Chickens home to roost (whatever that means)
Today I was trying futilely to convince Panache that these same boulders, logs and stumps were inanimate last time we passed them, remained that way after we passed them, were inanimate NOW and would remain so after we passed them today. He seemed to have trouble accepting any part of the proposition while I was having trouble recovering from the excesses of New Year's when a voice called out "Can you help me?". I looked up to see a gorgeous young lady in English riding attire in a bright red coat. "You see, I'm the only female whip out in the Fox Hunt and Raven here is my Saddlebred-Arab cross ... he's 18 and we're lost". Christ, I thought, a visual AND auditory hallucination... if I can extend this fantasy into the tactile realm, I'll reform my evil ways and start being good tomorrow morning. But my mouth must have been working overtime because the dream shattered when she said "Yes, I know your cousin Betty; she's on this hunt, too! Mind if I ride with you til I see where I am?". I stuttered "Nothhg" three times in a row trying to say simultaneously... "Nothing would please me more... No,I would be delighted... Never has a request given me such pleasure". I was looking for a trail to take us deep into SugarLoaf mountain away from the fields so I could impress her with brilliant conversation about the virtues of Arabians and hence gain her undying love ( or a monentary infatuation would suffice <g>) when she said "Oh, I recognize this area now... I'll tell Betty you said Hello, thanks for the help... bye".
Now I have to grovel at the cousin's feet whom I've antagonized since birth, hoping she'll talk to me long enough to find out the particulars on the Dominatrix riding an NSH on a fox hunt<g>.
Have Fun!
Bob Griffith BTW- this really DID happen.