Boy and dog are reunited and all is right in the world.
I read in a Tom Robbins novel that a person's dreams are affected by where they sleep. If you sleep in someone else's bed, for example, you dream like them. I'm not sure whether this occurs as a result of some mystical connection between a body and its bed or olfactory memories created by inhaling that person's lufted skin cells and whatnot. The book didn't elaborate. But it's a neat thought to entertain. Anyway, according to Robbins, a bed that no one has slept in for a while leaves no impression.
I haven't dreamed at all since I got home. I've slept well, but it's that dreamless deadweight sleep, like when I've had to much to drink. Only I haven't.
Otherwise, home is good. I have perhaps the most disparate collection of Netflix deliveries: "Charade," "Irreversible" and "The Muppets Take Manhattan."
Dreamy or not, life is good.