Inception, Doggy Style, by Hank Layton

My first job was a golden retriever named Bananas, sometimes referred to as Nanners. He was thirty-five years old (five, in human years) and lived with a family of six in the suburbs. He ate expensive dog food and cheap treats and had a bad habit of accidentally hitting male guests in their salty-scented place with his paws. My team discovered that he was purchased at a Pets Mart (or is it Pet Smart? I have no idea) and was presented as a family Christmas present. They never got another pet after Bananas. Neighbors said Nanners liked that.

Neighbors also said Nanners had been acting strange – ignoring his favorite fire hydrant and such. Something was up. That’s why they called us.

We did it on a Sunday, when the family was at church. When we entered the house, Bananas was already passed out on the couch (against the rules!), his paws kicking and his mouth snarling. Quietly, Moxie set up the machine. The rest of us – Gus, Angel Face, Buttons, Sam, and myself – each circled an attractive spot in the room (you can never circle it too many times) and plopped down. Then, we connected to the machine and entered Nanners’ dream.

In the dream, we were in the house, but all the doors were open. Nanners was nowhere to be found. Then, in a flash of golden fur, he came barreling through the front door into the house. He zoomed into the kitchen and out the back. We could hear him running beside the house. He came back through the front door, through the house, and out the patio. Then again. And again. Again. Running laps in sheer happiness. He didn’t seem to notice the six of us crowding the living room. I considered asking Bananas to settle down, but since it was my first inception, I remained silent.

Instead, it was Gus who spoke.

“Alright, buddy,” he said, forcing Bananas to a halt. Gus, a veteran Pit bull, approached the stunned canine. “Word on the street is you’re acting strange, like a dog damn kitty or something. What’s going on?”

Bananas looked at each of us individually, his face reigniting with concern with each pair of eyes he met. He was breathing heavy from the running, but the sight of us was slowing his heart down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, breaking eye contact to stare at a nearby tennis ball.

I picked up the ball with my mouth and squeezed it until it burst into a cloud of yellow fuzz. “You know dog damn well what we’re talking about, you son of a bitch!” Nanners’ ears shot down, and his back slouched. In fact, everyone in the crew had done the same. They were stunned at my aggressiveness.

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t help wag my tail.

“Tell us what’s going on, or so help me dog I’ll rip off your collar and piss on your bed,” I said.

Nanners lay down in front of me, a painful expression on his face. He sighed.

“That was really bad ass,” Angel Face told me. I didn’t much care for Angel Face. She was a Pomeranian, but she smelled like a Chihuahua.

Yet her comment struck me. She made me realize that maybe I was being too aggressive. It made me wonder if I was being too aggressive outside of my dreams. It saddened me to know that I might have upset Mom and Dad and Jonathan with such aggressiveness. And Jonathan is the sweetest little boy, always sneaking me food under the table and always up for some fetch. There were times I treated Jonathan with the same nastiness I was dishing out to Nanners, I realized. And what of Mom? Was I so insensitive that I treated the woman I loved the most (the one who always let me on the bed and didn’t get mad when I tore up her favorite dress) like an animal?

I didn’t much like Angel Face, like I said, but those five words – originally meant to be complimentary – were a wake-up call. I didn’t want to be a bad ass. I wanted to be a good boy.

I would be a good boy from then on, I decided. I had changed.

Just as I was about to say thanks to Angel Face and apologize to Bananas, hundreds of rabbits came hopping into the house.

“Projections!” Buttons shouted.

“Run!” Sam screamed.

And we did, even Bananas. The rabbits were helpless against our agility. We bounced over them and out the front door. We thought about running into the street, but knew better than that, so we journeyed along the sidewalk. The rabbits were following.

I led the way, looking back occasionally to make sure Bananas was still with the group. He looked like he was about to say something, but before he could make a sound my world went black. It took me a moment to realize there had been a loud screeching. Brakes. A car had hit me.

For a few moments, I thought I was dead.

Then, I awoke.

“Okaaaay, there he is. Welcome back, little guy,” a man in a white coat was saying. “Gooooood boy. Such a good boy.”

The vet. Hate this guy.

“So, what do you think?” a familiar voice asked. It was her. Mom. My tail began to wag.

“Well, it’s typical of dogs in this stage of life to have more vivid dreams, thus making it more likely they’ll kick their paws or whimper, sometimes even bark,” the vet said. “The only thing I wonder…”

I finally got out of my haze to see Mom. I began wagging my tail. I ran to her. And there was Jonathan! Oh, I would never stop licking him. And I would treat both of them better. Things were going to be better.

In the hall, a scamper of paws. Familiar paws. Moxie’s Collie paws. Gus’s Pit bull paws. Angel Face’s Pomerian paws. Buttons’s Dalmatian paws. Sam’s Bassett Hound paws. Bananas’s Golden Retriever paws.

In Nanners’ mouth, a cord. Dragging behind him, the inception machine.

They got me.

“The only thing I wonder,” the vet repeated, “is just what the heck can dogs dream about?”

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