A Dog, a Dream, and Träumerei

Sunny, our cockapoo, came into our lives like a small, irresistible gift, with paws just a little too big for his body.

From the very first day, he was full, full of energy, full of curiosity, full of an irrepressible friendliness toward every person he met. He greeted the world as though it had been made specifically for him. And perhaps, in the way that matters most, it had.

There is a certain kind of music that does not simply stay in your ears. It lives in your life.

For me, Träumerei by Robert Schumann is one of those pieces. Whenever I play it, time softens. And Sunny comes to mind.

A Dog Beneath the Piano

Sunny is now fifteen, soon to be sixteen. Still energetic in spirit, but his body is beginning to slow down. He does not see as clearly. He does not smell as sharply. Most of the day, he sleeps. But there are moments, short and bright, when something inside him wakes up. He barks. He runs. For a few seconds, he is a puppy again.

As he grew older and calmer, and when we finally trusted him to roam freely inside the house, he found his place, under my piano. Whenever I began to practice, he would quietly come and settle there, as if that was his role in life, to listen. No matter how loud the music became, scales at full volume, thunderous Beethoven, a phrase repeated twenty times, he stayed. Settled. Unbothered. As if the sound were simply the weather of a room he had chosen as home.

What Träumerei Remembers

Träumerei means “dreaming.” For me, it becomes a true mirror of memory. It is the seventh piece in Scenes from Childhood, a suite written not for children, but about childhood, the way adults look back and feel what time has taken with it. When I play it, I do not just hear music. I see my daughters as children, running through the house. I hear laughter. I feel the fullness of a home that was once busy and loud. And Sunny, young, alert, always nearby.

Now the house is quieter. The children have grown. Time has moved forward, as it always does. But some things remain, a familiar piece, a faithful dog, a memory that returns without asking.

These days, Sunny still comes. Not every time. Not as quickly. But sometimes, when I begin to play, I feel him nearby again. And in that moment, everything connects, music, memory, love, and time.

I will share my performance of Träumerei here, not just as a piece of music, but as a small window into a life that continues to change, and the quiet companions who walk through it with us.