I woke up this morning from a dream that I couldn't define as good or bad.
Snakes are protected in Australia. If you find an enormous snake eating your uncle, you better not kill it. Of course, there are exceptions–if your uncle was the fun kind who took you to amusment parks, you can kill the snake. If, on the other hand, this was the creepy uncle whose favourite movies are all three Porky's movies, you are not allowed to kill the snake.
I don't have neither ophidiophobia nor herpetophobia. I've come across a few when hiking or camping, and the ones here can be lethal. By the way, I have learned that often the big, greasy poo that some inconsiderate dog walker left is usually a snake.
I am also not religious. I do not see a snake as a metaphor for Satan, the debbil, or any other bad hombre.
You can imagine my surprise at having this dream. I saw that a very large snake–a constrictor–was in our bedroom. Yes, I know you Freudians are having a hey day now. As more of the snake came in, I could see through its skin to what was in its belly. He had Tamale I could also see that Tamale was still breathing–gulping. My husband got me a knife, and I slit the snake open by Tamale's mouth. I pulled her out. Blood was everywhere, but my dog was fine. I could see other furry things in the snake that looked dead, but when I looked about the room, I saw Zuni on a chair.
For however long a dream lasts–it felt like hours–I had Tamale back in my arms.
I guess Dream Interpretation 101 would tell me that in my dream, I could save Tamale from whatever was eating her inside and lead to DIC. Zuni died a peaceful death, by stroke and then euthanasia. Basically, she slept to death. Tamale's death was traumatic for many: for her because she had no idea what was happening to her body as it little clots fired off inside of her; for me because I had been overseas and was just getting her back from her sitters when Tamale started limping soon after getting out of the car, had to be carried to the clam pool to cool her off, rushed to the vet, and then die alone at night at the vet; for Omo who got out of the car with her and then sat with us while we cooled her off and then carried her in a blanket sling; my husband who couldn't help because he was at work; and Brooke, their sitter, who is a greyhound lover and just gone into the hospital for major surgery.
At least in my dreams I can save her, and in my dreams I can feel her. It's real to me until I wake up.