The door dropped me into the woods. Not necessarily unusual, but not where I wanted to be. As I make my way towards where I hoped my destination lies, I find myself dodging over and under dead trees, and trying to stay on what seems to be a game trail.
Then the first frog passes me. It is going flat out, making long, low hops that cover a lot of ground, fast. Then a second frog. And a third. That one pauses on a log to say something, but I can’t understand it. It leaps away before I can ask, soon to be replaced by numbers four, five, and six. Each in turn pauses and say something, but between the forest noises and the panic settling in, I understand none of them.
The game trail leads to a crack in a rock face. I see no choice, so I step in. Now I’m out of the woods, but still lost. A steady stream of frogs is changing before my eyes into a stream of chickens. I’m afraid to look too close, lest I discover that the individual frogs are becoming individual chickens. The chickens are still muttering, and it is resolving into music. I briefly envy their easy musicality, then remember that they are chickens.
I follow them down the trail into an old dance hall, where they cluster near the stage where they somehow find instruments and assemble as a dance band. The band leader has a familiar looking bushy tail, but is also blowing his heart out on a hunting horn.
Losing myself in the music, drift around the room, eventually finding myself at the window.
A surge in the crowd behind me knocks me out the window. I would ordinarily expect an abrupt defenestration from a dance hall to be much more traumatic. But I merely fall about ten feet and land lightly in my bed.
Shrugging, I roll over and go back to sleep.