The last day of November found the hounds in fine form as we set off on Dickweasl’s “Cock-Tie” run. Dicky had made up some actual cock ties for us to wear and we wore them proudly.

The trail took us through some magnificent shig and through several checks. There was a tennis court check, a dead fish check, several hobo checks and at least one cock hold. The run along Skaha beach was reminiscent of a scene from Baywatch: 5 buffed bodies running in slow motion down a sandy beach with nipples erect (from the cold breeze).

After many checks, we finally arrived at the beer check. Though the run was somewhat dead hare, Dick was there to at least have a beer with us and to hand us a set of golf balls for our last check. Balls in hand and dicks a swinging, off we went down the golf course, through the fence and up to the gravel pit. The course rose faster than a schoolboy’s crotch on prom night and we huffed our way up to the top.

At the summit, we could seek Dick’s house and the on-in far below. Enthusiastically, and with the help of two seven irons, we launched our balls directly towards the finish. Sadly none of our cock shots made it out of the giant pit and the earth swallowed them up without any fuss at all.

Back down the pit and round the bend we ended up at the on-in. Down downs to the hare and co-hare BMSex for a memorable trail, to Bagboy for again being too fit and to Just Greg for being rendered blind on the trail (and not able to blame it on alcohol). ON-ON!

Another weekend, another hash to run… and run they PH3SD’s did last weekend, with gusto, and more than a few ‘tinny’ notes to boot!

The task of hareing fell on the more than willing shoulders of Shunty this past weekend,  He remained tight-lipped about the entire affair, keeping us all on the edges of our collective seats.  After a short blessing, he departed the meeting place, and we patiently waited for ten minutes to give him the lead that we knew he required…  All the while, welcoming Just Greg to the fold as we met B M Sex, watched Dickweezl prime the pump and froze our asses off in the howling Penticton wind.  Where the hell did winter come from?

Alas, we were off.  Not too far into the run, we were attracting attention through the downtown streets of Penticton, as the pack deftly soaked up trail marks like Shunty himself sucks spilled beer out of bedroom carpet.  Thankfully, Shunty had the wisdom to use a different colour of chalk from the previous week.  But in taking the time to scratch out those previous marks, laid his trail bare in the early sections!  The chase was on, and Bag Boy was salivating for his first pants-ing, that damn FRB!

The first stop was a the Gyro bandshell, where the pack was required to regroup, and entertain all those in earshot with some jaunty holiday tunes (modified, of course).  The rag-tag bunch that we were that day managed out a decent ‘Jingle Ball-esque’ diddy, before completely butchering the second piece.  Luckily, noone was there to demand an encore.  Of course, we can’t speak for those poor residents up the hill who live at the focus point of the bandshell itself.  Nor are we willing to entertain insurance claims for ruptured ear drums or psychiatrist visits.

Off to the peach, and slowly across the end of Okanagan Lake it was… slowly mostly due to Just Greg’s failure to have his eyes open upon approaching obvious hash markings!  He’ll fit in just fine…  After a playground check (no, not a beer check) we proceeded to an arrow in the sand adjacent to the SS Sicamous.  Did Shunty really expect us to get our feet wet?  The only thing getting wet today was the collective whistle at the on-in… ooops, spoke too soon as most of us emerged from a nearby section of shig with at least one wet sock.  Penance for not jumping into the lake I guess!

Off we went in search, and hopes that there might be a beer check somewhere on this green Earth… but we only found it after stumbling (read zenning) through a ramshackle neighbourhood and eventually coming across a hash mark.  After sliding through a deceivingly large hole (in a fence) we all took some comfort in finally finding the elusive BC.  Dickweezl made sure that all the beer was drunk before we left (someone remind me to get that guy a whip) and off we went.

The pack approached some familiar territory next… familiar only because the last time Quags hared a run, the bulk of the pack spent the better part of 1/2 hour searching fo the mark.  Kudos to Just Trevor and myself for mistaking paint drips for flour spots (nothing like bending over if you really want to know, or bending over to feel if they are indeed flour…).  We eventually caught the trail again and were off.

The run ended at our new favourite on-in-location (Clancy’s) where we assembled for our first ‘official-like’ circle.  Hand crafted ales were poured, munchies were ordered, photos were snapped, and touqes were being thrown to the crowd like rice at a wedding (although my head remained cold….).

At the on-in, Quags pulled out the ceremonial Shiggy Half Yard to the astonishment on a few faces.  We were ready to do our first naming ceremony.  You’d think guys would be happier to see a large vessel such as this, much less see it filled with beer.  Bag Boy, having already been named, was the first to step up to the task.  Covered in flour, he brought back memories of his “I hate beer but I’ll drink it anyhow” drinking prowess which he so eloquently displayed at the recent Beer Mile, and finished his half yard in about 20 inches. Well done Bag Boy, we are glad to officially welcome you to the fold!

In honour of his appearance at a c(*&#^!@(* run last weekend, and his marked absence from the ensuing hash, Just Trevor had plenty of crimes to account for.  But his excuse of having strep throat was the motivation for letting him know that he had been named Hard To Swallow, in honour of his condition.  He stepped up, and about 30 inches later, the half yard was empty…  Credit to Hard To Swallow though was that he accomplished this task despite the close-talking, extremely inebriated denizen of the establishment who was riding him (from a distance) the entire time.  Clearly this guy was a champ, and had already polished off at least 10x that much beer at another table… by himself.  Oh well… we are looking forward to Hard to Swallow stepping up to hare his first run in two weeks time!

Another great hash in a tradition of great hashes!  See you all next week at Dickweezl’s Cock-Tie Run!