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Subtle Attack of the Wereflamingos

Night of March 21, 2014. Friday.

There has been quite a bit of rain and the backyard is somewhat marshy. There is an odd “painting-like” feel to the dream as I have often experienced in the past, but it is still quite vivid and realistic in other ways.

I notice three unknown girls in near-transparent white gowns (with a very light salmon-colored “glow” or “air”) and wearing laurels of small flowers. Oh wait, I must be in a dream. Once I think on this, I go back and see three large flamingos pecking about near the old tree near the back fence (the one that was sawed through in real life before we moved here, leaving only the bottom part, and is exactly at fence level as such and looks quite ridiculous and a bit surreal at that). The girls are gone. Then I think, well the girls are gone, and there are only flamingos…therefore I must be awake…well DUH! Can you believe the stupidity here? We have never had flamingos in our yard. White ibises with black heads, yes, but not pink flamingos strutting about the place.

It seems logical that this is reality. I walk over to them but they fly off. Well, now I cannot take a photo - I think I will be able to make a lot of money by sending photos to the Audubon Society from now on (or as long as the flamingos stay in the region). Later on, I see them walking about when looking through the kitchen window, but there seems to be many more at one point. I catch a glimpse of a young man through the spaces in the fence slats near the driveway opposite our house to the south - who appears to be looking into our backyard. Well, how rude.

I begin to open the door and a smaller hand comes around through the partly open door and it has painted red nails. This startles me at first and “looks like trouble”. What is odd is that the door opens on the left side instead of the right, but this does not seem to be any indication that things are not quite right, either. The girl looks remarkable (“quivering” silver eyes), breathing deeply and quite loudly, but I have no clue where she came from. “I’m hungry,” she complains as if it were perfectly normal to say such to a stranger and expect food. Not knowing what else to do, I open the refrigerator. All there is, is eggs; different sizes, different colors. Everywhere. Nothing else. I am not sure what to make of it - perhaps I need to go shopping later.

At any rate, no one is around anymore. I look out the back and the flamingos are dancing about in a somewhat ungraceful manner. (This reminds me of the dream when my wife was somehow a large white egret at one point in some sort of anthropomorphic bird ritual, but that dream was more involving.)

Then it dawns on me. Tommy Roe is our new neighbor, so all the “pretty flamingos” come over the fence and steal…I do not know what exactly, as there is not really food lying about in the yard. The album I had in my youth had “Wild Thing” listed just prior to “Pretty Flamingo” (oddly, there is no reference on Wikipedia to this). So…we have a wereflamingo problem, but I do not seem to mind. However, considering “Roe”, I remember that roe is actually fish eggs and reconsider if the eggs in the refrigerator are somehow fish eggs rather than various types of bird eggs.

“Roe!”…I absentmindedly shout…”like pollywog eggs!”

A disembodied elderly female Russian voice says “Such a face dushka you are a clown!”

This means two things. Firstly, it means the scriptwriters for "The Other" could not speak Russian as “dushka” supposedly is only used for young women (or big guns - take your pick) as a term of endearment. Secondly, I saw “The Other” one too many times…and it did not even have flamingos in it.

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