Dreams, bruh. Nearly a week after this one, I still tremble with terror and get cold waves of gratitude that it was only a dream.
I viciously killed two people. There was blood and fury, although I didn’t “see” this ‒ I just knew it had happened.
I don’t know why; it was only the aftermath, the incredible shame, that invaded my sleep. I was crushed by terror and an overwhelming guilt at facing my loved ones.
I was all set to confess and go straight to jail. But then my big dog Zeus snuggled up and I was horrified at the thought that I would not be allowed to “cuddle paws” with him on a prison bunk. We always sleep with our feet intertwined. How would I ever sleep again?
I must have been snoring because I woke up to a massive boerboel face wash, the kind I get when I talk, mutter or snore. I assume.
The remnant of that dream induced day tremors.
The weight of shame was so breathtaking, it led to many daytime ruminations about how people could kill for real without conscience. I can’t even lie or be bitchy without feeling bad. There is not a word to describe my loathing of people who steal others’ lives.
That was the third in a three-night wave of very vivid and odd dreams. The first one was about unexpectedly falling head over heels in love with someone and realising we could never share a bed because Zeus would never allow it. He owns that bed and only my little terrier Belly and I can sleep there. No one else dares get near when I’m in it.
The second was also about possible romance, but me ‘n the dogs are far too grouchy for a newcomer.
And clearly my brain is dysfunctional. But not nearly as much as some.
I have trusted, loving furry companions who don’t even let me out of their sight for (my) bathroom break. When they get their daily biscuit and are involved in chewing, I consider it the Great Escape to get to the bathroom and shut the door, just for two minutes. No little one’s head on my foot and big one’s paw on the other.
You get the picture: I love my dogs beyond measure.
Which is why my stomach turns and revulsion envelops me over the story doing the rounds of a man somewhere in Durban who, in a filthy internet corner, invites people to let him have sex with their dogs which they can watch if they like. Apparently a video has been seen of a man having sex with a sedated dog; charges have been laid and police are investigating.
What manner of beast is this?
Consent is the key word around any sexual activity.
That’s why children and unwilling adults are (supposed to be) protected. And animals.
Apart from the illegality of this act, it is well understood that this sort of fetish is a good indicator of a badly disordered mind, which we can’t have loose in our communities.
If I would be allowed to take my furry friends to jail with me, I could certainly make my dream a gratifying reality with this one.
- Lindsay Slogrove is the news editor.
The Independent on Saturday