Animal Farm

Last night I had something of a nightmare. It might even be more of a nightmare for those who read my blog than it was for me. The very brief part of the dream that I can recall involved butchering farm animals at my parents house in Idaho. Yes, to the common city-dweller, I’m sure this is already sounding like a nightmare. But trust me, that’s not the nightmare...that really IS what people do with farm animals and that really IS where your meat comes from.

So, anyway...the dream...

The day had come, it was time. I followed my dad as he put on his jacket, his irrigating boots, grabbed a shotgun (which was something he never had in real life), and went out to slay our miniscule herd of goats and sheep.

Out in the pasture, there were two sheep, two goats, and one cow. THIS is the part where the dream started to get weird...

The sheep were speaking! By some strange, Orwellian intervention, as my father took aim for the goats, the sheep decided that it was in their best interest to help round up the goats and encourage their murder as opposed to their own. So the sheep were talking and working with my father to herd the goats into the line of fire. Just when I was starting to like the sheep, not only because they could speak English, but because they were proving themselves smarter than typical sheep, with one shot of the gun, all the animals were dead (except the cow who was rather uninvolved in the entire event and also not phased in the slightest that the sheep were speaking English or that a shotgun had just gone off). I felt absolutely shocked and devastated. And then I woke up...

Yeah...that’s weird...

Care to offer an interpretation?
Do I have a subconscious thing for sheep?
Is my true life calling to be a butcher? Or perhaps a serial murder?
Do I have unresolved issues with my mother?
Penis envy, maybe?