I need to record this dream before I forget it. It is 2 am.
I am walking home across a beautifully manicured field. I come to a long, perfectly shaped ditch, about three feet across. The ditch is formed like a half-pipe, the soil fresh, and it is dotted with small, chubby white pigs and a few black dogs. The pigs are incredibly cute. For some reason, I don't want to step into the ditch but want to try to jump over it to the other side. But I think it is slightly too wide.
The pig-herder, who is some kind of "Odin the Wanderer" type in a Norse-looking cloak and holding a staff, approaches, and says, it is easy to step over. I will demonstrate.
Getting himself off to a start about a hundred yards away, he does a strange sort of goosestep, turning the soles of his feet inward (like pointing to second position in ballet) but lifting his legs high like a fascist soldier. He executes this march and the size of the goosestep crosses the ditch exactly. "You see? You can do it!"
I think about it but I demur. I just walk to the right, following the ditch until it ends at a road. It is a small brick border and I tiptoe along the bricks to the other side, then cross the field towards my house. The pigs and the herder begin to follow me.
My house has a long driveway and it is lined with small sinklike pens on wooden stands where the pigs now go (not sure how they manage to climb up but they are suddenly there). So these pens/sinks are lining the driveway, and the house has no door; instead, it has only three walls; the driveway is the width of where the door should be and the paving leads straight into the living room.
In the living room are a series of couches, all in a line and facing the same way, so as I enter the line of couches (rather Victorian looking) is on my left. I enter and my mother is sitting on one of the couches as is a friend of mine from L.A., Ken Brady. The pig-herder/Odin the Wanderer enters, looking a bit like Gandalf as well. My mother welcomes him and urges him to sit, but adds, "Don't let the pigs in the house." She says, "Our dogs will attack them."
Too late because our dogs have run out to the and the pigs are being attacked. I run out to shoo them away but one pig is wounded. I bend down to lift it into my arms and I realize it's furry, more like rabbit than pig. In fact they all are rabbits as well as pigs but in the dream they continue to be called pigs. So, I hold the pig in my arms and bring it in.
Ken says in a very forensic-TV series like voice, "Oh, the bullet entered the left temporal lobe and went right through. It will be fine."
I put the pig down on the sofa's edge, the one on the end. It seems fine and everyone is saying how cute it is. Then it suddenly jumps down on the floor. It runs to the far wall where there is a space under the stairs that go up the next floor, and it starts spraying shit on the carpet. Literally spraying - it's like baby shit, no lumps, just a sort of gushing stream.
My housekeeper runs in and starts trying to mop it up, and my mother says, "That's what happens when you let them into the house...."
Then I wake up!