This is my second favorite dream about animals, after the dream that I was taking our gerbils for a walk in the backyard. On a leash.
Last night I dreamt that the representative from the Labrador Retriever rescue group came for a suprise home visit to determine if we are eligible to adopt a Lab from their organization. This part is true. Our Lab, Rosie, died in November, and whatever they say about not rushing out to replace a pet depends, I think, on how you felt about the dog that you lost. I was ready in a day. Maybe less. She was the best dog in the world, sweet, gentle, reliable. Even now, when I open the back door of the house, I expect her to be in the lviing room on her bed. When I leave every morning, I make sure to close the gate to the back yard, then I realize that there's no need, there's no Rosie to worry about getting out.
In December, I admitted to myself how much I missed having a dog and sent the 4-page application in to the rescue group. It's daunting: they wanted references (Shelly - did I mention that I put your name down?), the name of our vet, the name of our dog trainer (do most people have a trainer? I called the vet for a recommendation), the height of the fence in the yard, details about what color and gender and age of dog we were looking for, and the most difficult question: how long are you willing to wait. The choices were: a few weeks, a few months, or as long as it takes. My heart wanted to say a few weeks, but my head said, no, as long as it takes, because we should wait for the right dog for us. Finally, this week, we had an email from the group, asking when we would be home so that the rep and her dog could come visit. We responded, but don't know if she will show up at the door or call ahead.
Here's the dream:
The rep and her dog showed up at our house for a surprise visit. Instead of a Lab, she had with her a very pudgy, waddling, somewhat sausage-shaped type of terrier. The dog wandered over to a table where we had a pile of Rosie's toys. He picked one up, and then Rosie came into the room, and the dogs began to get to know each other in a very nice doggy-friend kind of way. They moved into another room, bumping each other and chewing at each other's fur.
Then it was our turn. We were sitting at the dining room table with the rep, who had a list of questions in front of her. She asked my husband, "who's playing in the Superbowl?" He said that he didn't know. She looked down at the form, made a big black X in a dramatic fashion beside that question, and looked up at us. And I knew, no sports trivia, no dog.
But I woke up hopeful. It was good to see Rosie: she looked young and sprightly and her fur was shiny again. One of my associates at work said that this was a dream about Rosie coming back in a new dog's form. I hate to think that she'll have lost that trim figure we worked so hard to keep (Labs will get fat if you look away for a moment), but she seemed happy. And we're waiting for the visit.
In knitting/blogging news, take a look at serendipity. Very smart and literate and fiber-art inspiring, and lots of good reading and craft book suggestions. In my knitting news, I'm struggling with the collar of the Snap Cardigan. It's half done, but after trying it on, I realized that all of my favorite sweaters have round collars instead of lapels, and I'm seriously considering ripping it out for the fourth time and trying either a garter stitch edge along the neckline and front bands or maybe a hood. And tonight, take-out Thai and Batman: The Animated Series from Netflix, my most favorite cartoon and good medicine after a day off spent at the store dealing with a broken water pipe in the store above us. The guy soldering the pipe held his torch too close to the sprinkler head and set it off. I think thast's great. Would a woman ever do that?