The other night, I had a dream. I dreamed that a knobby-kneed, reddish brown, small skinny horse came and sat on my lap. The dream was very vivid; I could feel the horse's shaggy coat, and its bony limbs. I can't quite recapture the emotion associated with this dream, but I remember the sensation of its folded-under legs, evoking a feeling of the horse's vulnerability, and a desire to enfold it.
I thought no more about the dream until yesterday morning during mass, when it dawned on me that I had this dream shortly before coming across George lying in the field. And that George was very probably the color of the dream horse when he was a foal, as he is now dapple rose grey and likely had no grey markings on him at birth. I remember as I sat beside him as he lay there, what struck me most was how sweet his legs looked, folded under him, in a way I hardly ever see them.
The dream horse had seemed old in its frailty. But maybe it was a foal who had to grow up too fast and so became old before its time. Maybe it was George.
I wanted to ask George about this dream yesterday, but he was in a bad mood, and I didn't think it was the time. I'll ask him later.
That is a beautiful dream. There is something extraordinarily vulnerable about a horse lying down with their legs folded. It is so special when you can sit down beside them and stroke them without causing them to feel they have to get up.
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