You know how dreams can be all kinds of weird, right? But sometimes, there's a nugget of truth in them...
Early this morning as I slumbered under the spray of Farmer H's breather mist, I had a dream about my sweet, sweet Juno. It was holiday time. Thanksgiving, I think. And the Hillbilly family had at their disposal a five-gallon white plastic drywall bucket that we carried from room to room of our festive Mansion. Oh, that bucket was not full of drywall. Neither was it empty. That bucket was full of
Mashed potatoes, with tiny lumps to show that real potatoes were used. Smashed potatoes, if you will. With fresh ground pepper sprinkled liberally over the top. Yes, I was in charge of the mashed potato bucket. It never left my side. If folks wanted mashed potatoes, they dipped out a heapin' helpin' with their own spoon.
I sat back in Farmer H's blue La-Z-Boy, the mashed potato bucket near the footrest. That very special bucket held not only delicious mashed potatoes, but also
MY SWEET, SWEET JUNO!
That's right. In my dream world, black silky Juno sat right in the middle of a drywall bucket filled with mashed potatoes. I was so happy for her. She behaved like she had a royal pedigree. And if she got hungry, she could always take a couple of bites of mashed potatoes.
I did not even dream about what her snout must taste like stuffed with spuds.