A Fistful of Bush Chocolate

Just like Martin Luther King, my male staff had a dream. Except his wasn't about racial equality. It was far more profound than that. It featured Badger and yours truly. For some reason he'd taken us both on a bus. This in itself is peculiar as my male staff never sets foot on a bus in case he catches something unspeakable from the proletariat. It was a crowded bus and he was forced to stand at the front next to the driver. He was holding Badger, but he put me on the dashboard so that I could get a really good view of where we were going. You'd think the driver of the bus would have been a little distracted by having a big hairy creature running up and down the dashboard in front of him, but he seemed unfazed. Remember, this is Queensland, so he was probably struggling to see through the cannabis haze anyway.

After a while the bus stops and the door opens with a pneumatic hiss. This scares the living bush chocolate out of me because I think it might be some sort of vicious hissing bat, and I hightail it for the open door much to my male staff's dismay. Off I go down the road ducking and weaving under and between cars and trucks, trying to put as much space between me and my male staff as possible. By the time I ducked down an alley he'd handed Badger to some poor lady at the bus stop and told her to wait there while he retrieved me.

On and on the dream went. My male staff getting more and more desperate, running as fast as his little fifty three year old legs would carry him, but I was always just out of reach. Isn't that always the way with dreams. Then I ducked into a labyrinthine apartment block and after an hour or two running around the endless corridors where my male staff would just catch a brief, tantalising glimpse of me - like in that creepy Donald Sutherland movie of a few years ago - "Don't Look Now" in which Sutherland's character keeps seeing his deceased daughter's red mackintosh clad figure frustratingly briefly and always just out of reach. The most famous thing about that movie was the sex scene between Donald and Julie Christie, which was said by many to be real. I hasten to add that there was no steamy sex scene between me and my male staff in this dream.

All the time he was calling out to me. "Stop Billy! Come back!" Like a guinea pig is going to listen to that sort of thing. It always makes me have piggy giggle when you see that on British cop shows. There's a fat middle-aged copper armed with a small stick yelling after the young, fit teenage crook, "STOP..... POLICE!" As if the crook's going to think....Gosh! I'd better stop. There's a fat, balding middle-aged guy with a small stick chasing me. I'd better not vault over this wall and get clean away for ever. I'll just wait here in this dead end alleyway so that he can arrest me.

Anyway, finally I zip into an open door and find myself in someone's apartment, where I hide under the bed while my male staff turns the place inside out looking for me. Under the bed would be the most obvious place to look for a guinea pig - you'd think, and in truth I was exhausted by this time and hoping that he'd find me and that he'd have a nice lettuce leaf or a tomato to give me. But no. He starts turning out all the cupboards, including ones that are six feet above the floor, honestly! What does he think I am? A bloody spider?

Then he woke up, so he never did catch me. His biggest error however, was telling my female staff about the dream. She stood there glaring at him, tapping her foot in annoyance. When he'd finished, she said. "Well that was bloody stupid wasn't it? Why the hell did you take them on the bus in the first place? Honestly! I can't leave you alone for five minutes." She then hauled me out of my cage and stroking me gently, said "Oh poor Billy. What did the nasty man do to you? Did he frighten you?" I could see that my male staff needed to have a lie down, but it was his own fault. He should have known better than to mention the dream anyway. A couple of years ago my female staff dreamt that he was having an affair with a redhead. Boy did he cop it in the neck for that. It made no difference that he pointed out that it was "her bloody dream". He was still a no good philanderer. What I'm wondering though, is what happened to the poor woman who had Badger thrust into her arms. Is she still there, waiting at the bus stop for my male staff to return. By now her hands will be full of bush chocolate.