Last night I dreamed about a moose. When the moose appeared, everyone was scared of him. They thought he would bite or trample them. However, I approached him and talked to him, and discovered that he understood me, and had quite a large vocabulary, though he could only really nod or shake his head or emote with his eyes.
He had learned to write by gripping a pen with his hooves, and really wanted to go to school, and maybe college. Unfortunately, he was still pretty clumsy, and tended to go through a lot of pens, and the schools weren’t keen on having him as a pupil because of the potential for unfortunate accidents.
I tried to be supportive and build up his confidence; I told him how much I admired his antlers, and fed him walnuts. I arranged an empty classroom where he could take an entrance exam. However, angry crowds began to gather, and soon he smashed through the window and ran off into the wilderness, rejected by human society. I chased after him, but he was gone.
I didn’t like the way the dream ended at all. I was about to engage in a lengthier search of the dreamworld, when there was a trailer for an upcoming dream. The trailer promises that the moose will return.