Bad Dream 223 -- Sailboat Hardware

In my dream, I am in a town -- possibly Philadelphia -- with friends -- maybe 5 or 6 -- sightgeesing and just having a good time.  I, however, have a new sailboat in the nearby water. And I want to understand getting the boat ready to sail (seting the mast, etc.).  I don't plan on sailing it anywhere, just make sure that I understand how to set the mast and which tools, if any, I'm going to need. 

So I suggest to my friends that they visit some of the nearby buildings -- some of which have historical importance and some of which are just nice places to visit -- while I work on getting to know my sailboat.  The hull is in the shallow water and/or on the sandy beach.  That seems to change in the dream.  

The boat has both shrouds and a forestay -- typical of a small sloop.  And the standard way of stepping the mast is to secure the shrouds on either side of the boat, then set the mast and secure the forestay.  Since the top ends of the shrouds are secured to the mast -- also quite typical -- I look to secure the two shrouds with the hardware provided.  To my surprise, that hardware is tiny compared to what a typical boat that size would have.  It looks far more appropriate for a neckalce than a sailboat.  And, sure enough, I drop some of this tiny hardware onto the sand.  And, of course, it's not visible sitting on the surface of the sand, so finding it now becomes more important than learning how to step the mast.  I know that I can get in touch with the boat manufacturer and get replacement hardware, but I really want to learn about the boat here and now.  

(I return to remembering that I can order replacement hardware from time to time as my dream continues.)  

So I start searching in the sand, hoping to see the sunlight glint off of the metal and doing a minimal amount of disturbing the surface.  After a while of this, my friends have returned and are quite happy to help look for the missing hardware.  This I recognize is a blessing and a curse at the same time: someone might actually find the missing parts, but everyone working together is equally likely to bury the parts under the sand's surface.  

My sister has decided to go play with the sailboat hull, pushing it through the shallow water and hopping onboard.  She might well hit a rock or run it ashore and scratch the finish of my brand-new sailboat, but I stifle a warning to her, as she seems to be having such a good time.  

As I participate in the search for the errant hardware, I come across the casing for a bullet of a small-caliber pistol.  It looks to be the size of a .22 LR, but the open end of the casing is narrowed down a bit, like a much larger cartridge would have it.  I turn the casing to the back end, hoping to see the printing identifying its type, but while I can read the writing, it doesn't speicifically call out its identity.  

I go back to "helping" my friends look for the hardware.  

Bad Dream 222 -- Dog Poop

I am doing something at the start of my dream that takes me outside.  I can't recall what that was, but it might be feeding the neighborhood birds.  

I am on the sidewalk that leads to my ancestral home in Baltimore, but I am walking away from the house.  I notice there is a significant pile of dog poop on the right side of the walk.  I consider several ways to pick it up and get rid of it, but decide to purchase a dog poop scoop to handle the situation.

The scene shifts and I am now leafing through a general purpose catalog of home supplies, etc.  I go to the index at the back of the catalog to look for a scoop.  There's nothing listed for dog poop scoopers directly, but I think it may be too specific and so I leaf through the catalog to see if it is available as an item in a larger category, such as "Pet Supplies," "Yard Cleanup" and the like.  I go to those topics that I find listed that might contain a poop scooper -- but to no avail.  I find this both amusing and irritating at the same time.  The search has taken on a life of its own.  

I know there's a pretty young woman who would like to spend time with me, and all I need to do is get back in touch with her is call her and I can visit.  And that visit would be quite pleasant, as it always is.  But the search for the poop scooper has taken priority over this.  

I know that simply calling up Amazon on my phone will solve the problem, and I plan on doing that.  

I wake up.