Yes, through the mist she observed five dogs of stout form approaching.
They each had five legs and shaved heads. Where their heads were shaved, numbers were tattooed: 1, 7, 6, 33 and 0. Most peculiar, thought the girl, whose name definitely wasn't Megan but may have been Shelley; she couldn't quite remember today as it was a Thursday, a bad day for her memory and her colour co-ordination which was undoubtedly lacking.
Sometime later, Shelley (possibly) and dogs one through to thirty-three sat in a circle around a fairy ring in the grass outside the pub from which they had procured wine. Dog zero had gone off to buy some cigarettes.
(It may be pertinent to explain that the fifth leg of each numbered dog grew from where the tail of an ordinary dog would have been.
The fifth leg being quadruple jointed to facilitate its' inclusion in the general perambulation of said beastie).
As the booze crept up on their minds, the four dogs and one human gradually began to experience a psychic connection. It seemed to the girl that she was inexplicably sharing dream images with the beasts. She ascertained this, half by instinct and half by the limited altitude of her visualisations. Yes.
By the time dog zero returned with the fags, the others were in a fair old stupor.
Zero passed some smokes around and settled into the circle. A train pulled in to the station next to the pub and a throng of exceedingly blank looking commuters alighted. Quite unusually they were, without exception, having blakies attached to their shoe-things. The sound, as they made their collective way along the semi-gravelled road between dogs, girl and pub, was of a sublime random crackling clicking that provided an appropriate soundtrack to Shelley's present visualisation of twinkling stars. She was, in fact, seeing a memory from the mind of dog six. A replay from a camping trip, two days hence which the dogs had taken in Surrey by the lakes you know.
Shelley was lost in a trance but she made a silent wish nonetheless. At least, she thought it silent and yet it sent out tiny ripples of something like a cross between electricity, music and a kind of ether which danced out from her body like synchronised swimmers escaping from a kaleidoscope.
Dog thirty-three saw it quite clearly but was missing his bone and discarded the images without a bother. Even the grass was more receptive to the delicate motions and revelled in its' passive participation.