Leeloo, a Nightmare, and a Happy Reunion

Last night, I had the WORST nightmare with the BEST ending ever.  I was flying who knows where on a commercial flight with Leeloo in her Grandpa-style, plaid carry case that had miraculously squished to fit under the seat in front of me.  During takeoff, the plane overshot the runway and ended up on some sort of emergency roller coaster track, where the plane skidded to a stop.  All the screaming passengers quieted and then began cheering like crazy people.

But for some reason, the pilots and flight attendants started screaming at us to get off the plane RIGHT NOW!  I scooped up Leeloo in her carry case and my huge suitcase, but the flight attendants from hell wrenched both cases from my hands and demanded I leave the plane without either.  I was fighting and shouting at them, but the discombobulated mob of passengers behind me swept me out of the plane.

While we were charging out of the plane in a Salem witch hunt fashion, the airline rigged the plane up to some sort of trailer hitch and pulled it down the roller coaster tracks and into a deep canal to dispose of the metal carcass.  I stood on the side of the canal and watched helplessly as the plane slowly drowned beneath the surface, the air bubbles going from a jacuzzi rush to a fateful popping few.  I had been fighting to go back toward the plane to save Leeloo, but the airline agents kept telling me that the plane had been sealed and cleared for destruction.

I then wandered around like a homeless hippie on a bad trip for what seemed like forever, trying to talk to all the airline personnel and find out about Leeloo and my bags.  Every single one of them yelled at me and asked me why I didn't bring them out of the plane with me.  Their accusatory looks seared into me.  I was defeated and frustrated when a random good samaritan told me to check the banks of the canal because a lot of the luggage had mysteriously appeared where I had just been walking.  As I walked down the bank, back toward the submerged plane, there were hundreds of dogs who had been rescued from the plane.

I interrogated several people, asking if they had seen Leeloo, but they all shook their heads and looked at me with pity.  Finally, an agent skipped joyfully over to me and said that Leeloo was "right over there".  I looked over and she was calmly laying in her carrier, not 10 feet away.  When I opened the carrier, she darted out and did her "Welcome Home, Mommy" dance and licked my face.  

I woke up after this and immediately fired up my laptop to psychoanalyze myself and my dream by using the incredibly reliable online dream dictionary, dreammoods.com

Here's what Dream Moods had to say:

Airplane Crash 
To dream that a plane crashes signifies that you have set overly high and unrealistic goals for yourself. You are in danger of having those goals come crashing down. 

Dog 
To see a dog in your dream symbolizes intuition, loyalty, generosity, protection, and fidelity. 

Based on these descriptions, I have no choice but to assume that my goals of being loyal and generous, and my desire to be intuitive, offer protection, and have a strong sense of fidelity, are simply unrealistic goals.  Therefore, I will continue to be a selfish hag, knowing damn well that Leeloo is right here, safe and sound.

Needless to say, the rest of my day went splendidly...

Leeloo, Dunkan, and the Icky Itchies

Scritchy, scratchy, icky itchies!  This is what Dunkan has.  A rather large colony of combative bacteria made a home of Mr. D's skin several weeks (perhaps months) ago, and now that he's shaved to his birthday suit, well, his almost birthday suit (his ball-less balls still have a hairy covering, which I'm convinced must be par-for-the-course in a country where the men blow dry their pubic hair in front of others in the locker room...), the bacteria has revealed itself as our own, annoying Poltergeist.  Come to the light, bacteria!  Come to the light!

Well, come to the light it did, which is good for us, bad for it.  Mr. D is now taking medicine, getting slathered up in lotion like a fat, 50 year old man in a Thai massage parlor, eating food that's more expensive than caviar, and taking omega supplements (sorry fishies).  Unfortunately, the icky itchies can spread to other dogs, so I sent Leeloo away as if she were the beautiful, older sister of a child sick with small pox.

Leeloo will spend the next few weeks with her best friend, Bongae the Spitz, and his mom, Bernie.  They will have the daunting task of caring for my gongju, which will be nothing less than entertaining and frustrating, I'm sure.  We will meet up on the weekend and head to the dog cafe for some quality one-on-one...err...one-on-one-on-thirty time.

It never ceases to amaze me how empty everything feels when Leeloo is gone.  At least Dunkan is here for me to trip over, a constant reminder that I can't just take a nap or paint my nails or stare aimlessly at my Facebook news feed that hasn't changed since I last checked it 20 seconds before...

Simply put, I miss my Pumpkinator and her reign of terror love in my life.  I hope she recognizes me next weekend!

