“Hey! Aren’t you a buffalo?”
It was a rhetorical question. Hell I’ve seen plenty of buffalo in my travels, and this most certainly was a buffalo.
“Why yes, so I am” the buffalo said; “And you’re human, right?”
suddenly struck me that buffalo don’t speak, or at least if they do
they most assuredly don’t speak English without a totally unintelligible
accent, in which case I could never have understood the question, nor
would I have answered it. And yet…
“Exactly” I said; “I had no idea buffalo were so bright!”
“Well, we’re not normally, but it seems I am for some reason.”
“This must be a dream I’m having!” An obvious deduction you might say, but honestly, the next time you’re in a dream, see if you can deduce shit from shinola and you’ll note why I was surprised.
you’re attempting to push me to admit I am simply a construct of your
subconscious imagination and therefore lacking true substance not to
mention a free will as is accorded to every living thing, you’re sorely
mistaken” said the buffalo as he threateningly glared at me.
I was taken aback. “Oh heavens no!” I exclaimed; “I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing!”
“Good” snorted the buffalo. “Then, yes, I believe this is a dream.”
I was intrigued. “But” I asked, “why a buffalo? Why not, oh, let’s say, Heather Locklear? What is a buffalo doing in my dream?”
buffalo smiled, as much as a buffalo can smile. “I’m grazing and
glaring threateningly at passers by sir. What else would a buffalo be
doing? As for Ms. Locklear” he added smugly, “perhaps she’s busy
elsewhere. You may not be the only human on earth with an unhealthy
obsession about the poor girl, there are likely many other dreams she
must attend to.”
Well, that answered that question, I thought. The buffalo was here to pee on my parade.