I had a doozy. I tend to have rather standard dreams–like the one where you signed up for a class in college and somehow never managed to go, and now it’s the final… Or the one where I’m walking to class and realize I’m still in my pajamas.
However, this one was REALLY weird. I blame it on my New Dog Fever.
I was teaching–either substituting or doing some kind of presentation in a class at a high school. (I do not teach high school, and never have.) I was on the third floor of this high school, which was build with wide balconies around an atrium, and the dog had apparently come to school with me, but stayed outside. Mostly, the dog was Dolly the granddog, but sometimes she morphed into Pretty, the other granddog (that doesn’t live with me), and for a while there, we had two dogs. Anyway, That was just the set up to the dream.
The actual dream–the dog got into the school, and climbed up to the third floor to find me. I came out of the class, thinking “Oh, no. I have to get this dog out of the school without anybody knowing it’s MY dog, and without her causing too much disruption.”
But when I came out onto the big balcony, the dogs (there were 2 at this point) were barking. At A COW. On the third floor of this school.
The cow was apparently supposed to be there. In the hall, on the third floor. It was on a leash, and a student was leading it. The dogs were not supposed to be there barking at the cow. (There may have been another animal, but my vision was pretty much locked on the Cow. And the dogs.) I called, without using Dolly’s name, hoping she would come to me and I could act like she wasn’t really my dog (she’s not, after all)–you know, the “come here, puppy,” and making kissy noises. She came, and I started walking away, around the balcony, and she followed, jumping up and licking my fingers and such.
Here, things got a bit muddled into the height dream (walking across very high dangerous places without a railing) and getting out of the school–but that was basically my dream. Dogs at school, and a COW.
I know. It must be part of the vivid imagination thing. (I dreamed a couple weeks ago that we were house sitting for Michael Jackson–he hadn’t died, apparently, and was living just down the street from us…) Dunno. (When we first met Michael Jackson, he was wearing a dress, much like the one Kiefer Sutherland wore on the Late Night show…) Maybe it just means that I’m warped. Sadly, deeply, warped.