I'm returning after being away a long time. There is this pile of random things about six feet tall, and there are about three of my guitars in there, and also the cases for them. I start pulling them out of the pile, noting that I'm probably the only person who can match the guitars to their cases.

Later I return to my parents' home. I have a room upstairs somewhere that I have been staying, but I have another room down in the basement, which is my "real room" (where I lived as a teen), but I haven't been there in a long time, so I go down there to see how it is.

I go to the bottom of the stairs and turn to the right, and just ahead of me, going the same direction, is a large doberman pincer. I assume he is friendly and give him a big slap on the butt, and he immediately turns around and bites my finger, latching on to it. I back up the stairway, calling out to get Steve (my brother) to help. I get through the doorway and close the door between myself and the dog, leaving just a crack, and then pull my finger out of his mouth through the crack.