he makes regular featured or cameo appearances in my dreams… my much beloved and greatly missed English Mastiff… always protective and comforting…. sometimes struggling as he did in those final weeks. I am not the best at remembering my dreams. I always vow to keep a dream journal, but I don’t and then I dis-remember the dreams. And then I move on with the days as if nothing had happened, even when the dream is the most significant part of the day.
Last night he appeared again, but I just remember the gigantic Mastiff body, no image of the surrounding environment. I think he was there to help me sleep, which he did at 5:00 a.m., with the help of a klonopin, which I am embarrassed to admit. But I know I can confide in you, dear reader, because I know you do not exist, and I am only murmuring these words to myself and typing them at the same time.
Hopefully I exist… If you would ever like to send your dreams to me, please do. I have a partway-finished novel using only the dreams of friends to make the plot and characters. I would gladly collect them from you if you’d let me use them.