Hobbitat under my house and a fish becomes a dog

I was in the process of showing some perspective renters around my house, giving the grand tour, when I stumbled across a door, an entrance into the crawlspace that I had never seen before. It was somewhere between the garage and the front porch and was about half the height of a normal human door. It wasn't round or magical looking, but it appeared to be more suited for a hobbit or dwarf than a human.

"Hmm. Let's see what's in here," I said to my potential tenants.

I opened the door, ducking to get inside. What I found in there was a 1/2 scale studio apartment, complete with a bed, mini-fridge and some cabinetry. The floor was dirt, and the walls were hastily tacked up, unfinished drywall with some bare studs, as if the whole project was abandoned midway through.

"It looks like this place isn't ready yet," I shouted to the people outside. I remember thinking that, although this place would require further excavation to make it habitable by full-sized humans, it did have potential. 

Usually, my underhouse dreams are nightmares of leaking plumbing or untreated mold, rodent or insect infestation, but this was a little different. My feelings vacillated between overwhelm and excitement at the possibility of its rehabilitation.

----

My next memory was of walking down a street in Yuba City and coming upon an accident scene. A bicycle towing a trailer had crashed into a curb, and the rider had fled the scene, leaving behind what looked to be a black sea bass, strapped to the trailer with a tie down strap. It had a slimy, scaly appearance and was struggling to breathe. 

I walked up to it and began to undo the straps. Instantly, it seemed to recover, and I could see that what I was looking at was not, in fact, a sea bass but a large rottweiler, who was very glad to be released from his restraints. He bounded away, and that was the last I saw of him.

----

In case it hasn't been perfectly obvious, I've been neglecting to provide updates to this blog in a timely manner. There are many reasons for this, but I attribute the decrease in dream activity to my pot and politics addled brain becoming atrophied with overindulgence of both. I have also been doing more real life activities, which probably accounts for the lack of need for nocturnal fulfillment via the dreamworld.

I quit the weed last Saturday, and if I can make it through the day tomorrow without caving to the temptation, I will have gone a week without it. Not really an impressive record, but I will give myself credit where due. Daily, non-drug enhanced consciousness is still a novelty at this point, and I am enjoying the change in perspective, at least for the time being.

Peace.