Here is last night’s dream, of note is the marked vivid nature of the blood early on. I have not had one like this.

The dream starts in a very British holiday camp setting like a Butlins of old. It is dank and damp outside and I am in communal area with British holiday makers, mostly families. We are waiting for a break in the weather. A TV is playing in the corner high up on the wall. Some people are gathered around Formica tables playing cards. There are children and adolescents on their technology. It seems old-school, old-fashioned, 1970s even.

I go up some stairs to a common room area on the upper level. This leads to chalet rooms. People are sat around and I note a door which has a cardboard box placed in front of it holding it shut. I ask a woman why. She says that it is there to keep them in. I can take a look if I would like but she advises against it. If I do, I should close the door behind me.

I am like others slightly bored by the confinement indoors. I go over to the room and enter closing the door behind me. A medium sized black dog tries to get out as I go in. I shoe it with my foot and enter. I look down and notice that it is badly injured. There are lacerations and cuts. In the dream I know that it is dying and unwell.

Out of nowhere, it seems, a pine marten like animal starts to chase the dog around the room trying to kill it, to bite it on the back of the neck to administer a coup de grâce. The animals chase each other around the room at high speed. The pine marten bites the dog and the dog tries to bite it.

The dog runs into an open cupboard. The pine marten stops in front of me and stands up on its hind legs, it looks me quizzically in the eye. Both the pine marten and I know that it is best for the dog to die. The wounds it received when being hit by a car are not going to heal and will ultimately prove fatal. It is better that the marten quickly finishes the job. I can hear people outside saying that I should trap the marten and let the dog out. The marten knows me and trusts me.

The chase continues. By now the room is filled with vivid bright red blood sprayed everywhere. It comes mostly from the dog. There is more blood than makes sense and it has squirted across my face and arms. The dog gets cornered by the marten and bitten again. The chase continues helter-skelter. Finally the marten has the dog at the back of the neck and holds it until the dog is still. The marten is limping a little after it lets go.

I go out through the door and into a palatine Kremlin like room. Sat at a table in a meeting is Putin. There are Russian politburo members around the table. I go over and say, “Vladimir I need you to summon the vet. Your pine marten is injured next door.” Putin gets up from the table after making a call. We are joined by a vet in a white coat.  I open the door and the marten comes to me. I explain to both Putin and the vet, in Imperial French, that the marten has a problem with its his legs and a lump on its tail. The vet asks me to hold the marten which I do whilst it is examined. The vet find a boiled sweet lozenge entangled in the hair of the marten’s tail. During the process all the marten’s fur has become whiter more like a winter pelt. The vet cuts the lozenge out with some scissors. He shows it to me and throws it into a bin. The vet then wipes the fur of the marten with a cloth soaked in vodka. Putin is beaming with happiness. When I let go the clean marten climbs up my legs and into my arms. It is only slightly hurt. I know in the dream that the pine marten is more than a pine marten, some kind of rare totem.

The dream ends.

On writing this up I think of this…

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