Where The Dogs Have No Names

"You"...whoever "You" is... I don't really know how to do this or what to say.  I don't even know if "You" is listening or if "You" cares.  But here I am.

I remember my past.  Hunger and hurt.  It felt like I wasn't part of my body.  My skin hung from my bones, desperately reaching and wanting a return to the earth, an eternal vacation from my suffering.  My long ears did nothing to halt the endless howls of sorrow.  The crust and thick, gooey curtains over my eyes did not shield me from the sights of hopelessness.  My belly was left empty, cramping from my voracious and ignored appetite.  I sat in my own filth with my head hung low and my heart drumming an endless drone of exasperated life.  I was in a place where the dogs have no names.

Revolution springs into my life.  Change.  This word conjures up mixed emotions.  Change is bad.  It leaves me outside.  It leaves me cold.  It leaves me tired, my eyes throbbing with pressure.  It leaves me wondering.  Change is good.  It is warm.  It is food.  It is the care for my eyes.  It is the settling of my heart, no longer writhing with an alien attacker.  It is the calmness of a hand.  It is a unique emotion of something I'm unfamiliar with.  Change is strange.  It is warm, but without a hand.  It is food, but tastes like garbage.  It is my skin that doesn't sag, but burns with discomfort.  It is a house without love.  It is confusing. Change is a friend and a foe.

Change has come again.  I am afraid.  Will this be change that is bad?  Will it be strange?  Could it be good?  I am tired of change.  I can no longer bear the uncertainty of what my life is.  It is better to just get it over with and find out which change this is.  I plead to return to the place where the dogs have no names.  Even this would be better than the ups and downs! I reveal all my negative attributes, trying to drive away something I didn't know I wanted.  But nothing follows.  Nothing.  No response.  Interesting.  But then, something strange happens, or rather, doesn't happen.  There is no fear.  There is no hunger.  There is no hurt.  Very interesting indeed.

That unique emotion of something I'm unfamiliar with comes to life.  I am boggled by this strange, tingly emotion.  I want to run.  I want to feel.  I want to share.  I want to learn.  I want.  My heart feels full, but not in the sickly, uncomfortable way it did when the alien attackers invaded.  My belly feels full, but isn't screamingly upset the way it was when there was nothing but garbage filling it.  My eyes see!  This strange, tingly emotion fills every bone, every vein, every nerve ending.  "You" tells me it is love.  "You" soothingly chants that it is no more change.  "You" calls it "hope".  H-hope?

Hope.  I like this.  Hope.  I test it out.  It doesn't taste bitter.  I like it more.  I test it again.  It feels reassuring.  I like it even more.  I test it further.  It sounds smooth and steady.  I like it a lot.  I test it.  It smells sweet.  I really like it!  Hope.  Hope.  Hope.  One last test.  It looks... It looks... It looks... What is that word?  I've heard it somewhere.  It was just a whisper then.  Yes.  Home.  It looks like home.  I love it!

"You". Hope.  Home.  A place where the dogs have names.


With hope,
Dunkan

(Written by Amanda)

Snapshots of Little Miss Leeloo

This is the monster I'm dealing with every single day.

Pet me!

Starting a New Virtual Adventure

Two nights ago...

Leeloo stares pointedly up at me, head tilted to the right.  Head tilted to the left.  Head tilted to the right.  Left.  Right.  Left.  Right.  Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, still staring at me.  She licks her nose and tentatively puts her paws up on my knee.  Apparently, we need to talk.  I start feeling uncomfortable knowing that Leeloo wants to talk to me.  I'm usually the one doing the talking.  She paws at my arm and yawns, willing me to understand what she wants from me.  I think I understand...

Satisfied with our telepathic communication, Leeloo plops down on the floor and proceeds to lick her butt, an indication that our "chat" has successfully concluded.  With this, I know what I need to do (besides visit the vet for a little anal gland relief)...

Tonight...

Leeloo is smirking up at me, one ear up and the other down.  She has just brought me her half-eaten Dingo Ringo-o-o, tossing it at my feet.  Perhaps this is my "positive reinforcement" for following her willed instructions from two nights prior.  I'm being such a good human!  She now brings me her beef bully stick, encouraging me to follow her cues.  So with hands shaking, fingers numb, heart pounding, thinking of Leeloo's and I's deep discussion two nights ago, wishing Leeloo had thumbs and could take over, I OFFICIALLY start our blog...

Leeloo kisses me on my nose.  It's definitely my reward.