In dreams, I walk… #4
Another in a continuing series of the nocturnal ramblings of the aberrant subconsciousness of Louche…
My father and I were on a suburban street, perhaps an American suburban street; though why that might be I couldn’t say. A mad dog, a Doberman, was running amok attacking and tearing to pieces other, smaller dogs. Dog heads littered the sidewalk everywhere. We picked them up and laid them in rows on the drive of a nearby house. The heads were all mixed up, heads of different breeds side by side.
There was nothing else for it, the Doberman had to be stopped.
So my dad and I took a baseball bat each, found the mad dog, and raining blow after bloody blow down upon it, beat it to death.
And that was it.
[post scriptum -which echoes e x a c t l y that of a previous dream]
In the morning I woke up and Miss Rose Thorne asked me “What were you dreaming about last night?”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you were laughing and l a u g h i n g . . .” she replied.