The Depressing Case of The Dog in The Pen

We appeared to be at a farm. "We" seemed to include a bunch of people, both family and friends, but I could only catch half glances of their faces, so I'm not very sure who was there. Anyway, we seemed to be getting a guided tour of a breeding facility of some kind. It was well laid out; acre upon acre of rolling meadows, a cluster of trees here and there for those necessary patches of shade, and a nice, cozy farmhouse with a barn and a few animal pens nearby. I couldn't see who the guide was, or even hear what he was saying, but it looked as if our tour was now taking us to these holding pens.

Many of the pens were empty. They were very clean, with fresh hay having been neatly arranged at the bottom in anticipation of new occupants, and the walls of these pens were only waist high. I had no clue what sort of animals these were meant for, and I suppose I should have been paying attention to what the tour guide was saying because I'm sure he mentioned it.

As my eyes kept searching for a clue about the nature of the animals housed here, I caught a glimpse of a dog in one of the pens. It was a fat, little miniature Labrador retriever wearing a snug, full length, pale blue dog sweater. The light blue stood in effective eye-catching contrast to her short, black fur. He or she was by far the cutest thing I had seen in a long while, and so I went over to pet him. The dog was happy to see me, but there was an element of the terribly subdued about this happiness. She was wagging her tail, but you could tell that there was apprehension in her eyes.

I continued to pet the dog, until something caught my eye. I noticed a label on the sweater, about the size of half an average human palm, and white in color, that read, "This fur will be used to make towels." I was horrified! I didn't stop to think about whether or not they would shear the dog of its fur to produce said towels, or if this production of towels involved something far more sinister. The empty pens, however, seemed to answer this question. It was too much to bear. I crouched down, kind of next to the pen, and reached over to pet the dog. I was wailing, sobbing as loudly as I had ever done in my life., but it was a dry wailing; there were no tears to accompany the overall anguish I was experiencing. It was just pure pain, and I had no idea how to deal with it, except to sit there, crouched and petting the dog. But the more I did that, the more she stared back at me with an expressionless stare, half curious, and half not there.

That's how this dream ended. I was petting this cute, rotund little canine, crying my heart out, and she was staring back at me, lost between this world and the next. It was so hard to deal with that I woke up three hours ago, and haven't been able to get back to sleep!