I'm home, but it's not
my dad's house. I'm on the porch with my dog, who's been dead for a few years, and
a lion who I know to be the pet of one of our
white trash neighbors. Initially, it seems the situation is
copacetic. Rainy (my dog) and the lion are sniffing each other, looking at each other, behaving more or less amiably. Then, for no apparent reason, they decide to
start shit.
They're growling, circling each other. Rainy barks in a way I know to be a signal for the
puppy, who's in the house, to come out and
get her back. But that won't do. The aid of the puppy is not going to do anything for Rainy's
strategic position, and she's old. It's up to me.
I consider everything I know about
bears. (Why bears? Cause I'm a
country girl and that's the
big dangerous mammal I know the most about.) In the process, the lion nearly becomes a bear, but I move on with my
contingency plan too quickly for it to
shift shape. I run away from my snarling dog as the puppy bounds,
happy and puppy-like, out of the house. The lion follows, just as I had planned. Mwuahahahaha.
From there, it gets weird. The lion is chasing, but not attacking. It comes close to biting me several times, on the hand as I try to
fend it off and on the ass, as I'm running. Then it turns into a boy, finds a chair, pulls me onto its lap, and we start
making out. I only did what I had to, to save my dogs.