I'm returning from some sort of outing, like a club climb. I'm in the passenger seat of my truck (I'm not sure who's driving), and we're crammed in with my first ex-wife nearly sitting on my lap. As we pull up to our destination, we start kissing. She seems to say that she liked that, we should get together, but that's confusing because she is my ex that I haven't seen in years, and I think she's since remarried.

We get out at a house that belongs to Byron of the climbing club, and it is for sale. We've come to know it as the climbing house, and I'm a little sad to see it go. I notice the price is only $199k, which sounds pretty affordable to me. Byron says it's all about the beach, which is just behind. I ask him if I can take a look at it, since I'm sort of interested. I'd like to live at the beach, though it is in SE Portland so that will be a long commute.

I start wandering around looking the house over. I go into a hallway, where the stairs fold down from the ceiling. The hallway leans under my weight, like the house is falling down in that direction.

I enter a large open room in the back of the house, and there are some people there. At first it's awkward, unexpectedly running across people when shopping their house, but they seem glad to see me because they know me, and they need another one of those - what's it called? - and they expect I would have one. What they want is like a square bandaid. A young girl has a small injury on the sole of her foot (*), and it has one of these bandaids on it. They say it is already worn out, although the tattoo (a child's ink one; apparently it has one of those too) has already affixed on her skin.

The back of the room has large windows in the direction of the beach, and I note that the beach itself is far away, past some dunes and other houses. It's not on the beach! But then I notice right near one corner is a road, and on the other side of the road, the ocean. So it's sort of on the "beach", though there doesn't seem to be a beach there, it's a road.

I go back to the front of the house, going back to my truck. It's difficult to get down to the road; the choices are a rock downclimb directly in front, or off to the left, more of a scramble that involves crossing a small creek. I take the creek route, passing a mother who is teaching a small child to fish. They have trapped a myriad of tiny fish in a pool and are scooping them out, as she explains to him how to do it.

I get back to the street, and there is a fire truck there. A fireman steps into my view from in front of the fire truck, and summons me to see that Charlie (my little dog) is lying dead in the street. Oh no! He's just laying there on his side, intact, but his eyes are different, like bloody mush where the eyeballs should be. He's clearly dead. I think how sad it will be for Sydney not to have a friend when we get home. But then they show me, a little further out in the street, that Sydney is lying there too, with the same dead eyes. Oh, what a horror!

(I was staying the night at my parents', after picking up Steve at the airport.)

(* later that day, Steve stepped on a nail and injured his foot in a manner very similar to the girl. I think he even had a similar square bandaid as the one the girl had. Note this happened after the dream.)