Release the Boxhound

The dog, unbeknownst to us all, has mastered the ancient art of Inception: last night, she managed to insert herself into every single one of my dreams.

"Don't Turn Around"

Not by sitting in a van (though she’ll occasionally deign to vomit on one’s parking brake)…

"Here in my car"

“I call shotgun.”

…but by either stomping on my back or sprawling atop my head as I slumbered.

The dream where I was back in high school, but for some reason was forced to live in the girls’ bathroom? She spent the entire REM stage sprawled across my assigned bunk bed, which doubled during the school day as a changing table.

Or the one where I entered an alternate universe comprised — to the best of my knowledge — of corridors, elevators, and monsters? The same dream in which my sole ally, an enigmatic self-described Professor of Being*, assured me that there was nothing to fear, that I was safe, for the monsters were not MY monsters? Yep, the pup was by my side while I got slaughtered repeatedly…by monsters. Thanks, dog, for alerting the monsters to my presence with your big girl bark!

She has real-world superpowers as well, e.g. destroying matter:


She can also create it, but I’m going to spare you a direct look at mysterious substance, hitherto unknown to science, that she produced at some point during the night.

Because that’s yet another way she defies humanity’s understanding of physics: she can bilocate. I know that she spent the entire night in the bed, because I was there. Getting stomped on, snored at, and — as I mentioned before — Incepted. Yet, after awaking to find her stretched across us, hammock-style, we got up and stepped in what I’m going to call a “bio-puddle.” One that managed to be dispersed across the floor in a pattern that would baffle topologists.

Of course, this is also the dog, who — by my mathematically inclined fella’s reckoning — has nine nipples across six points of symmetry, so we already know that she’s a prodigy — in the original Latin sense of “Unholy abomination! Avert your eyes, make that hand sign that wards off evil, and then eviscerate a flock of pigeons and examine their entrails just to make sure that nothing else weird and terrifying is going to sneak up on you and lay waste to your empire.”

Of course, there is a cure for this sort of nonsense (not that ever I’d use it, however much I’m sometimes tempted) — which I learned about at the “bumper crop of fun” that was this year’s State Fair:

"Game of Thrones: Canine Edition"

“Be ready. The mailman is coming.” — Gabby

Yes, I do believe that is Game of Thrones, as reenacted by puppies. And, despite the fact that it appears to be comprised of tiny dog heads on mounted on sticks, it won a ribbon. Think on that, if you will.

*Didn’t think that this was an academic field, though I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m tempted to check Duke’s post-grad programs, actually, because it seems as if they’ll admit you and let you study anything at all — even a subject of your own devising — provided you give them enough money.

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