Dream of: 30 January 2003 "White Owls"
I was on the Gallia County Farm, trying to fix a leak in a water pipe under the Farmhouse. The area under the Farmhouse was surprisingly spacious – I was even able to stand up and walk around on the dirt floor. I had already dug a hole around one of the pipes buried in the ground; I could see the pipe but I still couldn't find the leak.
Some other people, including my father, were also under the Farmhouse watching me. One pointed out that water had begun accumulating in the hole around the pipe. I checked the hole and the water, but the water didn't seem to be coming from a leak in the pipe.
Also under the house was a litter of puppies which one of my father's dogs had produced. The puppies were probably about 6 weeks old. Even as I was looking at them, a man came and took one (the prettiest one) with brown fluffy hair. Obviously my father wanted to give away as many of the puppies as possible. As I looked over the remaining pups, I sat down on the ground, and one of my father's big brown dogs walked over and lay next to me. The remaining puppies were mostly short-haired and not particularly pretty. I suspected that if no one took them, they would end up going to the pound.
Some other animals were also living under the house; among them was an emaciated deer. Its coat was light-beige, lighter than most deer in this area. It sported antlers with four or six points. I felt sorry for it; apparently it had been born here and had never been outside. It could stick its head out some holes in the walls and eat a little grass just outside the wall; but obviously not enough grass was available to completely satisfy it. The deer walked over to me and put its head against me, allowing me to pet it. I couldn't remember having ever petted a deer before.
Also under the Farmhouse was a group of brown-feathered baby birds of some sort; they were quite large – probably about 20 centimeters long – and appeared to be some kind of baby ducks. My father was standing just outside one of the holes; I asked him if he knew what kind of birds they were. He gave a name which had the word "barbecue" in it. I could just imagine the birds being spitted for barbecue – an unpleasant idea in my mine. My father then corrected himself, and said the birds were baby "white owls." I thought he clearly must be mistaken. These birds didn't look like owls at all.
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