Last night I dreamed that, after she and I sank on the Titanic, my dog established a colony on the ocean floor and that she ruled over it peacefully for decades. After a long and satisfying period of peace and prosperity, she stepped down and passed the crown to her daughter but remained in the colony in an advisory capacity. My dog’s daughter did the same when her time to step down came. The colony was populated mostly by bugs, but they were cute bugs, not icky bugs. Many times hordes of icky enemy bugs attacked the colony, but my dog and her descendants made consistently good decisions and always ended up absorbing the icky enemy bugs into the colony and making them into cute bugs. I was there the whole time but obviously I recognized that it would be folly to interfere with my dog’s wise governmental choices. When our friend Y. showed up, we realized that it was time to go, and my dog’s last words to the colony were that its members should support all things in their natural course and particularly that the plastic forks should be allowed to mate with the plastic spoons and that in fact all the plastic flatware should be allowed to mate with anybody else, because it would only strengthen the colony in the end.
Then we set off with our friend Y. on the path to our next adventure.