Nightmares and Dreams

A few nights ago I had a dream. In the dream, I was surrounded by horses. Horses of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Everywhere I looked, I could see fields of horses, tails swishing lazily at flies, some sacked out in the sunshine, others contentedly grazing, and a few dozing in the shade of a grove of ponderosa pines.

In the dream, mornings were spent greeting soft muzzles, warm breath, kind eyes, all eager to see how we fared through the night. If confined through the night, a walk we would go. Loosening joints, stretching muscles, and awakening the connective tissues. The early morning rays eager for what the day may bring, scratches, rubs, picking out hooves, checking for any ticks, bugs, scapes, swelling, heat, irregular movement, behavior, I seized the day.

One by one each horse received care, attention, and we went to work. Picking up where we left off, hoofbeats creating a rhythm that set the beat of my heart, we would soar. We soared over hilltops, weaving through trees, galloping across fields of bunchgrass, honeysuckle, and sagebrush, dropping into canyons, climbing atop bluffs, allowing both of our imaginations to run wild with no agenda or care in the world. Together, communication, trust, and quiet confidence grew.

I stared up at the big sky, lying on my back, the sweetgrass waving lazily in the wind, feeling the soft thud of hoofbeats all around me, I am home. The smells intoxicate me and take me back to every memory I have of being in wide-open spaces, away from the suffocating expectations of society, and into a world all my own.

This is no dream. I've lived this life before, a life I cling to. The simplicity of a horse's being, the power, the presence, the feeling of truth, I crave it.

Horses don't lie.

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On a crisp, sunny fall day in 1979, Nightmare joined our family. Bought at the Benkelman Horse Sale, my mom will tell you "Nightmare was the best babysitter $50 could buy."

Nightmare was my brother, Jimmy's, first pony. When I learned to talk, I would say "let's go see Mightmare!" She was a mighty mare and she took incredible care of whoever was in her charge.

We don't know how old Nightmare was when she came into our family, some surmised she was about 15. Other's say older, some say younger. However old she was, she was loved for the next 16 1/2 years beyond measure.

From dazzling children at parades to skidding logs out of the Crazy Mountains, Nightmare did it all and taught everyone how to be a better horseperson. She knew her boundaries and was not afraid to let you know when you had gone too far.

Fuzzy as a bear in the winter, Nightmare was known to roll with her rider in the icy waters of Canyon Ferry Lake to relieve the itchiness and also to relieve herself of her rider. If Nightmare was pushed too hard or too far by her rider, off you would go and away she went back to the barn. I loved her. When I got bucked off, I deserved it. I knew it, I learned from it, and I got back on. Nightmare taught me to always get back on, no matter how many times you hit the dirt, always, always, get back on.

Having horses, my place was a hot commodity for horse crazy kids growing up. We would spend hours brushing manes, tails, riding, pretending to be whatever character was popular at the time that had a horse. The Man From Snowy River and The Black Stallion were our go-to scene stealers. From racing around bareback with our arms out to the sides or galloping down hillsides, it's a wonder none of us ended up in the Emergency Room. Just goes to show you, good horses make the world go 'round.

One particular day, my friend Dustin and I decided to hook up the red wagon behind Nightmare and take our creation to his grandparents' house for accolades and icecream. The idea was Dustin would ride Nightmare and I would ride in the wagon. Using extra lead-ropes we fashioned a harness of sorts, did some riderless/wagonless testing, and off we went.

Bumping along in the wagon, I couldn't stop laughing. Nightmare wasn't all that enthusiastic about our plan or experiment but was a good sport and got us safely to the grandparents' house. After photos and icecream, we headed back to my place...and Nightmare was onto the plan.

Nightmare began picking up more and more speed, me rattling along in the wagon, Dustin trying desperately to slow her down. Sticking her nose down and out, Nightmare broke the reins. She needed no other signal. She was off.

Galloping down the road, the wagon tipped over, dumping me out. I could see through the dust and gravel Nightmare heading straight for a low-hanging branch, Dustin screaming, and me laughing. Dustin bailed off before the branch and Nightmare gave a buck, galloping back to the barn, the wagon dragging behind her. She was free!

Nightmare taught me about boundaries. Jumping over the creek 5 times is just fine. Jumping over it a 6th time, not so much. Pulling out cockle burrs with no regard for the pain it caused her typically resulted in laid back ears and if that didn't do the trick, a quick bite usually did.

She was sure-footed, forgiving, and consistent. Always the smallest of the herd, she was usually near the top, if not at the top of the pecking order. Her congenial tenacity and relentless stubbornness wore off on me with the hours upon hours that I spent with her.

When Nightmare died, I knew it in my bones. I was with my dad in eastern Montana, but I felt it. I called my mom to wish a Merry Christmas and asked how Nightmare was doing. No other animals, just Nightmare. She hesitated and said she was fine. Nightmare had died the night before.

The grief that consumed me when I had lost my grandparents and then my brother came rushing back. Nightmare dying was like losing them, again, to a life existing only in memory. Nightmare witnessed, carried, and allowed the millions of tears I cried, releasing the anguish, fright, and emptiness I felt over losing them to the heavens.

She may have been the best babysitter $50 could buy, but she was also the best psychiatrist, teacher, disciplinarian, confidante, and friend anyone could ever have.

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Me on Nightmare. Jimmy on Mort. Grandma Jean on Quidge. Grandpa Russ on Poco. Circa 1982, Montana.