A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
Thanks to Wowwie and PG, the Itha-Wanks enjoyed a lovely trail in the wilds of Hector NF. Virgin Polley came out for a stroll with her counterpart Just Christen, and she found us some tasty and delicious ramps, a member of the allium family that also includes garlic, chives, and daffodils. The trail was partially detoured due to outrageous shiggy, but had the hares not said anything we would have been none the wiser. Hot Lips made an appearance with Indigo, a beautiful blue-eyed, bombastic Shepherd, but they both disappeared before we could bequeath a present to him. Head to Toe and Male Bait brought enough pups to make an interesting game of Fetch, but it was only Phoenix who kept things interesting by bowling over at least three members of the pack. Butt Floss, shagged out from a Stinko weekend, made a late appearance to the first beer near, and wasted little time in hitting on I Can’t Believe It’s Not Pyrex, a newcummer to our kennel.
Pyrex, meanwhile, has been diligently working on getting her daughter — a minister — to get out hashing, but she’s sadly working on Sundays. We had three, count ’em: 3, vet nerds on trail: Just Christen, Just Sean, and Eat My Beaver, the latter a roadwhore from California, currently in Black River up by Watertown. Just Sean and Climbin’ Uranus narrowly missed a down-down for silly colorful toe shoes (too easy), and best costumed pair: Climbin’ was dashing in her blue-coordinated outfit — allegedly not planned that way — while Just Sean looked quite the character with his kilt, marmot sporran, and yellow feet.
The trail meandered from Potomac Campground up the way towards Blueberry Hill and the Backbone trail, with two BN’s in near-rapid succession (yay!). Following the second BN near a group of fishermen by the ponds, Wowwie earned the “WHO DOES THAT?!?!” prize, due to excessive shrieking following Just Christen’s mud-splashing, which sullied her dainty leggings. After a long road section (due to overgrowth, apparently), we happened upon a CC (with Cosmos and the most disturbingly-green Dirty Girl Scout drinks ever), in which we heaped a small pile of litter we picked up. After a brief exchange of tasteless jokes, the pack geared up and packed off along the ponds to on-in at the camp. PG was waiting with a roaring fire, built with love and assistance by Bedside, UFO and Mr. PotatoHead. Hot dogs were devoured, suds foamed, and we proceeded to eat Polley’s tasty prizes shamelessly during the down-downs. Yummy!