The Mind is a Terrible Thing
Last night I had a quick catch-up chat with Chia Lynn. Her mother’s dog had just passed away, and I wanted to see how Miss Chia was holding up. (The post she wrote is lovely – you are a fool if you do not read it.)
I think our chat, coupled with the fact that I have been sans-canine for almost two years, prompted me to have a dream where my dog came back to me.
In a method similar to creating Frankenstein’s monster, my dog was resurrected from the dead and was brought home. And I was so happy at that moment, I thought I was going to burst.
There were even moments in my dream when I thought I woke up and thought it was a dream. No one could possibly be that happy. Everything was so real, from hearing him snort outside of my bedroom to nuzzling him right between the eyes and getting those little hairs stuck up my nose.
The best part was trying to figure out whose ashes were in the urn on my dresser if my dog was right in front of my face.
So naturally, I am a little bit bummed out today, because my stinky bear wasn’t around when I really and truly woke up.