when i was young, my dearest dream was to be met, while walking around the neighborhood singing, by a talent scout who immediately recognized my potential and whisked me away to studios where i could sing without the bother of a piano, because pianos make me nervous, and become a star.

when i was slightly less young, my dearest dream was to meet a boy my age while i was walking sheba, my rug / inactive, slightly dopey but loveable golden retriever. his name (the boy's) was to be randy. he was to have blond hair and green eyes. he was to act and glow subtly with star-potential, but for all that be down to earth and easy to talk to, even if occasionally bitingly sarcastic to remind the rest of us how wise he was.

i never dreamt that i would have a young gentleman who would hop states just to spend one night; who, when the car broke down, would find an obliging greyhound; who would arrive and lie with me on the grass in my neighborhood; who would laugh as we were approached by suspicious, unleashed dogs belonging to a man i'd never seen in my 19 years on this street. i asked the man if he and the dogs were new. just moved in two months ago, he said. i'm randy.
(oh yes, said my mother later, he and his partner, and the two dogs ...)
because it is what we don't dream, to our delight, that comes true.