An explanation of sorts

If you think that this blog has become a paean to all things equine, you would be absolutely right. After spending nearly two weeks (with a brief break) in the California desert (Thermal, near Indio) at a very large horse show, perched on fences, in golf carts, and propped up stall-side, the photographs seem to be all I can muster. So if you are horse-averse, I am sorry.

With my newly-licensed 16 year old daughter out on her maiden voyage in my beaten-up Prius (she has strict instructions to bring back spaghetti bolognese ingredients for our Sunday supper) and my husband, the Maharishi on a trip to pick up his much-missed motorbike, and my son not due home for Spring Break for another week, I find myself alone for the first time in three weeks.  It's me, the spotteds, and some chopped onions melting in the pan.

I knew I had a problem when even my own sister asked me, very sweetly of course, whether the instagrams I'd been posting had replaced the blog.  They haven't. The blog has been miserably neglected, I know.  This will be remedied.

Also, you should know that after seven weeks of no alcohol and two weeks in the dry heat of the desert, I am sorely tempted to put my feet up with a lovely round glass of Cabernet.

Dotsie, relaxing on astroturf

One happy camper was the greater spotted, who came to stay with Minky and me in the desert, ditching the two troublemakers at home.  She was thrilled to be riding solo as horse show dog and behaved like a Queen, sleeping in the car when we went out to supper, under the short palm trees while we watched various rings, and under the table while we ate our lunch sandwiches.  The mistake we made was leaving her in the room for three hours in order to go to a movie.  All the abandonment fears came flooding back, and we found her waiting for us on the window ledge, the windows licked and pawed for a possible escape route, the bed mussed, the table trampled on, and the thick perspex screen which guides the air conditioning upwards was cracked in half from being jumped upon.  She was hyperventilating when we opened the door to the room, her tongue hanging out and her heart racing, poor dear.  Nearly frantic with joy to see us, she leapt into my arms and licked my face with great intensity.  A little embarrassed of her emotional performance, the following day she made amends by learning to army crawl across the grass like a police dog, under detailed instruction by Minky, much to her chagrin.

Thank you for your forbearance, dear reader. I promise to make it up to you.