Dog

Apr 26, 2026

"After that I went to a shed on my own and there was a mountain lion cub being attacked by three wild pigs. I talked to the leader of the pigs and he said to leave them alone and they wouldn't hurt anyone but the cub. They had already killed the mother. I wanted to keep the cub but I let them keep it for now. I got into a building and some people were in it with a bunch of big dogs. I thought about telling them to let the dogs go get the pigs but since the pigs and I had already come to an agreement I told them to keep the dogs inside because there's wood pigs around. "

Apr 14, 2026

"Was at a parking lot of a bar and picked up my car. Another male friend of mine was there and he needed to get his car too but it was covered in snow. The parking lot was very snowy to buy my car as cleared already. Poetically because i hasn't been there so long. I drove to taco johns and potato olays were more expensive than usual. Everyone from the bar was there and we talked about how they were more expensive now. So i went home. I went to the shower and it just started raining out blood. It was making words on the shower curtain. They seemed to be things like from a shampoo bottle. I wasn't scared but annoyed. So I got out. The was an Australian Shepard dog and the person who's dog it was didn't like it and said it may need to go live in another town soon. "

Apr 4, 2026

"I'm in my childhood home but the rooms don't connect the way they should — I walk through the kitchen door and end up in a hallway I've never seen before, lined with framed photos of people I almost recognize. Every door I try leads somewhere that doesn't belong in this house. My mother is there but she won't look at me directly. She's cooking something at a stove that keeps moving to different walls. I try to tell her something urgent — I can feel how important it is — but I can't remember what it is the moment I open my mouth. She says "you already told me" and keeps stirring. The house starts filling with water from somewhere below. Not flooding urgently — just rising slowly, ankle deep, then knee deep. The framed photos stay dry somehow. I'm not panicking but I know I should be moving and I'm not. Outside the windows it's a neighborhood I don't recognize pretending to be mine. The streetlights are on even though it's the middle of the day. A dog is sitting on the sidewalk staring at the house. It doesn't move. It's been there the whole time. I wake up before the water reaches the stairs but I have the feeling I've left something important behind in one of those rooms."