WAYAN

I'm a talking dog, in a pack. But not a member--a guest. They pack is owned by a man who keeps them--including me, while I'm here--confined to a single porch. They complain his abuse is chronic--and confinement's not the worst. It's thirst. One small water bowl for the whole pack! Oh, there's a second bowl--set near a watchdog who's not in the pack and won't share; a big, lonely but intimidating figure.

The talking dogs want separate bowls--one each. Not just for more water, and an end to quarrels over the lone dish. It'd help limit the spread of doggie diseases, too.

I wake, write my dream. My friend Cecy calls. To tell me her dream.

CECY

I'm in the New Mexico desert. A dog climbs a tree, goes way out on a limb, and jumps! The dog lands on a bigger animal's corpse at the tree-foot.

It's the first known case of dog suicide.

Why'd the dog do it? Tormented by thirst!

WAYAN, 2020

Aside from their shared aspect, what'd the dreams mean? Mine was literal. I really was chronically dehydrated. Hated drinking water. I was skeletal and assumed I was anorexic (wrongly; turned out to be severe gluten intolerance. I wasn't starving myself; I wasn't absorbing what I ate! Cut out wheat & oats, and my weight normalized). But I also assumed my reluctance to drink water unless practically fainting from thirst was a facet of anorexia--psychological. Blaming the victim.

Soon after this our house got a good water filter, and suddenly I drank normally. Apparently my body had sensed something in our tap water (probably lead from old pipes) and preferred thirst to poison.

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