I'm in a place that isn't my home, but it's supposed to be, and the arrangement is like my parents' living room, except there's a fireplace where the computer desk is, just to the left of the door if you were going to exit to the hall.

There's a fire in the fireplace, and my pet owl, who has somehow gotten wet and cold, so he goes into the fireplace and stands on a log near the flame to dry himself off. I'm to the right of the fire, right by the hearth, like kneeling beside it, but looking the other way, when somebody (perhaps my brother Steve) says "You better not let your owl get too close to the fire, his feathers are very flammable", and just as I turn to look, he catches fire, and goes up in flames. "It's too late," I say, "he caught on fire. He's dead."

The flames reduce his body to a rectangular box, still with some of his features, his face and feather pattern on the outside, but quite lifeless. I take him out of the fireplace, feeling really bad that I let him do that.