Terrible Analogies

I had a dream last night about a dog that was made of grass.  It looked like a cross between a Bull Terrier and a Labrador, with a squat face and pointed muzzle, and it seemed to be very happy about my presence.  It had deep expressive eye sockets, but no eyes.  On a front paw I could make out a small ring of delicate mushrooms, and hanging from its belly was a modest clutch of dandelions gone to seed.  It was circling me, wagging its grassy doggy tail and staring up at me expectantly with those dark, turfy, eyeless sockets.  Green drool was dripping from its drooping, verdant tongue and onto my white shoes, leaving behind explosive emerald Rorschach blotches.  In one I could see two whales dancing, and in another an angel performing a swan dive.

Slowly, my green shaggy friend began to change in color.  Traces of tan spread like tendrils across its body.  The grassy tail stopped wagging.  Somberly it turned away from me, and the dog made of grass walked across our perfectly manicured lawn world and through a weather-worn white wooden gate that guarded nothing in particular, where it laid down, rested its now drab muzzle on a still-green paw, and remained motionless.  Its vibrant green body had turned the color of dry wheat.  Unable to hold the shape of a dog any longer, it was now nothing more than a small pile of brown grass slowly being scattered by the flutter of the afternoon breeze.

Looking down at my stained shoes I noticed a colorful dandelion growing in the grass between my feet, gently swaying in the sunset of the dying wind.