In this one, I see two deer (it's not clear whether they're mule or white tail) lolling on the ridge line. They're semi-anthropomorphic — they look like deer, but they're sprawled on the ground as if in a reading position, each supporting his head with one hand (or hoof). I climb to where they are lying and join them, but the terrain is very steep and I tumble backward head over heel a hundred or so feet into a swampy thicket. The deer follow me gingerly. There's a fadeout. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the back of one of the deer just like in the westerns when a dead man is carried back to town horseback. The deer take me home — to a log cabin, unfamiliar to me, in the woods. My friends unload me, and one of them says, "We should do something for the deer." I say, "OK, let's not shoot them." End of dream.
Once again, my nighttime life is orders of magnitude more imaginative that my daytime existence.
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