Guided Dream

  Buster blinked. “What is it with the giant teacups?” he muttered, his voice a muffled woof. The usually pristine floral wallpaper swirled with faint, shifting patterns. The grandfather clock ticked with a sound like hushed wind chimes.

“Mrs Gable?” Buster barked, his voice sounding strangely empty. He trotted over to her favourite armchair, where she sat, eyes closed, humming a tuneless melody. He wagged his tail, then stopped. His tail felt like a suggestion, not a solid, thumping reality.

This wasn’t right. He sniffed the air – no comforting scent of kibble, just a faint aroma of lavender and… something else, something intangible.

The humming intensified, and Mrs Gable’s face contorted slightly. Maybe she was wrestling with a particularly stubborn dream-demon, he thought.

He zoomed to the front door, which appeared to be made of a shimmering mist.

Buster turned around and barked, trying to sound urgent. “Wake up! The sun’s out! Squirrels are yearning to be chased! My bladder needs some relief!”

Mrs Gable kept on humming.

Buster returned to the armchair and tried to paw at her leg, but felt nothing.

Then it hit him. This wasn’t real. He was somehow… in her dream!

“Think, Buster, think!” he muttered to himself. “How do you wake a human from a dream… when… you’re in the same dream?”

An idea sparked. What did Mrs Gable love almost as much as her afternoon tea? Her walks.

He looked towards the front door, just beyond the perpetually rearranging bookshelf. The door to freedom, to reality, to a good, solid walk.

He trotted to the dream-door and started pawing at it. “Walkies! Mrs Gable, walkies! Remember the park? The big oak tree? The exciting smells of… everything?”

Mrs Gable stirred. Her humming faltered. “Walkies?” she murmured, a flicker of recognition crossing her dreaming face.

Suddenly, the shimmering dream-door became translucent, and a faint, real-world scent of fresh grass wafted through.

Mrs Gable stirred again, muttering, “Walkies?”

“YES!” Buster howled, a solid, joyful sound. “WALKIES!”

With a jolt, Mrs Gable’s eyes snapped open. She blinked, looking around her actual living room, then down at Buster, who was now thumping his tail with vigorous, undeniable reality against the rug.

“Buster! Goodness, I was having the strangest dream,” she chuckled, rubbing her eyes. “But you know, I feel like I absolutely must take you for a walk right now. What do you say?”

Buster wagged his tail so hard his whole body wiggled. “Finally!” he thought, trotting towards the leash.