Just discovered a screenshot of Grandad watching Sam play with the pirate ship he got for his birthday on my desktop. I didn’t know it was there so I guess I must’ve hit the screenshot key by accident. Probably wasn’t paying full attention and trying to type and pay attention to Daddikins while watching and playing with Sam at the same time.
Can’t keep Genghis in the backyard, and now we seem to have a problem keeping dogs out. The other morning Bill went to let the dogs out and found a brindle pitbull roaming around at the bottom of our garden. Today I got another canine surprise when I looked out of the kitchen window to see three fluffy black dogs sunning themselves in the ivy. Interesting.
Hash today was great (On – On! #25). We ran from the dodgy mall on Memorial/Maynard Terrace and back around into the Kirkwood area. I think I did a lot better than usual and, despite my huffing and puffing, managed to run a lot more, at least I did when we weren’t wading waist deep in water or trudging in a pitch black tunnel beneath I-20.
Had a very scary moment when with great relief I exited the tunnel, only to find that the only way forward was to plunge into a horrible looking deep creek and head up the stream. My fellow hashers intrepidly waded forward with scarcely a qualm while I had to take a moment, or three, to steel myself. There was no going back as there was no way I wanted to return to the darkness of the tunnel on my own (I’d made it through by holding onto Pushover in the first place!), and as I dallied I risked being a nervous bundle of woe left behind. Gritting my teeth I followed the cries of “ON! ON!” and entered the water. Yuck! Thank goodness I knew I had a nice clean, dry set of clothes awaiting me in my bag at the On In.
After that initial hurdle the rest of the hash was a breeze and I really enjoyed it. I vaguely managed to keep up with the hashers in front of me and kept them in sight pretty much all the way until I caught up with Martha on the final stretch and we briskly walked home while she filled me in on her debauched evening of merriment at a meat market the night before.
She and I were shocked to discover that instead of being DFL as I had expected, we were instead members of the first pack home. I even got to sit around and drink a good few beers (don’t fret Daddy dearest, I was close to home so I didn’t drive today) while listening to everyone else deconstruct that day’s hash and regurgitate their experiences running through the wilderness of East Atlanta.
Sounds like several shortcutters got YBFed by heading in the opposite direction and mistakenly assuming the end would be at PWD’s house, while other hashers hit another hash trail and were sorely disappointed when the proclaimed Beer Stop was no more than a mirage on the wrong trail.
I had a crafty moment one evening last week, ransacked my fabric scrap box, and made myself a hash bib for wearing during circle. When those few adorned with the required Atlanta bibs were called to dish out proxy down downs, I had great pleasure in donating mine to Coffee Bean who moments before had been ribbing me about my homemade bib, yet had the nerve to leave his at home.