The day after Christmas, the Feast of St. Stephen, the first Christian hash martyr, is better known as Boxing Day. The term may come from the opening of church poor boxes that day; maybe from the earthen boxes with which boy apprentices collected money at the doors of their masters' clients.  Those of us in the Pacific Northwest now associate Boxing Day with the special 333 Hash celebration: 3 hashes, 3 bimbos, 3 bucks. 

Yes our own harriette martyrs, Slippery Fingers, 100DB and BOT, sacrificed body and soul to provide an outstanding almost live hash in the Green Lake area.  Special thanks goes out to those generous hashers (mostly new foot prints) who handed hash cash a fiver and said, “Keep the change”.   Special sympathy goes out to Gaylord Focker who once again spent the last of the loose change in his poor box to support his hashing addiction. 

Shiggy was abundant around the lake, though mostly in the form of duck and goose shit. Still, even in this urban neighborhood, something brown and slimy could be found for seasoned hounds. 

I'd like to relate a story of a little head on trail. Let's call him "Just a Little Head.” (JaLH)  Seems he spent Christmas drinking in much the same way many of us did. Unfortunately, he ended up passed out on the cold ground. If it wasn't for the eager curiosity and burning need of Chicken Trax to get a little head on trail that day, JaLH may have been left to rot away. Trax quickly grabbed him lest any other hound see and demand a little head of their own and brought him straight away to Lenny's, site of the first beer stop. Growing bored of a little head, he left JaLH at the bar. At least it was warm and the stink of PBR was fresh in the stale, smoky air. JaLH was almost abandoned again had it not been for BOT, who also wanted a little head that day. She grabbed him and placed him gently between her bosoms and dashed out to meet up with the hounds to dispense with the pie a la modes on the lake. JaLH first liked the warm and wobbly sensation but then found his head was being squashed by the pounding of two breasts

Swinging together as BOT sprinted to the lake. But not wanting JaLH to suffer anymore, she passed him on to 100 DB for safekeeping. 100 DB, now in command of the hash vehicle, shoved JaLH down her pants with a wad of cash for more beer. It was warm and moist and very pleasant at first but then it got a little smelly and JaLH desperately tried to extract himself from the nether regions of 100DB, along with the $33 in cash that also got lost. FINALLY, he was rescued and placed on the counter of Slippery's kitchen. No one noticed him for the remainder of the day. Monday night, while Slippery was cleaning, she noticed JaLH watching her from behind an empty beer can. JaLH wanted some action and made his intentions known. Slippery agreed since Piss Boy missed the last flight out of DC, where, as you may know, is the current location of the Death Star and Darth Sidious/Dick Cheney. Anyhoo, she said, "JaLH, we can only be together for this night. After this, you must go and never come back. You must forget me forever." JaLH thought this would be pretty easy and accepted her terms.Several hours later JaLH was back out in the streets of Seattle with only his adventures to keep him warm and the thought that someday his path would cross with another hash. If you know of anyone who would like a little head, tell them to always keep their eyes and feet on trail. If you don't, not only may you miss your opportunity, you may very well stomp all over it.