Recent dreams containing goats

Two goats one of them giving birth twins baby

Feeding goats twins with salt

My goat delivered three kid-goats in my dream

In one dream I remember looking at the front door to my house which was locked and seeing it slowly unlock from the outside on its own when everyone was home, then quickly lock itself again. This freaked me out. Then later in the same dream, I was sitting by a window reading or something. I looked out of the window and in the distance saw a creature that seemed to be human-sized and human-shaped but with a goats head. A demon goat.

White goats

Goats and cows in a new built pens

Speaking of sleep, last night I had a dream that I had a slimy pet goblin dog that kept saying "hey little mumma lemme whisper in yo ear" and also scientists used a picture of me on TV to prove that humans are closely related to goats

My dream involved me traveling to Russia and then to some weird Polynesian island and then to California, with new people in each place, and ZERO memory of how I had traveled from each to the next, or even any memory that I had traveled at all, and I had no idea how much time had passed and everyone seemed to be annoyed with me when I asked basic questions about those things. Also a long portion of the dream was me riding in this convoy of armored jeeps in this island and both sides of the road were just LITTERED with the corpses of disemboweled animals, like big goats with huge slashes in the stomachs where everything had been taken out of them.

At the side of my compound i dream of dead goats what does it mean?

I was traveling through the Middle East, a rare sight of a woman alone with her children. Everywhere we went, small children with large, dark, haunted eyes would watch my son and daughter as they laughed easily, teased each other and tried to talk to one another in Arabic from a small red phrasebook. One day we sat on a hot, dusty, crowded train. As the vista flashed by outside the window, a young boy, close to the same age as my son, sat across from us with his father. He watched quietly, seriously, as my children giggled, poked at one another and pointed out goats, mountains and beautiful rolling dunes awash in browns, soft pinks and ochers. My daughter turned to the boy and spoke a short phrase to him - "Hello; how are you?" - and suddenly he smiled, huge brown eyes lighting up and his face transformed into that of a beautiful and carefree young man. He began to answer when his father, eyes flashing, gave him a sharp reprimand in the universal language that every parent understands, the tone conveying words I understood in a language I could not. The boy cast his eyes downward. I looked at the man and attempted his language. "I'm sorry and it is not my business yet...why is it not alright for our children to speak with one another?" He looked at me and, with a small sigh, said "Our children are not the same." I said, "We are not wealthy people; you have no reason to dislike us." He barked a short laugh and said, "You, wealthy? You have riches. We -" he pointed at his breast, "we have wealth. We have the wealth that comes from true knowledge of our Creator, of our thousands of years of history, of our struggles. Of our losses. Of our families, of our heritage, of our culture. Your children have riches. Riches of the promise of a future. My son has wealth. But the promise of a future...?" He raised his arms heavenward in a fatalistic gesture and slowly turned his head to look out the window of the train. His proud face looked resigned yet strangely at peace. I woke up with tears running down my face.