#13 When Horses Dream

by Bruce Roush

Oreo, a white and brown draft horse, drowsed in his stall. It had been a long, tiring day, but a bath and a bountiful nose bag had combined to make him feel content. He and the other horses in his stable pulled carriages on the streets of New York. Dusk was falling, and Oreo, like the others, was settling in for a night of well-deserved rest.

His equine mind began to muse. What if he broke out of the rank of carriages on the street? Picturing himself galloping, he would toss his head, shaking off those annoying blinders. Going faster, his hooves sparking, the carriage he was pulling would begin to break apart, falling away just like Forrest Gump's leg braces. As he flew past the crowded streets, Oreo would see:

Pizza falling from mouths opened in awe.

Sidewalk con men not conning but staring.

Ice cream cones dropping from pointing fingers.

Pocket pickers stopping picking.

Nuns nodding knowingly as they crossed themselves.

Finally, he would reach the Hudson River, sprout Pegasus wings and soar like his ancient relative. Startled commuters riding ferries would gape in wonder as he flew overhead, landed on the opposite bank and disappeared into the meadowlands as his name was called aloud.

"OREO . . . OREO . . . OREO! Hey old buddy, I hadda hard time rousing you. It's time for your breakfast chow," said the stable guy. "You been dreamin' or somethin?"

As he slipped on his nose bag, a slight smile curved across Oreo's lips.