I am in a large house. I'm staying with a friend or an acquaintance.
I wake up from an afternoon nap and the house is empty.
For some reason I'm drawn to the basement which is also a partial garage.
A begin searching through the boxes, bikes, and miscellaneous equipment.
Behind a box I find my dog Pepper who was put to sleep five years ago.
She has three legs. A new development.
She hobbles out to me, her tail wagging, and I collapse on the floor stunned and elated.
She climbs into my lap, I cradle her, she licks my face.
I wonder if she has been alive this whole time. If my dad did not in fact put her to sleep five years ago. That maybe he simply set her loose, unable to go through with it. And during the course of those intervening years she lost a leg. Or, I think, maybe that was the price she had to pay to comeback.
I find a leash in the garage and take her for a walk. We are in LA and its warm. Pepper is as excitable and joyous as I remember. We walk along basking in the sunlight, I contented and feeling whole, Pepper sniffing everything she can get her nose in front of.
I fade out of the dream and into my bed slowly, filled with a deep melancholy for my loving and loyal companion who has moved on.
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