stays in perpetual motion? Is that right? Whatever, I’m a dog. I’m getting that ball and if I play my cards right, I could have both of them. I drop whatever’s currently in my mouth and run for the moving object. Within a few seconds, it’s game, set, match all over again. I saunter over toward the shade where I had dropped the other ball near the end of the driveway.  As I prepare to enjoy my spoils, I stop. It’s not there. I look up.

My owner has it now. He seems a little disgusted at the saliva attached to it. I really don’t mind. What I do mind is the status quo. Is it true? Do you want something more when you can’t have it? What’s the point of having a billion dollars when everyone else does? This is too much for me. I just want that ball.