I was at a New Years party.  It was at my maternal Grandma Jane's house, but not thrown by her- I didn't know most of the people there.  There was a grandmother of some grown boys, and she gave them each a gift in a bag hand-decorated with yarn.  There were patties like what we had with dinner last night, but some had macaroni as well as lentil mash.  I sat on a barstool in the kitchen next to my brother Stuart.  He was on a laptop IMing with his wife Sheila.  There were cartoonish "cutesy" bears all over the screen.  Sheila said, "muff!"  I walked toward the doorway to the living room.  A large dog was laying in the doorway and one of the boys shot an arrow at him- it landed in his flank right next to four other arrows that had already pierced into his skin.  The dog lay there, and said, "Ow, not again..." but not very emphatically.  I was angry at the boys for hurting the dog.  They were old enough (20s) that they should have known better.  I also felt lonely as I didn't know anyone at the party.