A Dream: Visit and the Bull

            A nameless bull had escaped from our farm.  I had to go after it and get it back. 

            I was on horseback, riding a stallion named “Visit.”  He was an even, medium brown – body, mane, and tail – like the color of dirt in a summer garden.  This was a very fine horse and one I loved, but I wasn’t focusing on that.  We were working. 

            By the time Visit and I caught up with the bull, we were several miles from the farm.  I knew it would take constant attention and effort to herd the bull back, but I thought I could do it if I kept concentrating and didn’t lose my nerve.  I just had to anticipate the bull’s movements and make him understand that I would not be frightened off. 

            All the way back to the farm, Visit and I worked the bull, steadily making progress down the road.  Sometimes, the bull would turn and charge us, but Visit had the courage to face it down.  I did, too – but, of course, there was Visit’s body between me and the bull.  There was nothing between Visit and the bull. 

            I was not a good rider, but Visit’s deft movements and perfect balance made up for my shortcomings.  He never let me fall. 

            Finally, we approached the last curve in the main road before the turnoff for our own.  The bull broke into a gallop.  It was headed in the right direction, so I thought maybe it had recognized its surroundings and decided to get back home in a hurry.  But I didn’t know.  It was foggy, and Visit and I lost sight of the bull. 

            We came to our turnoff, but I couldn’t tell which way the bull had gone.  I assumed it had headed home; I hoped it had.

            We turned onto the road and saw there had been a flood.  The pavement was a gravel river bed now, and people were swimming in the water.  Visit had to swim, too, to carry me upstream toward the farm.  It wasn’t easy.

            Visit got us to the end of the flooded part of the road and then faced the first, steep hill.  It was a tunnel – an uphill tunnel, filled with mud, with only the smallest of openings.  It seemed little better than a culvert, choked with slippery, wet dirt. 

            Visit struggled.  For a half-second, it seemed like he would balk.  But he didn’t.  He gathered his strength and kept on.   

            We made it up out of the tunnel and soon we reached the farm, at the top of the hill.  I went inside the house and told everyone what had happened.  There were lots of people there, and they all listened to my tale.

            But I had to stop when I suddenly remembered Visit and the bull.  I hadn’t done anything to take care of Visit when I arrived at the farm.  I had simply left him standing there, without even a look back.  And where was the bull?

            I went outside, ashamed and panicked, and found Visit with a farm hand inside a small paddock crowded with bales of hay.  The man looked over at me as I approached; in his eyes, I saw neither judgment nor accusation.  He was simply taking good care of my horse, brushing him and cleaning him and making him feel comfortable.  He had even brought a llama, to give Visit some animal company.

            There were children lined up along the paddock fence, watching the farm hand brushing Visit down.  I lined up with them and told them all about the adventure.  I knew I should be in the paddock with Visit, but I could see no place for me to do anything useful.  Besides, the farm hand was doing everything that needed to be done. 

            The children wanted to hear more, but I stopped myself once again.  What about the bull?  Had we gotten him back to the farm?  I turned hesitantly to the farm hand.

            “I hate to ask, but did the bull come back?”

            He was matter-of-fact, but gentle.  “I haven’t seen him.”