No, I didn't come home in a Joe Borowski mask.
I had that dream where the cobras are striking at your legs. I have that dream a few times a year. I'm not that afraid of snakes, and, before you start analyzing what it all means, I'll tell you what it all means.
I have the cobra dream when I get cramps in my legs in the middle of the night. I wake up flailing, thrashing my legs. I scream. (Sometimes, I even scream "Cobras!") I bite my pillow. I think maybe there is an alien probe in my leg. I contemplate killing myself to end the excruciating pain. I realize it's not that bad. I go back to sleep.
This time was different, though. Because this was the first such occasion since a certain someone decided Radley should start sleeping on the bed. The first flail of the legs went right under him, under the covers and vaulted him into the wall.
After I consoled the poor puppy, he went to sleep in the closet on my dirty clothes. As he walked off, he glanced over his shoulder at me as if to say, "Dad. I never wreck your world when I bark in my sleep."
Life's not fair, Rads.
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