I was to carry my wounded dog to the crucified Jesus.  I was not to remove a single one of its teeth.  for luck, I was to touch the back of my wrist to the blowzy heel of my kneeling mother for which I would need to set my dog down excited as it might get by the man in my father’s chair.  I was to fetch my sister from the desert and I was to sole her feet with fish.  I was to find a ***** and call it by name and convince it that all would soon be burned by the bottoms of tiny soup bowls.  these bowls I would need to clay myself.  if I knew not where to begin, father said I was to ask the Lord but warned me he’d already asked him once.  father afterward would say he loved that dog too much.  which meant he loved me more.  said the Lord.