Betook myself to Coop’s for lunch on Monday—reading over this, I realize how little I had been eating over the weekend. Got the two-piece fried chicken with rabbit and sausage jambalaya and coleslaw and a Miller Lite. I couldn’t finish it—I find their jambalaya a little dense and sticky—and went home to work.
Lycia texted me in the evening, saying they’d be at Tujaque’s for red beans, so I went up to meet Keith, John, Michelle and Ernie. John had pictures of the foal one of his horses had just had. She is beautiful and looks healthy but is not drinking mother’s milk. They have her on bottles. I asked whether she was just stupid and he said, yes, it’s possible. There’s something called “Dummy Foal Syndrome” and it’s sort of like turkeys who keep their mouths open in the rain and drown. One of the symptoms is lack of suckling response. They are worried about the poor thing; his daugheters, who ride, particularly.
Had half a glass of red wine and started to get sick from the tannins, like have to walk outside in the fresh air and open my coat sick. Finally, I couldn’t take it. Got halfway through my dinner—eating while standing up and feeling nauseous is no fun—and betook myself home.
But I felt better later, and caled Lycia. They were at Molly’s, so I went over there and had a jolly time. Keith, John, Jeff, Lycia, Michelle and Ernie. It got loud and raucous, and finally I left and headed home to read the tippy end of “Yellow Jack.” We made plans to go to Cochon the next night.
