Toby has not gone to the dog park for two days now; one of the pit bulls she is fond of wrestling with has gotten into fights with three other dogs. I must see her as an extension of myself as I dreamed of being in the basement with a mountain lion intent upon eating my hand–my Dad has to rescue me–although why he had that mountain lion in the basement wasn’t exactly clear–perhaps in the part of the dream I forgot.
Dad always rescued animals and put them for safe-keeping and a bit warmer place in our basement–so we had baby pigs–some of those spent a week or so in our kitchen until the weather warmed; a calf or two–and even the baby chicks when it turned too cold to keep them in the granary even with heat lamps on. So the idea of him rescuing that mountain lion was not absurd, nor was my attendance upon the animal–feeding it (not my hand–but ‘food’.
However, back to Toby. She had effectively shredded several of my Christmas cactus, and started in on the orchids. We sheltered them in the garage during the worst of our cold snap and then I put them back outside inside the dog crate. The only one I could not lift was the night-blooming cereus–which was torn from it’s huge pot once placed outside in hopes of today’s rain.
Meanwhile Toby has gone back to shredding the pond rubberized base–it was supposed to last thirty years–but not if a dog tears off six inch pieces of it.