In which I pet my brother

            The directors of the Arboretum, where I spent a not-small amount of my childhood pretending I was an eagle making a nest, eventually retired and moved up to Colorado. As they were family friends, we would occasionally stop in to visit as we took trips around or past Dolores. On one such trip, we were meeting their St. Bernard, Moose, which was massive, but more so, slobbered a lot.

            This led to a lot of discussions of dogs as well as a few interesting moments in which we would open the door to a face full of slobber.

            I can only imagine that these had combined to put dogs very much in my mind, but I was not prepared for the fall out of it.

            We were given a room off in a wing that was less likely to have allergens for my mom, and we spread out across the bed, couches, and floors for any available sleeping space.

            As such, my brother and I ended up with two Thermarests and sleeping bags on the floor.

            One night a few days into the visit, I had a very vivid (and very unusual for me to even have a) dream.

            I was on our couch at home, reaching over the arm to pet our dog River on the floor.

I was petting River for a few moments, and then things got weird in the dream. River had short, scratchy hair, and he was bald in places.

            At about this point I woke up to find that I had reached over in my dream and was petting my brother’s face.

            My hand has never retracted so fast,

My brother exclaimed, “What the HECK!”,

And I definitely pretended I was asleep in my mortified state of embarrassment and spent the next several hours reviewing THE SHAME!