Another dream courtesy of the Biscuit

Outside the window I see trees and flowers - a neatly landscaped forest.
Trim borders, paths lined in uniformly sized rocks and ranks and files
of homogenous trees. No neighbors. I can tell by the dappled sun it is
late afternoon and it smells like recent rain. The dog, black and white
and brown with enormous paws and thick fur, is outside yelling.
Something about help, a skunk, help.
A friend, an ex-boyfriend, tells me to go check on him. Turning from the
window I see the inside of the house. Spacious rooms filled with
beautiful furniture, stacks of leather-bound books and green flowered
wall paper. His voice floats in from another room but he remains unseen.
Footsteps, running water, dishes clink. The kitchen.
Walking out onto a broad porch I hear the talking dog. A skunk, help, a
skunk. Then I see him. The size of a bear, laying on a path with his
head bowed between his paws. A rabbit is latched onto his ears,
furiously humping his forehead. Frothy white foam covers the dog's head
and mats down his fur and he continues to yell.
"That not a skunk, that's a rabbit," I say and push the rabbit off the
dog with my foot. He scampers off into a bed of ivy and I see hundreds
of baby rabbits peeking from behind the leafy cover.