The Morning After

The food we ate at last night's all-American barbeque at the home of blogger Stephen was so fantastic - and unusual - that I had an amazing dream. I was a patient at a teaching hospital. The interior was dark and dreary. The chief resident, a female, was pulling a very long wagon of interns, each one seated in his or her own little car. The resident was strong and the wheels of the wagon moved easily. Other interns kept pace by riding on their own scooters down the long hospital corridors.

The interpretation of dreams consists of 'free associations' - what's the first thing you think of when remembering your dream? I'm instantly reminded of our recent vacation at Cape May where whole families rented bicycle surreys and easily made their way down the highways of the Cape, while on my quiet street here at home, kids ride bikes and scooters. Scott and I biked for hours at Cape May and also biked once we got home.

The miracle of transportation.

In the dream I take a group of interns aside to tell them why I'm in the hospital. I'm far along in my pregnancy, I say, and as I do so, I feel an unaccustomed sadness come over me. Had I realized I was with child, I say, I would've gotten an immediate abortion, but it's too late now. In my head I realize I've got to prepare myself for the eventual arrival of this child I did not expect.

What pops into my mind with this thought?

Easy. Last nite, when Scott drove us home from Stephen's, there was a dog in the middle of our street. It was dark and the dog sauntered listlessly, tail down, as if he were disoriented.

Scott knew right away in was a dog but I thought perhaps it was a raccoon, its behavior was so undoglike. Scott slowed down and the dog came up to my passenger door. Now it looked like a lioness with a beautiful regal blond head with huge searching eyes.

Scott parked and we walked slowly after the dog. His fur was matted and he wore no collar. He was not a neighborhood dog. I went in the house and called the police who said they'd send out an officer. We could not allow the dog to roam free and possibly get run over.

Meantime we traveled behind the dog as he meandered through the neighborhood. People were coming home from the fireworks. One man carried his sleeping boy in the house. He knew not where the dog came from. At the firefighters' house the large family stood out on the porch. They said they'd never seen the dog before. The dog rarely stayed still but kept moving.

When I petted him I saw that he was shaking badly. Dogs, said Scott, are terrified of fireworks. His own deceased dog would hide under the bed. Spent firecrackers littered the street.

In the dark we could make out the black and white police car coming down our hill. We waved him over.

It took about 20 minutes to catch the dog and put him in the backseat. I watched as the officer opened up his trunk and got a leash out. With a flashlight he and Scott followed the dog into Scott's back yard where he went easily into the leash. When the officer put him in the car he said, This is an old dog. He had trouble climbing in the car.

The dog made no sounds at all. No barks, grunts or groans. We had to make up our own story of what he was doing here on our street. Here's my own invention:

Lion's owner is an old man who lives in a rundown unkempt house a few miles away. He loves his dog but doesn't have the heart to euthanize him, so he removed all traces of identification, put ole Lion in the backseat and dropped him off several miles from home.

The old, arthritic and disoriented dog wandered about and somehow found himself on our street. I briefly thought of adopting him, but then discarded the idea. The dog will be treated kindly by the police before they take him to the pound on Monday. We know what will happen at the pound. It's the same thing that happens to all of us, eventually.