~ Dreamland Intervention ~
Dreams are a strange thing to me, and if you’ve been following my adventures over the years I suppose you would agree. Even stranger still are the ones that involve two-leggeds.
Usually, us-on-four dream about things that have to do with our kind. Simple things, like chasing rabbits, chasing each other, finding interesting food, and the occasional nightmare of confrontation with another dog, or other animals.
Dreams that involve two-leggeds are difficult to navigate, since a lot of hooman behavior is already a mystery. Add the backdrop of dreamland, and you could end up with one very puzzled pup.
Two nights ago, the pack was settled in their usual configuration: Keira and Tucker molded in and around Mom and Dad, and me on the bedroom couch right across from Dad. In the wee hours I heard Dad rustle quietly and leave the bedroom. There were no interesting kitchen noises worth investigating that I could hear, so I started to drift back to sleep. But I snapped back awake when I heard what sounded like a shovel digging in dirt.
Leaping down to carpet level and turning the corner into the hallway, I stopped short when I found myself outside in the cold night. I should have traveled through the living room, instead I was in an unfamiliar forest looking at Dad’s back as he dug frantically at the ground with a shovel.
On his knees, he jabbed the hard ground with all his might, over and over again. When he threw down the shovel and started digging with his hands, I approached.
I sniffed at the dirt being throw between us and asked, “What are you looking for? Should I dig, too?”
Between the heaving breaths of exertion, he exclaimed, “It’s NOT here, It’s NOT HERE!” Then he stood up and started running off into the dark woods. There was only one course of action that made sense to me, to run after him.
It should have been easy to keep track of him with my night vision and sense of smell, but in this dream (kinda obvious to me now), Dad smelled so different I had to stop twice and circle to reacquire the scent. It was a mix of fear and desperation, which was not the Dad I knew.
Up ahead was a small clearing that led to the edge of a wash. I could hear rustling down inside it. Carefully I approached the edge and peered over. Dad was down below me in front of a bookcase, pulling one book at a time while holding a small flashlight. He was quickly checking the first few pages of each book, then throwing them to the ground one by one. When the pile grew to mid-thigh, Dad threw down one more book, turned, and drop to his knees with a sigh, resting his face on the pile.
“Certainty. There is no certainty!”
I’d never felt so helpless. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, I needed help. I turned and ran back to where I was pretty sure had I started from. As I ran, fear started to grip me, When it reached a crescendo, I saw a bed ahead of me in the forest, and I was relieved to see Tucker sitting on it, watching my approach.
“Tucker! Tucker! Dad needs help!”
He leaned the front of his body down to the edge of the bed and looked at me with his not-so-happy sheriff eyes.
“First of all, don’t you dare speak until I finish. I TOLD you to NEVER, EVER, EVER, include me in your dreams. Remember? Ah…Ah…Ah…hold your tongue. Now, you will tell with as few words as possible, what is your dilemma this time, Hazel?”
I strained to think of the shortest way to describe everything I saw, when I blurted out, “Certainty, what is certainty? Dad is desperately looking for it.”
Tucker lowered his hindquarters and brought his face over the edge of the bed closer to mine.
“So, the great philosopher rez dog is at a loss once again. Hazel, certainty is rooted in hope. Dad must be looking for a firm conviction of something. What he really needs is to rest in hope, regardless of what he sees or feels, or what contrary evidence presents itself. Go back and remind him of the force of hope.”
Hope! Of course, we-on-four carry that flame. It’s hardwired in our nature. I turned and started to trot off, but I thought maybe Tucker should come with me. When I looked back, the bed and Tucker were gone.
Time to fire up the rez dog rocket engines. I flew through the trees, past the dug-out hole and abandoned shovel, across the open area, down through the wash and past the bookcase, up and over the other side, and found Dad some distance away standing in front of an opening in a red rock mesa.
When I came to his side, I saw a sign over the dark entrance: Abyss Mine. Dad looked down at me and said almost in a whisper.
“I’m looking for certainty Hazel. I look at the faces of people, and I see it’s evaporating. The love and value we had for each other is fading away. I don’t know if I have enough for myself and others. Maybe it’s been stolen, and it’s hidden in here.”
I came around and pressed hard between his legs from behind to look up at him from that position. I thoroughly meant to grab a mouthful of pant leg if he started moving towards the entrance. He looked back down at me puzzled.
“Remember you told me, Dad, that if you stare at the abyss long enough, you become the abyss?”
A light of recognition flickered across his eyes. I continued through his legs, turned and stood between him and the cave.
“Dad, you’re looking for hope, the force of hope. Remember? It’s out of hope that you give our pack value and safety. Renew your hope, and you can carry certainty for others.”
Dad blinked a couple of times and I decided to drive the nail in further and spoke to him in a way I never would normally.
“Since when did you develop a glass jaw? I think you should suck it up, buttercup! Show what you’re made of!”
Dad looked up from me and closed his eyes. After some time had passed, he looked back down at me with a long deep sigh that rose into the air.
“Let’s go home, Hazel.”
We walked for a bit towards the forest. Venus, bright and large, rose over the trees and first light began breaking ahead of us in a long red and pink line.
“Hazel?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“You only get to call me buttercup once in your life, understand?”
“Duly noted, Dad.”
~ Hazel Bazel Rocket Dog ~
