I dream of trying to get on a countryside wall whilst out walking with some friends (can't remember who), and I put my hand straight in dogshit. I groan and try to wipe it on the grass, which seems to only spread it around. Spying a river down the hill, I amble down through trees and down beside a stony old bridge. It's moving and it's not water. The dark black seems to be going strangely and as I look closely, it's not water - the thing is a swarm/flock/pride (?) of dogs. Staffordshire Bull Terriers. Hundreds of them. They move almost noiselessly, and their black eyes stare up at me. I run back and up the countryside.
Weeks later, I go back with someone (who?) to show them, but there's nothing there. On the way up, we pass some turfed over mounds of earth, which are covered with polythene. I know that these contain poison belonging to some prolific British film director.
Then I wake up.