Diablo & the Dream

Diablo and the Dream

          Usually I don’t remember my dreams. Oh, sure, I sometimes wake up thinking I have eaten a flake of hay, and in my delusion it’s crisp with delicious green snips of alfalfa.

         But this dream was more vivid than clover blossoms. This vision was about Diablo.

         Diablo was every colt’s nightmare. He was the herd's king -- his huge, yellow teeth bared from muzzle to jaw.

          I remember clearly all the things my mother had told me about Diablo -- how if I didn't behave and act humble, he’d swoop in and score my flank with those teeth. I cowered from him, and hugged my mother’s side whenever he came near.

          When mother and I were rounded up and taken by MEN, Diablo didn't go with us. He stayed behind to protect his herd. I didn’t see him after that -- not until I dreamed about him.

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          My MAN stopped by to ride. I never minded. He made me wear strange things around my belly and on my head, but he’d take me out of the paddock, and I could pretend that I was free again.

         I remember another MAN who was not so gentle. He placed a metal against my flank and seared my skin. That flank bothered me for several days, and the flies bit at it.

         But I have gotten away from the subject of Diablo. One day he arrived at my home. I was munching some very sweet tasting oat hay, when a strange neigh pierced the air.

          Of course, my head bolted up, and I backed away from the trough to look around. Then, I smelled it. One never forgets a smell. It was the aroma of my early coltish days -- it was...Diablo.

         My legs trembled. I tossed my head, pawed the ground, trotted about, neighing for my mother. I reared and twisted about, charging the fence, throwing up dust.

          “Whoa, Jet,” my MAN called out. I stopped and stared at him. My nostrils flared.

          The MAN walked into my paddock, and I turned to face him. I stood quivering. My skin felt like it had a hundred flies perched upon it.

          “Easy, boy. Easy,” my MAN said, speaking in the soft language of his kind. He slipped the halter over my head. I ignored the pull of the lead. I did not like disobeying the MAN, but I could not go closer to Diablo.

          The MAN belted me with the excess rope. I squealed and rolled my eyes. I backed and tried to bolt away, but the MAN was too strong. He tugged sharply and rapped me on the chest. I broke into a sweat, but I walked forward.

         Then I saw Diablo. He looked just as I’d remembered -- black as the night, bold as the wild river.

          Again I fought the MAN. Twice more the rope stung my chest and hind. My ears were back; my tail plunged down between my legs.

         The stallion bugled a challenge. I neighed “compliance,” but it was not enough. Diablo’s ears had lowered until they were clinging to his head. He pawed the ground.

          Meekly, I walked beside my MAN, skitterish as a new foal.

         My MAN made me walk up a plank into the trailer. It reeked of Diablo. Although fresh hay lined the metal trough at my head, I could not eat.

          Then, as if that were not bad enough, a strange MAN, led Diablo up beside me.

          I squealed in panic, but my head was tied to the trailer stall ring; I could do no more than quiver.

          Diablo grunted angry words. He kicked once, but there was a metal divider between us. His hoof struck it. It did me no harm.

          We rode for several hours like that, Diablo mouthing nastiness, me shaking like a wind-blown tree.

         When the vehicle stopped, Diablo was unloaded first. Then my MAN came for me. I neighed with relief and brushed my head against his back. He did not stop to comfort me. Instead, he backed me down and out.

          Once more Diablo bugled, but my MAN did not seem concerned. He threw the saddle on me, bridled me, and mounted. The other MAN did the same with Diablo. It shocked me greatly, but I should have realized that not even the great Diablo could stand up to a MAN.

          We rode for several hours. The territory was new and interesting. My ears could not stay planted backwards when each bush rustled with unfamiliar sounds and smells. I pranced and danced along the trails, starting and shying at each new sight. Beside me, Diablo rolled his bit and occasionally sent stray kicks.

          By the time we returned to the trailer, I was so tired, my head drooped. The return to home was uneventful. Diablo was apparently too tired to continue his barrage of foul names and threats. He shoveled into the hay as if he’d gone without eating for several days.

          When we arrived home, only I was unloaded. I could not help my neigh to Diablo. It was instinctive to say “good-bye.” The funny thing is that he returned it.

          I stumbled back to my paddock and ate the grain I was given, but I was thinking about the dream I’d had where Diablo had become a friend. My brain hovered over it, arguing that it was possible.

         Yet, despite my disbelief, the dream became truer as the outings continued. With each trailer ride, Diablo swore at me less. Soon, he no longer attempted to kick and bite me at every opportunity. He even started speaking to me on occasion. I think someday the dream will become reality.

          Do all horses dream like I did? Can we tell the future? Is what happened to me a common thing? I wish I could ask, but there is only Diablo, and even now, even when he greets me with a nicker, his ears still dart back at the mention of my dream ...

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