Skip to main content

Dream: Dog Prime

Our house was being attacked by this demonic dog. We knew him to be Dog Prime, the first dog to ever exist. He carried a big pointy stick. After stalking our house and trying to get in through all the windows and failing, he threw the stick at a window pane and broke it. He was terrorizing us with his little antics.

Fed up, I opened the main door, ready to whip Dog Prime with my own stick. But after I poked him several times, he turned into this really cute and docile puppy (that looked a little like the Palawan anteater; still Dog Prime but no longer demonic). He rolled over and let me stroke his belly, and I was in love with the ancient little creature.

I was carrying Dog Prime when two men who introduced themselves as bill collectors of Globe Telecom came. They were men in uniform, quite tall and bulky. I can't recall why they came, but we had no business with them. Then one of them noticed Dog Prime and said he was cute. I let him carry Dog Prime -- and the bastard walked away with the puppy!

I ran after them, and said, "If you don't give him back, I will call the police." The man stopped, looked at me, and threw the puppy on the ground. Then he pulled out a gun and shot Dog Prime several times, as if saying, "If I can't have him, you can't too." Then they left.

I ran home, and when the coast was clear, I went back to pick up Dog Prime's body. Surprisingly, he was alive but weak, and none of the bullets had penetrated his body. He suffered from the fall though, and I woke up wondering if I should take the first dog to ever exist on Earth to the vet.


Popular posts from this blog

The work for which all other work is but preparation

I've been thinking, off and on, of something I once read: The purpose of marriage is not happiness but holiness. Never having been a "good" Christian despite my many attempts, I couldn't understand this line of thinking. Having been raised Catholic, I understood "holiness" to have as one of its main ingredients suffering — and why even want to get married if to be successful at it means to suffer? But these words never left me, bobbing up every now and then from the flotsam and jetsam of my brain. Until, one day, it dawned on me what the statement meant for me. On that same day, I also realized that I do want the gift of marriage. In fact, that is my Christmas wish this year.  My view is not a biblical view, but I don't think it strays too far from it. To be holy is to be set apart from others, as God is, in his perfect goodness and righteousness, in his perfect love (yes, this is biblical; yes, I know I said I wasn't looking at it biblically).  The

Visita Iglesia

My mom and I went with my sister, her family, and the in-laws to their Visita Iglesia for the Holy Week. I'd never done this before, but I had such an interesting time, and I think I'd like to do this again next year. We didn't do the Stations of the Cross, though. We just prayed and lit candles. A lot of candles. Here's a list of the churches we visited. Recto The University Belt churches, all of which are within walking distance to each other. The path to all those churches were lined with vendors hawking all sorts of things, from food, like calamares (I'd never seen calamares being sold as street food before! Lucky U-Belt kids!), all-sorts-of-balls-and-the-like (chicken, squid, fish, kikiam , and kwek-kwek ), to bottled water and flavored beverages, to candles and religious paraphernalia. 1. The San Beda Church , which I loved for the gilt of gold on the statues and the ceiling, and because once a Bedan, always a Bedan, though I didn't go to San Beda

Dream: Disaster

Last night's dream. This is a long one. I was in a management class that suddenly became a cooking class. The teacher whipped up this Italian dish with pasta, meat and some mushrooms and vegetables. "Would anyone like to have this?" she asked us. Nobody replied. A bit miffed, she handed it to the student in front of her: me. The dish looked delicious, actually, so I stood up and went around the classroom to get everyone to try it. Some of my classmates feigned interest, and some didn't bother to hide their annoyance, but most got some of the food. The plate was soon empty, even for me, so I went back to my seat. The teacher, who'd been watching me serve her dish, asked, "Why do you have blood on the seat of your pants? Do you have your period?" Surprised, and suddenly anxious, I whispered, "I just finished my, um, girly thing, ma'am, but I'll go check. I might have just sat on something that looks like blood." I saw what looked like blo