Morning of October 3, 1971. Sunday.
In this case, knowing exactly that I was entering the lucid dream state, it was like walking out of my bedroom in Cubitis, Florida, and going outside to see what the dream looked like, as it seemed all bright and sunny. Even though I was very young, I was still contemplating contact with a female.
It seemed a very nice day; I could even feel the fresh warm air on my body and in my lungs, and the distance orientation to other areas of the yard and orange groves was all perfect, as was the sense of my weight and smooth walking movements (including extremely realistic ambiance), and an almost overwhelming joy and sense of freedom, but there was soon something else overpowering and menacing in the dream, almost as if I was being stopped from exploring beyond my large front yard. There were three menacing dogs growling at me shortly after that otherwise beautiful feeling of freedom, my sense of freedom lowering somewhat, but I was not attacked. Dogs in my dreams were almost always a light rust-color or black and always a threat of some kind. I did have a pet (stray) dog for several weeks as a teenager (in fact, the same shade of light rust-color as in my dreams) but I am not sure why I had so many nightmarish dreams of dogs, the ghosts of dogs jumping out of their bony remains (and me just managing to reach a doorway and wake as they bit at my heels), and quite a few “dogs guarding the secrets of the dream world” so to speak, as it surely seemed in this case.
The most bizarre thing, though, was a creature that was moving about in the yard looking much like a bull ready to charge. Its legs and feet did not look quite right. It was mostly facing towards my home, in the closer 1/3rd of our very large yard, but slightly to the northeast. My first thought was that it was a bull that had somehow gotten a puppet stage stuck on its head (and in the back of my mind I was thinking of what had happened to the teachers and students watching the show) and was therefore extremely agitated. But upon looking more closely, it seemed that the bull’s head actually was a puppet stage, with a small, red, velvety curtain continuously swaying out and inward to where the face would have been. I hear the strange breathing and snorting as he moves one front leg about (almost like a chicken scratching for food), and feel a sense of potential danger, but nothing dramatic happens other than an eerie feeling that the dream is not really my own, which causes me to decide to just wake up, a bit frustrated.
