I had a strange dream
There are several things you have to know before I tell you about a dream I just had, because dreams are usually odd regurgitations of stuff. First is the fact that we have a lot of Amish around here now. They trot their horses along their way on the highways and byways. (Some folks might complain that they don't pay any road taxes, but come to think about it, I don't pay any on farm tractors, either, and they're much harder on roads).
So horses are kind of on my mind. So are tractors, because I have a couple on Craig's List which I've been getting calls about. I've had one of these for 40 years, a Farmall Super MTA, the issue of which marked a notable 1954 high point in Farmall's history. It's a neat tractor. I kind of hate to get rid of it.
Now add in all the stupid snow we've got. It almost seems like most of it is here in the farmyard, and it's either too deep to walk through, or too melted and soupy, or some of both. Not fun.
So, it seemed like a good day to take a nap. (Which of course any good dream starts with.) I especially like my favorite north-south aligned sofa, because proper naps have to align with the earth's magnetic field, if you want a good one. Even more conducive to this great nap formula is my nice, heavy old cotton comforter. None of those fluffy man-made synthetic polyester things will do.
In this dream, I'm on the tractor mentioned above, but I need to get across the yard. There are two ways to do this, but one of them is plugged up with snow, forcing me to try the other one. But the other one is very narrow, almost too narrow for this tractor. But I choose this one.
We used to have a pet horse, a full-sized gelding named Randy. Somewhere along the way, he went blind, which didn't seem to bother him much. He grazed around the house, or a nearby field, and always hung around the doorway in warm weather. He was kind of like a thousand-pound dog, the way he would follow me around the farmyard. It didn't hurt any that I always carried treats with me, I guess.
So now you have the picture. I'm on the tractor, backing up into this narrow space, so if I get stuck I can drive ahead on out. Randy is prancing around behind me, anxious for me to get somewhere, because he wants to play. I'm having trouble, and having to drive ahead, back up, not make it, drive ahead, etc., which is trying Randy's patience. And finally he runs out of patience, comes up to the back of the tractor, and jumps up on me with his front feet, much as a dog might do.
But he's too heavy for this, and is crushing me against the steering wheel, his head in my face. I cannot breathe, he's crushing me. I cannot move my arms, because he has them trapped, so I'm forced to do the only thing I can, which is bite him on his bottom lip. (For those of you unfamiliar with a horse "twitch," those are applied to a horse's lip, so I guess my subconscious brought this up).
Nevertheless, Randy isn't cooperating, so I'm chewing hard on him, and I can't breathe, and things are looking bad for me. I might be dying, in fact.
Which is when I wake up. The sun is coming through the window on me, and is heating me up. I'm all snarled up in the heavy comforter, which I've been evidently trying to throw off me. And to make things even weirder, I'm chewing on the darn thing to make it get off me.
Ooofda! What a dream.
(P.S.: Fifty years ago today, I had for the first time completed the seven-mile run we did everyday in army basic training. So finally, a rabbit-eared little snot-nose 90-day-wonder second lieutenant who has been waiting for me to collapse to the ground cannot kick me in the ribs, jump up and down on me, and call me names. He has gone off in search of someone else to abuse. I doubt he survived friendly fire in Vietnam, frankly.)