TELL YOUR MOM I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO PAY HER, HAD THE RIMJOB BEEN OF HIGHER QUALITY

Friday, December 31, 2004

A Dream I Had Recently

It was at a picnic, big family reunion, something like that. Running on peculiar dream logic, so particulars didn't matter. Friend from high school dragged me along, whatever the event was, it was more his deal and I was just along for the ride. We immediately split up and I forget about him and go wandering around. Attendee's (and there were hundreds) dressed up extremely nice. Women have dainty umbrellas and the old fashioned dresses that made them look like bumper cars covered in curtains. Men have black tuxes or suits with tails, top hats, and canes. I just glided along the ground in smooth dream movement. Arced over gradual, sloping green hills. Everywhere I looked the people were artfully distributed across the landscape. Wasn't enjoying it, or disliking it. Merely an observer, and nobody noticed me. Heard: distant gunshots. Didn't seem alarming or incongruous. Followed the cracking gunshots over to a small fenced pen, with bleachers filled with people on either side, of the knee high fence, softly clapping. One person in the middle of the pen, holding an old fashioned hunting shotgun. In front of him (all were facing me) were two dogs, looked like golden retrievers. The retrievers were a foot or two away from the shotgun toting guy, backs to him, laying down. All legs facing the same way, heads raised up, staring straight forward. Shotgun toting man lowered his gun, shot one dog in the back, recoil drove the barrel upwards, followed by him lowering it on the other dog and shooting it. Dog let out a pitiful yelp before it expired. Spectators let out polite applause. I looked around, behind left bleachers (both bleachers: decorated in ribbons) was a pen of hundreds of happy golden retrievers, panting and smiling and wagging their tails. I walk closer to the shooting pen, notice dozens of dog carcasses. I am appalled. Face down shotgun toting man, spectators on either side. I scream unspeakable obscenities. I wait to be ejected from the premises or shot. Know, in dream universe where all seems very plausible, it is very likely my infraction will bother the mannered attendees to the point where homicide would be the only solution. Very few notice, those that do just give me a little look before going back to staring at the pen. Some have opera glasses. I walk back to the dog storage area. See a man I can immediately assume is the dog keeper, dressed in khaki coveralls (still elegantly pressed, but not the gala black tie wear of everyone else). I start talking to him. He says he actually triggers the shotgun with a remote switch, and that people aren't clapping because of the dogs being shot. Rather, the person what the person with the gun is trying to do is suitably demonstrate how upset he is with the act of having to kill a dog, and judges are grading him on his acting ability. It is a new sport, he explains, taken up by dog lovers. The Man I just saw was pretty good, he explains, he pretends he is shooting his childhood dog (the dog afterwards in a bonus round) and has gained quite a following. Now I realize I have to let the dogs go. I wander away from the Dog Keeper who actually seems like a very nice guy, and is the only person at this picnic that has acknowledged me personally, and took the time to patiently explain what was going on. I like dogs, at these golden retrievers are so absurdly cute, (remind me of the childhood dog, Hokule) and the entire charade seems so inhuman that I have to do something. Instinctively know that if I let the dogs go, there probably are not going to go running away over the hills and the horizon for safety, but will likely stay with the people who are going to kill them, happy with their tails wagging. I have to try anyway. Fear that I will get shot with the shotgun, or beaten to death by the spectators. Decide to try anyway. In the same way that you realize when the hero of a movie steps into the elevator with a Doctor he will be able to administer a non fatal easy beating and walk out wearing the Doctor's getup, I am physically confident I will be able to beat the Dog Keeper. Dream logic again: know I will have no problem finding nice big rock or thick, baseball bat equivalent branch to sneak up behind the Dog Keeper and beat him with. Know that after I beat him, and he is on the ground in a bloody heap, I will grind my heel into his trigger finger and break it, as a dog shooting penalty, then, go to release the dogs. Start approaching the Dog Keeper from behind. Dog Keeper has no idea what is going on, and everything looks like it going to work. Fixated on task at hand, walking with the proverbial grim determination, everything focuses and ready when my alarm clock goes off. Typical waking disorientation results. Felt vaguely unsettled all day. Dunno how to interpret this one, and don't think I want to try. Personal psychoanalysis and reflection rarely brings me any insights, and those that I come up with I probably would not like to reflect on.

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