I didn’t have any crew this weekend, and neither did Zorro, and the skipper for whom Gerald intends to be crew this spring wasn’t participating in this weekend’s regatta. So Gerald and I signed on as crew for Zorro Saturday. The winds were stiff, but not dangerously so, and we had a wonderful time. Unfortunately, I over-exerted myself, given that I haven’t yet fully recovered from the flu, so Saturday night was miserable. The cough that had been plaguing me attacked with a vengeance, and what sleep I got was far from restful.
Through the night, I had a series of bizarre dreams, at best only vaguely remembered. But when I first woke up Sunday morning, there was a particularly vivid bit of dream remnant echoing in my head, a voice, I couldn’t tell whether male or female, yelling frantically, “Call Sid!”
Through my befuzzed brain, questions wandered: Who the heck is Sid? And why is it so urgent to call him (or her – it could have been Cyd)? I mumbled to Pat, “Do we know anybody named Sid?”
I dozed off again, and the next time I woke up, I had no memory of the dream, except that some information had been filled in – Sid was a white German Shepherd dog. I still have no idea why it was so important to call him.