'Dog'-gone It.

Last night, I dreamt I had a dog in my bedroom and he lived in a kennel under my bed. Every once and a while I'd peek down at him and he'd look back unaffected. He was a good a little dream doggy.

This little exchange went on for quite some time. Months, I'd wager, in dreamland. Until one day I realized something..

My dog had been living under my bed for a very long time now and not once had I taken him out. Not to play, not to eat, nothing. Then I came to another terrible realization.

I had never taken him out to go potty.

Terrified, I slowly pulled his box away from the wall and opened the door, fully expecting to find six month's worth of turds piled in the corner. In preparation, I had somehow fashioned gloves out of old Macey's plastic bags in an effort to shield myself from the impending nastiness.

Tilting my head away so as to avoid the smell, time slowed as my pooch stepped from the cage to reveal...

a stack of old books.

Confused, I made a closer inspection.
Sure enough, there were no feces to be found. Only a random assortment of antique looking novels. And that is where the dream ended.

This, people, is why I prefer not to dream.

Apparently my subconscious is bat-sh**-crazy and has no business being given free rein to create such atrocities.

The BF insists that dreaming is the greatest thing ever. Almost every night, his fantastical brain sends him on adventures of epic proportions.
And he always emerges victorious.

I, on the other hand, very rarely dream as I've mentioned before.
But when I do, it always leaves me slightly disturbed and utterly confused.

When I told the BF about my dream doggy and the imaginary poop pile, he offered this interpretation: "Well, you see me as something to take care of and you are worried that I will be messy. But really you are going to gain a lot of knowledge from the experience."

Would anyone else like to join me in a round of applause for this brilliantly succinct explanation?? I laughed for ten minutes straight after reading it. Only the BF could take such nonsense and create a fairly logical explanation.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I think of the BF as a dog (which I loved despite his supposed filthiness in the dream, mind you) who will inevitably make a mess that I will be forced to clean up. Nor am I saying turds can magically change into books of wisdom. It would be ridiculous to believe any of that.

But oh. My subconscious does.