Not Dreams

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I don’t remember all of my dreams but I do remember a lot of them. Some of them are unformed, not really defined as events or people, but they’re just thoughts or ideas that were pulled out of the oven too soon. I’ve woken up feeling afraid, or sad, or elated, and the remnants of a dream be just out of memory’s reach, like a lover who gets out of the bed, and your hand misses hers by an inch. I dozed off and was jerked awake by something that was nearly a dream, somewhere in my mind, but it’s gone now, and asking me to describe it would be like asking me to tell you who was driving the car that just passed in front of the house, a third of a mile away. I can only tell you I think I heard a car go by, and nothing else.

Budlore was sick last night, into the early part of the morning, and I stayed up with him, cleaning puke up off the floor. I dozed a couple of times, and saw images, at least twice of charcoal drawings, of faces, contorted as if someone sketched out Pompeii’s last moments.  Where did this come from? I didn’t recognize the faces. They were just human forms yet not entirely finished, like the dreams that aren’t quite there yet.

 

Bud is usually energetic and exuberant. To see him down and out is disconcerting. This is the first time he’s been sick since he arrived and it’s disheartening. I can only sit with him and clean up the puke, and wait for this to pass.

 

I drift off to sleep and the dreams are fragmented and disconnected. It’s like trying to read the pages of a book as they are spewed out the end of a wood chipper. The scene and people change quickly, erratically, and there is no transition. The faces in the drawing are back, and I can tell gender, but that’s all. They seem to be colored in black, as if in shadow or night, and they all seem to be in some anguish.

 

I get up because Bud is hacking again, but he seems to be less sick. I sit on a blanket on the floor and hold Bud, and this might be the first time in his life someone had held him when he’s been sick. I lie down with him and he sleeps. I drift again, and the dreams do not come, but stay just out of reach, like someone speaking on the other side of a restaurant.

There’s a story here, where a person sees faces that have been drawn and that person doesn’t know why. Let’s start out with a female lead character, a very young woman, who isn’t an artist at all, and she’s trying to figure out what these visions she has means. They begin one night after she’s been drinking, and she wonders if she has a problem.

The woman’s name is Tory and she works for a lawyer. She has to serve an eviction notice one day and the man about to be dispossessed is an artist living in a terribly shabby and totally dark apartment; he’s blind. Sure enough, when she’s inside she see one of his drawings and it’s one of the faces she’s seen, she thinks, but she cannot be sure. The next day she tries to find him but he’s gone. The dreams become more vivid, the faces more clear, and Tory is convinced the man drew one of them, and perhaps more. She finds him by accident, near the river, about to jump. She looks at his drawings and realizes that they are the faces she’s seen.

She lets him stay at her place and he draws. The energy between them sharpens the dreams, and his drawings. At work, her employer is working on a missing person case, and setting up a substantial reward. The photo of the missing girl looks exactly like one of the faces in the dream, and one of the drawings.

 

They sit and wonder what the connection is between the two of them, and the people in the drawings. Is the girl alive or has she been murdered? Tory looks at the drawing and realizes the girl looks as if she is still alive, and she asks the artist, Archer, if he will try to draw the missing girl again.

 

Tory asks her employer about the girl, and he tells her that he was contacted by the girl’s mother, who believes her ex-husband has taken their daughter, but she doesn’t know where he is. Tory goes in search of the woman, but finds her dead. She returns to her home to find that Archer has drawn the woman’s face.

 

They both are at a loss as to how this is happening or why. They do not understand why he draws what she sees in her dreams. They make love on the floor, passionately, nearly accidentally, for they both fear the passion they’ve kept secret. Unleashed in this is a melding, where she can speak to him of her visions, and he understand now how to draw them. They sit on the floor, an invisible steam rising from their bodies from the heat, and they speak in whispers, seeking the girl, seeking her fate, looking for a connection, and finally there is a building, a home, where she might be held, and the woman had seen this house before. She asks Archer to draw a face, the face of a man, and she closes her eyes and allows her vision to take her, and she sees the girl chained to a bed, and she knows the man is near, he is coming down the steps, and he means to use her for his gain, for ransom, and his evil is plain and finally, Archer tells Tory to look up and he had drawn the face of her employer, and they realize what he is.

 

Take Care,

Mike

Budlore Amadeus Firesmith

Wrex came back at a time I wasn’t looking to move another dog in with me. I already had two of my own and two of my sister’s dog, and Wrex would make five, which is a lot of dog. But Wrex was my first foster dog, and I allowed him to be adopted because I wanted to prove a could foster a dog, a great dog, and let him go. And it was a mistake. For four years I wished Wrex was here and even though I put a lot of faith in the young couple who adopted him, I thought this was his home.

 

Apparently, Wrex agreed. After nearly four years, Wrex was returned to the Humane Society, and, of course, I agreed to foster Wrex.

 

 

With a pack of five dogs, it wasn’t a sure thing that Wrex would stay. No how much Wrex and I thought he belonged here, there were four other dogs, and one of them, Tyger Linn, has a history of anti-social behavior. I waited a full month before I legally adopted Wrex. But he slipped right into the five position with ease and grace. The little boy gets along with everyone. Wrex Wyatt, was finally home.

 

On March the 9th, 2018, someone tied a dog to the Humane Society building in Valdosta. I didn’t hear about it until a week later, but there was no one to foster the dog, and he was scheduled for death. I saw the photo and heard the story of how Sara, one of the hardest working people in the Humane Society had to cut him down from and take him to the shelter. Sara has been with the Humane Society for years. She has seen some shit. I though Sara deserved better than to be the person who had to do this.

 

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I went to see the dog at the shelter. I had to find out of there was any way at all he could be saved. He stood in his cage and barked furiously at me. But I didn’t see aggression. I didn’t see violence. I saw a terrified dog with a broken heart.

 

The shelter agreed to keep the dog for one more day for me. I posted on FB that if no one stepped forward, I would foster this dog, The Dog Left Hanging, and that would bring me up to having a six pack, and I started calling the dog Bud. When I picked him up they offered to get an animal control officer to help me. I refused. Bud was not violent or aggressive, I told them. He was terrified and his heart was broken.

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You can see in the photo Bud is less than thrilled to be with me. But he never offered to bite me, and he never growled. When I got him home I let him have some time alone, then took him out in the yard to meet Wrex. It was like they were old friends. They chased one another in the yard, and Wrex showed Bud where the water was outside, and where the best places to pee were.

 

I let Lilith and Tyger Linn meet him next and it was a nonevent. Lilith Anne acted indifferent to him, and Tyger wasn’t aggressive towards him. I let all six dogs out into the yard at one time, and everyone was happy with everyone else. I had the six pack!

 

Of course, fate conspired against me. It was a couple of weeks before I could get Bud fixed and during that time, something very strange occurred; Lilith Anne, the Queen of all the Hickory Head Packs, started trying to play with Bud. There were other things: Bud was house trained, and he knew how to sit. He was not accustomed to being a sofa dog, but he started learning which places belonged to Lilith and Tyger. My sister took her two dogs back and that got me down to three resident dogs and Bud.

 

The sight of Lilith playing with another dog, something she had not done since Lucas died, did it. Bud would become Budlore Amadeus Firesmith.

 

In a couple of hours the adoption will be legal, and Bud will, finally, come home.

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Take Care,

Mike