(Sorry for the multiple foul-ups on this post! Alas…) OK…another one of those occupational hazards: Your job sometimes overlaps with life; in our cases, our jobs are our lives half the time, and vice versa.

I’m admit I’ve always been a very weird dreamer. I used to dream about school and college and other jobs when in the midst of them, but last night’s dream was so REAL, I had to share this with you guys to make sure it wasn’t true and I’m not still dreaming.?

……My trainer kept calling my cell (which, of course, wasn’t working very well—-that all too-common dream theme). She reported that Memphis (my TB gelding/Horse Love of My Life) had decided he didn’t like our barn anymore and just walked away one day. Said he wanted other horse friends besides those he’s had for seven years. Then she admitted he might have been stolen. I went ballistic, screaming at her and everyone at my barn. She refused to help me find him (which is so the opposite of her character in real life), so I raced to Charlie Cole’s ranch.

I told Charlie I’d pay him $10 mil if he’d find Memphis-Pooh for me (not sure where I accumulated this mound of money). Charlie very kindly agreed; hitched up a Conastoga wagon; recruited hard-core, amazing Native American riders and old-fashioned cowboys and we scoured the land searching for the culprits. Half our riders were killed. We had to jump off trains and hide in trash cans to safeguard ourselves from all the evil killer-buyers who happened to be painting horses blue, red, and green so their markings couldn’t be identified.

Needless to say, I woke up before we found Memph. I was drenched. Sweated through flannel PJs, my bathrobe, sheet, and comforter. I was so panicked, I raced to the barn early the next morning to find Memphis strolling around the pasture munching his hay, happy as clam. Whewwwwww!!!

Has anyone else had such a bizarre dream about your horse(s)? Good or bad? If so, PLEASE share with me, so I know I’m not totally crazy! 🙂 I often deeply ponder what my crazy dream might mean? Hopefully, the bad ones = nothing. If I’m making out with Brad Pitt, I’ll consider it. Hopefully, I just have horses on the brain…consciously—-and unconsciously!


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