The dragon down the road

 

Last night I dreamed I was in Paradise. No, not the Muslim version of heaven described in the Quran, silly. The one in Butte County, CA. The little hillside town where I spent 10 years with Sharon. The one that was destroyed in the Camp Fire. That Paradise.

Anyway, I was on Bennett Rd., the street Sharon's folks used to live on, trying to get to their house on foot. This would have been a nice walk down a country road, had it not been for the dragon that lived at the end of it. I'm not one to go overboard with hyperbole, but that is the only way that I can describe this monstrous miscreant, the evil stallion that resided at the end of South Libby.

One has to travel to the end of South Libby Rd. to reach Bennett, a small dead end street that appears out of nowhere and goes nowhere. There is only one way in and one way out. Not the greatest set-up for fire evacuations, but if you were a fire breathing dragon of a horse who enjoyed stomping pedestrians into a puddle, this corner location was ideal. 

Everyone who lived there knew not to travel on foot down this section of road, and anyone ignorant of the rules got just one chance to test their survival skills against the evil beast. I was blissfully unaware as I rounded the corner and headed for Sharon's folks place. 

I'd almost reached the Vixie's when I heard the sound of snorting and scuffing from behind me. I whirled around and caught a glimpse of the massive black stallion about a hundred yards away or so. His red eyes were locked on me, and he let out an evil screech that sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than a whinny. I didn't actually see fire come out of his nostrils, but I swear the mist from his hot breath looked like it could've been steam, if not smoke.

I turned and ran as fast as I could, knowing that he would overtake me in a matter of seconds. It was simple mathematics. The horse could outrun me by a factor of ten, and at this distance, he'd be upon me before I could reach any kind of shelter. I had nowhere to run, and the gap was closing as the singularly focused monster bore down on me, galloping at full speed. 

The hoof beats were so close that they shook the ground, and just at the moment I thought I was to be trampled, I threw myself at the ground and hunkered down, waiting for death. 

Death only grazed me, though, as I'd made myself a smaller target. But he wasn't done yet. He skidded to a stop on the rough pavement and spun back around for another pass. I was still hunkered down and couldn't have gotten up to run if I'd wanted to. He leaped at me with his front hooves in the air, ready to strike down upon me with great vengeance and furious anger.

I rolled out of the way, and this left the horse with a lot forward momentum and nowhere to go but down into the ravine on the side of the road. He tumbled end over end, rolling down the steep hillside, finally coming to a stop against a large pine tree at the bottom. 

I got up and I brushed myself off, shocked to find myself still alive. I looked down the ravine and saw the horse getting to his feet. He was uninjured, but it would take him a minute to get his bearings and to navigate the steep terrain. I knew revenge was still on his mind, so I made like a tree and got the hell out there.

 

Besides my little brush with the apocalyptic nightmare horse, I'd had another little run-in that day. Earlier, I'd been at the lake, where the wind was kicking up and making some waves that resembled ocean swells. This was causing quite a problem for people who'd come to the beach for a day of fun, and now found their cars imperiled as the rising tide threatened to inundate the parking lot. Police Chief Wiggum was on the scene and was none too happy about the state of affairs. 

"Why don't you make some handmade signs to warn people about the dangerous parking situation?" I suggested.

"That's absurd. How can you even suggest such a thing? We need to keep this parking lot open," he replied indignantly. It reminded me of the scene in Jaws where the mayor is poo-pooing the sheriff's campaign to close the beaches on the Fourth of July. 

With a single offhanded comment about parking lot signs, I'd now made myself a very powerful enemy, as Police Chief Wiggum was also Mayor Wiggum. And yes, he did resemble the porcine buffoon on the Simpsons, although completely lacking the anachronistic charm of the small town animated policeman. Life in Paradise wasn't going to be easy with Wiggum as my foe, since half the town was on his side, and the other half lived in fear, trying to stay off his radar.

That's all I can remember. But now that I think of it, someone should put some signs down at the end of South Libby to warn people about the dragon that lives there.