Run 2183 Write-up

You know when Horse sets a run it's going to be in Orange Grove, Midvale, Belmont, Woodbridge, Glen Forest, Darlington OR Jane Brook.

And with Lone Ranger who is getting a reputation for inviting the rain gods it was set for an interesting evening.

A good size pack were ready to set off at 6.15 pmas advertised but some wanted to wait for the late comers. 'Don't wait you'll only encourage them to be late next time' was the general consensus.

So we set off about 6.17pm after being briefed by the hare (who could only just be heard above the buzz of 15 very important private conversations in the pack).

The loop was bigger than usual & some hounds wanted to turn back (already). Anyway FT shot out the front and was accused of short-cutting as he sprinted past the walkers. The fact that he wasn't on trail emphasised the fact that he probably was short-cutting.

Anyway it is a sign of a good run if the pack can run it in the opposite direction to what was intended, not get lost, stay on trail and still get back in just under an hour. Great territory, good weather (the rain stayed away), not much shelter (but shouldn't be needed in late November) and byol (bring your own lights).

The pack generally stayed close in the first half then spread out as the reverse run progressed. Antman was giving entomology lessons to anyone who cared to listen. One couldn't stand still for long though as the 'meat ants' were all around.

We arrived back at the bucket just under the hour, the walkers having finished a few minutes before us.

The usual suspects were given down-downs including visitors (Skippy was one). Killkenny managed to get a down-down (although undeserved yet again) and ended up with the bell even though Mastitis didn't ring it on trail and by convention should have carried it again next week.

Then Scottie was called out to do his Robbie Burns rendition. When we finally managed to to shut up the private conversations we could hear (but not understand) his chant about the haggis.

It may have gone something like this: -
Address to a Haggis.

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect sconner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit:
Thro bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

He may have said something else though, who knows?

Then after Scottie stabbed the Haggis with his cleaver (ooops Dick Tracy stabbed it first) the meal was served along with lashings of scotch whiskey.

Then the heavens opened up (for a few minutes).

After that we had potatoes and stew.

Wouldn't be dead for quids.

Have to go and remove the grass seeds from my joggers now (socks escaped as I was wearing $2.50 gaiters). http://www.dirtygirlgaiters.com/job.html

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