in molecular pharmacology, he believes he has finally discovered the key to understanding-and maybe someday curing-narcolepsy. As a physician, Mignot has been working with narcoleptics for 13 years and knows all too well how physically and emotionally debilitating the disease can be. Mignot’s purpose in occasionally inviting people with narcolepsy to meet Beau is to give them hope. “It feels like a dead weight, just like your body does,” she said. “He knows we’re laughing at him,” said a handsome, silver-haired man, as his wife reached down, lifted Beau’s head, then gently set it down again.

The visitors, members of a narcolepsy support group from California’s East Bay area, laughed, then caught themselves and aSo what happened to Beau, a narcoleptic dog, did not surprise the people in the room. He spooned the wet food onto the floor, and Mignot cooed, “C’est de la bonne viande.” Beau perked up, trotted happily to the food, sniffed, rolled his eyes in pleasurable anticipation-and dropped to the concrete, limp as an empty sock. They remained completely still in their chairs as Nishino opened the can. Nishino rapped the spoon against the can. But today, Beau would get some nice, aromatic, canned dog food-a special treat. His regular food was dry pellets, Nishino told the visitors. Beau seemed an excitable but ordinary dog. “Allez beau teckel!” said Mignot, a native of Paris, as he knelt to rub the dog’s belly. They had seated themselves carefully in chairs against the wall, and now they watched as Mignot's associate, Seiji Nishino, reached for his research tools: a can of dog food and a spoon. Across the room, a dozen men and women exchanged nervous glances. The dog looked around, shook itself with a flapping sound, and wagged its tail excitedly.

When Emmanuel Mignot opened the door, a black-and-tan dachshund bounded into the basement room at Stanford University's Sleep Research Center, its nails scrabbling the concrete floor.

Narcolepsy and cataplexy in dogs