Hosted by The Shunt and brought on by beautiful fall weather, Saturday marked yet another live hare event.  From the quaint living room of Shunty to the final on-in, it was indeed a course that was “all downhill”.

The five miler was a gut buster as Shunty set out a punishing three beer checks!  However, he did take pity on the pack by stocking said checks with strong but small “cold shot” beers.   Capture by the pack was virtually impossible as none of us possessed the vortex orifice beer abilities of the hare.  True to first hare experience, some trail marks were omitted.  Shunt confessed his lack of rigor in marking trail was attributed to his overwhelming fear of being caught and losing his pants.  However, he had nothing to fear as the hounds grew increasingly sluggish with each 6% stop.

Shig was abundant and the run took us through some beautiful alleys, shortcuts and trails.  Trotsky lamented that Shunty got into his head and teased him with the Copper Mug Pub.  Quags was convinced we’d end up at the Legion.  However, the on-in ended up at Clancy’s Pub and several beers were quickly consumed (resulting in a large tab and cab ride).  On-after consisted of several more frosty mugs and some fine grilling back at the start line.

Seems that the club has figured it out neatly.  All that remains to materialize are larger packs and more hares.  ON ON!

It was a lazy day, I remember that much…

Another day, another ShigDust. The seemingly endless train of steps flowed from one to another, and then another. Carrying us from our past, on ahead into the amber mist-shrouded future. The Shunt and I ran together, along with Just-Roy.  As we neared the on-after, we savoured every thought of the beer we seemed to be endlessly crawling towards.

Suddenly, well, as suddenly as a dream sequence can sneak up on a couple of harried hashers, somewhere off to the right we heard footsteps. As I turned to look, I instinctively pointed over at the sight of the impending On-After.  In pointing it out to Just-Roy, I felt a bit woozy.  The air suddenly started looking a bit ‘wavy’…  as if an adept effects-animator had somehow conjured up a dream sequence.  Suddenly, spoken in a throaty, yet far-away voice, from the distant past, I heard the Shunt utter some words, which promptly became lost in time, and space….

… the scene was mid-1920′s-ish, or last month…  A weather-beaten gravel path, somewhere along a canal, next to a fence.  We were all dressed in camo, Just-Terry was leading the way, the Shunt and I in tow.  Suddenly, as though illuminated by a flash of lightning, the Shunt turned and looked, I pointed, and the next thing we knew, JT was in motion, the scent of freshly brewed ale wafting relentlessly toward his nose.  He was on the fence faster than we knew what was happening, and he dove into the quagmire that separated him from the amber liquid zealously, and with much thirst.  Little did he know, he was diving directly into his new identity.

The Shunt and I were certain that had JT been with us that fateful day, he would enter that mire as JT, but emerge as the Quagmire personified, ignoring any shig that stood between him and a thirst-quenching ale.  ‘Quags’ was truly with us that day, his thirst for the amber liquid so mighty that it behooved us to bestow him a moniker, even in his absence.  Just-Terry had become Quags.