PHHH #1178.9

Date: Sunday, December 9, 2007

Place: Princeton Junction RR station

Weather: Rawther grey

Time: 55 minutes

Hare: Cliffdiver and Itemized Seduction

Hounds: Bjorn Dork, Hey YO! Paully, WEepi, Delicate Psyche, Keyless 
Entry, Epipenis, Discomfort and her fancy English accent, Eurotrash, 
Dancing Fool

Seen at OnIn: Mrs D at the on in, on their way to the train to points north.


Descriptions, Polemics, and Lies: 

Will we go round in circles?

That much was obvious as soon Cliffie said it was an A to A, and the 
general route was fairly obvious to anyone who'd not had a life in 
Princeton for the last ten years, which was to say practically half 
the pack, plus Delicate Psyche, who has a lot of spare time to kill 
while waiting for his helium to freeze before racing electrons on 
it. Nonetheless, it was a thoroughly and surprisingly pleasant hash, 
given the hares' track record, which just goes to show what realtors 
know: location, location, location!

The first surprise was the disinterest of the multitudes using the 
station at the piles of anthrax deposit in small heaps through the 
foot tunnel and leading directly to the Junction's power station. No 
wonder we need our civil liberties suspended and Stasi-like eternal 
vigilance: when strangers bearing bags of weaponized flour can 
threaten to incapacitate our power and transport grids, clearly we 
need a strong executive to stop terrorism.

The second surprise was two-sided as the pack practically ran into a 
hawk diving on a squirrel by the Washington Road overpass. The hawk, 
equally astonished at missing its meal, circled back and perched 
above and on the other side of the tree where the squirrel, 
confounded at the proof that Darwin was wrong, remained stuck in a 
Mexican stand-off. The bird was too close to jump its prey; the prey 
was safe only on the trunk. 

This was obviously to be continued, so the pack moved on to the 
Sarnoff woods, over the Bear Swamp Brook Eagle Scout bridge to find 
the mighty corporation's back 40 in all their soccer field splendor. 
Cliffie, no doubt fearing the fearsome Sarnoff security staff and 
their hidden computer vision systems, skulked the perimeter past 
curious containers whose toxins Hey YO! Paully effortlessly recited, 
while DP was diverted by the stairway to heaven and the very same 
microwave guides he uses at school.

The only question was whether the eagles were in on the front lawn, 
and they weren't. Thereupon the pack sauntered on down unpaved 
Fisher Place, mostly unfooled by one of the 7 Falses Cliffie warned 
us against, through some bracken and brackish water behind the Eden 
Institute, and across some funky fields by the Dinky tracks.

There were jelly beans galore with other comestibles at the on-in, 
where Cliffie awaited his down-down hopefully, only to be forced to 
drink pond water and some other foul non-alcoholic beverage.