Writing Prompt : Your dogs last dream

He stands before a tower of cheese as tall as any construction ever made by man or beast. The sun’s rays fall on the long black hairs of his back, but he feels no heat, and nor does the tower. Made of solid cheese it would surely melt in any plane but this.

This heaven, this tower of cheese and fields of pillows.

He loves them both, his tail wagging both from nerves and pure, unmeasurable joy.

Pillows and cheese, his two greatest loves.

His long snout flits back and forth between the obelisk and the endless fluffy planes behind it. To eat first? To nap?

Nevermind that he is already dreaming. The Chrisopher Nolan-esque complexities of dreaming naps within naps is completely lost on a sheepdog with the brain the shape of a lemon. If it’s even that large.

He lunges for the cheese, that tiny brain primal and wired to nourish first and rest later. He doesn’t even taste the cheese. Bites, licks, slobbers it down in droves. Curds stick to his long whiskers but not to his pristine ruffle. His hygiene is impeccable in slumber only.

The dog wonders if it is possible to eat forever. Could he devour the cheese tower? Would he get sick? He dislikes being sick, even though most of his illnesses were  of his own making- stolen scraps from garbage cans and the temporary delicacy of dirty socks.

He eats and eats, making no noticeable dent in this heavenly spire of dairy. Perhaps one can eat for all time. He wishes for nothing else but an eternity of cheese.

A bark wakes him up. His idiot brother getting angry at some small creature again. He squints, grumbles, groans audibly. It is real life again. His food bowl is empty. He is hungry.

Where my cheese at?