Dog

So this morning, this is what my mind came up with.

It was the last day of Scooby Doo. The place was open to the public, but it was a disappointing experience. All of the sets had been struck, and I could see them piled up and jumbled in a darkened room through a door which one of the workers had left open.

The walls were all bare, apart from holes in the walls where hooks had been, to hold up the scenery. There were patches of blutac and white tack, and bits of tape. The carpet was threadbare, and sticky.

I went to the commissary, and they were giving away the food. This was the last day, and they were going to throw all the uneaten food in the dumpster before going home. The server behind the counter was very nice, but I could see her pain, so even though she told me to put my money away, I sneaked a couple of hundreds into her hand "for her troubles" as she handed me the tray.

Then there was the dog.

I sat down to eat, and this huge brown head was suddenly resting on my lap. I looked down, and it was Scooby Doo the Eighth, last of the dynasty of the Scoobies Doo of Hollywood. I looked into its huge eyes, and the server was smiling sadly.

'He always cadges food off visitors,' she said. 'I put a little extra on your tray so you could feed him. I saw him looking at you.'

She then told me that this Scooby was now homeless. It was getting a little confused, wondering where the hoomans it had been hanging around with all these years had gone. Their scent was still in the air, though it was fading. And his handler had been killed in a car accident a few days ago. With nobody calling around to see if there was someone who could adopt this aging mutt, it was probably going to end its days in an empty, darkened studio.

Nobody to ask "Scooby Doo, Where Are You?"

So I massaged his forehead, and behind its ears, and its thick, muscular neck. I then fed it, and I could feel its drool on my fingers.

At that point, I woke up. I think I adopted a dog in my dream.

And I have been drooled upon by Scooby Doo.