I dreamed I was a water main inspector in a city of dogs

I was walking through tunnels beneath a city where every dog had a different breed of loyalty—some were quiet, some barked at the pressure valves. I could feel the water flow in my bones, and when I turned a valve, the whole street above would shiver. One dog, a greyhound with eyes like old pipes, looked at me and said, 'You’re late again.' I didn’t know what to say. The dream didn’t explain why I was supposed to be there, only that I’d been forgetting something important for years. When I woke up, my shoulders were tense, like I’d been carrying a weight I didn’t know I’d taken on.