...and he had really nice ankles too

I had the strangest dream last night. I was looking after my friend's pet polar bear. This polar bear was the most calm, friendly, dog-like polar bear ever. He really loved people. At one point in the dream we went to check out a winter parade, and somewhere in the confusion the polar bear got away from me and got lost. I ran around frantically trying to find him. Eventually, I came across a group of cops who told me they'd had to put the polar bear down, and that it was my fault because I'd let him get away. Then they tried to arrest me. I lost it, and started fighting with the cops, but eventually just broke down and began to cry.

This is when I woke up, and spent the next half an hour trying to convince myself that I was not actually responsible for a polar bear being killed.

It was a very odd dream. I'm sure a psychoanalyst would have a field day with it, but what struck me was that I've spent a lot of time this summer talking about dogs with people. I spent the summer housesitting, looking after a friend's aging black lab. Two of my other friends have new puppies. A third friend's family dog just passed away. Whenever we start talking about dogs, I always find myself bringing Jean-Guy into the discussion. Jean-Guy was a Great Pyrenees who belonged to one of my oldest friends, Keith. Actually, that’s not entirely true. Keith was largely responsible for feeding him, but in the truest respect of the word Jean-Guy belonged to us, to everyone from the community I grew up in. He was never a major player in any of the events of my childhood. Instead, in a lot of ways, he was my childhood. He was always there, in the background, like a big, white, security blanket that never forces his presence on you yet is always near. Whenever I start talking dogs with my friends, I tell of this character from my past and this image I have in my head of a giant, slobbering, hulking bear of a dog that would let a small and over-active Jesse climb all over him without muttering even the slightest protest. As the evenings of my childhood grew late and my parents, all of them, retired to half-empty glasses and old stories, I’d curl up next to this polar bear and sleep.

We’ve all got moments from our childhoods where we can, looking back, see the cracks begin to form in the rose coloured glasses. The day Jean-Guy was hit by a careless driver was the first of those moments for me. His was my first experience with death, and it hinted at the importance and fragility of life. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and two final dog biscuits for the journey to Valhalla.

I have no idea why my subconscious decided to bring him up right now, but after so many years I suddenly realized how much I miss that dog, and in a way, everything about my childhood that he stood for. When my life is finally stable enough to afford me a dog, I’ll make sure he’s got a great pair of knees.