Last night I dreamt that I was part of an elite military intelligence unit in the late 1970s. I was a big, bad-ass woman, but I still didn't do actual combat because it was the 1970s. However, I had war stories from when I'd helped a general in a major battle in 1972, which was when I was noticed and recommended for the special unit.
Our unit was undercover, investigating this guy whom we suspected of filming pornography with his two pre-teen daughters. He liked to go out to parks and stuff to film, bringing his camera and his pretty blond girls with him. Our cover was that we were goat herders. So we'd take these goats out to this beautiful park with rolling green hills and spy on this dude while pretending to take care of the goats. The target was really sneaky, though, and we could never actually get evidence on him.
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| OMG, baby goats are so adorable! Source. |
His daughters liked playing with the little goat kids, though. I had a long conversation with a new operative about how human kids just can't resist adorable goat kids. So that helped us get closer to our target.
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| Seriously, they are the freaking cutest! Source. |
Anyway, some of the goat kids were really tiny and sickly, and one night one of them died, and I was devastated. There was this other tiny goat the size of a chihuahua that I'd carry around in my arms because it was orphaned or something. Then one day I was sitting on the couch and telling war stories. When I finally got up, I realized that the goat was not in my lap anymore. I checked among the blankets and behind the couch cushions--terrified that I'd squished my little charge--but there was no impossibly tiny baby goat.
I really hoped that the little guy had just gotten up to go to the bathroom without my noticing. (Because this was a housetrained baby goat.) I wandered through the hallway of our house/secret headquarters calling for him. Maybe he was stolen by the evil pervert for reasons! And then I woke up.
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