Cassius was picking me up to drive me over to the Birdhouse. Except Cassius didn't look like Cassius but a younger Arnold Schwartzenegger. His ride was a two-tone, spartan, lime-green Land Rover. It was a bright and sunny day when we set out across the muddy flats and through the soggy canyons of western Colorado. Over the edge of the gully which served as a road I could see the new Birdhouse standing tall in the distance. The Birds had moved out of their current home into a building that looked remarkably like the old house except in shades of yellow and beige with a fourth floor.

"You're driving too fast you know." My hands were pressed against the dashboard.
Schwartzencassius smiles, "Yes, I am. Isn't it great?" and punctuates the statement by flooring it.

We accelerate through the muck sending fans of blood red mud along the sides of the car and into the open windows. Several four foot tall spikes rise up from the ground but fold back to the ground easily once the bumper hits them. The vehicle hits a soggy spot that's more quicksand than mud sending it ass over teakettle into the wall of the small canyon. Several things run through my mind like "If I was driving my car, it'd never have gotten this far because it's a city car" and "You fucker, you were going too fast" and "At least I'm not going to die". Before impact I punched Cassius in the arm while calling him a fucking cunt.

We never made it to the Birdhouse. yet we mysteriously repopped at his place which was considerably greener and less desolate than the Colorado Martian desert but the place was nothing like his place near Academy. Cassius is putting a thousand pound air conditioning unit into an old metal supermarket shopping cart. This was our reason for going to visit the Birds because they needed air conditioning. Of course his Land Rover was upside down in a ditch with an overhang that was being tenaciously held together by some scrub plants preventing the car from being completely buried. It's time to get out and push the AC over to our friends.

Our trip to the Colorado Martian desert was shorter than I imagined and within an hour we were slogging through ankle-deep mud while pushing the unwieldy device. Fortunately the ground was beginning to dry up but now there were small rocks everywhere studding the now-cracked sand and soil. Underneath each of these rocks was a landmine capable of turning anyone into the horror from Johnny Got His Gun. Cassius mentions he used to have a pet pig that could navigate this area.

I am fortunate since I remain intact and suddenly by myself trying to navigate the deadly ground while pushing a ton of steel and freon precariously balanced in a too-small aluminum wire cart that was tipping over to the right and that wheel is going to detonate a mine setting off a chain reaction.

Machine goes boom but none of the mines explode. Many bricks were shat.

Eventually I return to my house. Ends up the building I dubbed the New Birdhouse was actually my home and the Birds still lived back in Colorado Springs. I was happy to be returning home to see my white cat Trinity who most likely was terrified at being left home alone and presumably abandoned. Anxiety is contagious and is easily transmitted between species. Plus on the walk back home I had found another brown tabby cat to keep company with Trinity.

She's hiding in the doorway to the hallway leading to the garage and the basement. I put down the brown tabby and walk over to her, stroking her head listening to her give a terrified purr rather than one of contentment. Our newest room mate slowly comes over and does the kitty nose to nose sniff in greetings which seems to calm the white cat's nerves. Looking down the hallway there are dozens upon dozens of screw heads sticking out of the floor.

Each of these was the switch to smaller mines. These squibs aren't as powerful as the ones in the gully but they most certainly could be deadly to cafts. Upon this realization both cats decided that wandering up and down the hall was a spectacular idea. The hallway door isn't closing all the way and it's so light that a single paw is enough to send it swinging wide allowing the cats to squirm past me. I'm only able to get the door closed once I'm in the hallway and the cats are in the living room.

The rest of the dream is spent dragging a hammer over the squibs, making them go bang and sweeping up the mess.