Married with Horses: Dreams of Geldings

I'm exhausted, and it's not like any day on the farm allows you time off. When you absolutely need help--and at some point we all do--only other horse people can handle it. If you call in your plant-sitting friend, your horses will smell fear and eat them alive, metaphorically speaking. Therefore, we must seek out other horse people. Though we horse people aren't always the most outgoing, on occasion, each of us desperately needs the assistance of our horsey pals. You know what I'm talking about: the truck breaks down at an out-of-state show or you're stuck in traffic past feeding time.

You also know the feeling when you're about to place that call, too. "Hey, it's Jeremy. What? Jeremy Law...L-A-W...from next door. Yes! How are you? Good, good... I know we haven't talked in, like, eight months, but could you feed and turn out our horses, make sure the cats have kibble and let the dogs out--Kit needs to stay in the back yard. Hazel will only poop in the front yard, but you have to stand nearby without actually looking directly at her or she still won't go. Oh, and if Skip--the Quarter Horse gelding--is still limping, can you paint the inside of his right front leg? Just be careful, he'll bite you if you're wearing green. And, um, Kit needs her belly scratched; otherwise her midday nap is just total restlessness. Please, don't be grossed out--she has allergies and is a little scabby and very self conscious. What's that? You have a show tomorrow? Oh, nevermind, then. Oh! Are you sure? Is your husband comfortable around horses? Will he mind? Ah! You're getting even with him for not going to the show, heh, heh, heh. That's rich! No, I mean, thank you. You have no idea... no, thank you--and him--really... thank you both."

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Yeah, horse people... who wouldn't want to help us? Honestly? Nobody but another horse person, or maybe someone married to another horse person.

As much as it pained me to get out of bed today, it was not one of those occasions to call in that favor. I slept poorly last night because of the horses in my dreams. That in and of itself is not strange, but what happened in the dreams was a bit much. I think I fell asleep while thinking about the barn, so in my dream I was in the barn. In the dream it was storming outside, so the horses were in. I had just finished feeding them and was ready to head to the house to fix dinner.

"Where are you going?" I heard someone say. "I need a brush."

No one was in the barn aisle. I took another look in the tack room, squinting into the shadows. Nobody was there, and I turned to leave.

"Hey!" said the voice again.

I reeled around, scanning the aisle. Our Thoroughbred mix, Vander, was leaning out over his stall door.

"Did you hear a voice or am I going crazy?" I asked him.

"Both, I suppose," Vander responded.

I approached him slowly, not taking my eyes off his mouth.

"You heard a voice," Vander continued, "and you're going crazy, though those events are entirely unrelated."

"You can speak?"

"You should know--it's your dream," he responded.

"Touché," I said.

"What does that mean?" asked someone behind me. "Is that Spanish?"

It was Skip. Skip and Vander could both speak. I felt like I was in a bad episode of Mr. Ed.

"As I said," began Skip, "I want a brush, like, right now. I just feel gross and itchy."

"I gave you a brush and a bath this morning," I said.

"That was this morning," he answered. "Besides, I think a fly landed on me."

"I wouldn't mind a good brushing, either," said Vander.

"Is this what you guys do all day?" I asked. "You stand around waiting to be groomed?"

"No," said Vander. "We usually have deep philosophical debates--not that you'd understand."

"Philosophical debates?" I asked. "About what?"

"The meaning of life," answered Skip.

"And how far have you gotten with that?" I asked.

"Skip's simple mind has formulated the theory that horses are here to eat down the grass," said Vander, "lest life on this planet be choked out by the overgrowth."

"We're lifesavers!" exclaimed Skip, beaming.

"It's a myopic perspective," said Vander. "If he were right, we could simply skip the grass, and then we wouldn't need horses. No, I believe there's more to it."

"What?" I asked. "More like metaphysics or reincarnation?"

"Perhaps," Vander said, "but I'll only come back if people start inventing saddles that are comfortable for the horses, too."