A Bad Dream

I don't usually do the dream journal thing, but this one got under my skin, so here goes.

I was standing in my kitchen, when my chocolate lab, Sally, walked in from the back yard. Actually, she walked in from the back deck, which is elevated over the back yard, but we're not here to split hairs. Anyway, she seemed very happy and lively, which is normal for her after she's had a good bowel movement. Sally's what my wife and I call a "happy pooper."

Then, without warning, the top half of her head slid off sideways and fell to the floor, like a samurai sword had run from the corner of her mouth through the back of her head. Naturally, I was horrified to see the top half of my dog's head thump on the kitchen floor like a slpit mango.

What's stranger is that she just continued to stand there, her bottom jaw bouncing and tongue lolling as she panted happily. There was almost no blood.

Nevertheless, I freaked out, and did the only thing that seemed to make sense: I picked up the top of Sally's head, put it back where it belonged and held on (literally) for dear life. This wasn't easy: Sally decided that this action meant I wanted to play, so she began to jump around. I could feel the halves of her head sliding against each other with every little leap, but knew (this is dream logic) I couldn't let go. So I kept her there in a headlock, wondering how I was going to keep her alive long enough to A) find my phone and B) call the vet to schedule emergency surgery.

Then I woke up. Sally was curled up against the back of my knees, snoring.