So what seems like a lifetime ago, many of us quietly gathered one afternoon to follow our Canadian coyotes across the border to the south and into freedom..... and thus began The Hands Across the Border Hash.

The day was windswept and overcast, but we girded ourselves with foamy beer and a desire to make our way to our new lives. Our coyotes B-Flat and Victor Victoria gave us directions and told us to deny everything if caught. We celebrated with classic folk songs, (Father Abraham) sang by village elders (Little Dinghy). After we saw the coast was clear, we made our way to the border, only to find the mighty Salt River coursing in it's banks. We ran along it's banks for ever looking for a way across. Nearly swept away by the torrent, we finally crossed into "Mexico" with anticipation. But our joy was short lived as we found the trail forced us to cross that mighty river 2 more times. Along the way, we found trinkets of our new home including flags and horns and we used them with pride.

Eventually we saw that our coyotes had not abandoned us (as has happened to so many of our friends in times past) and as we crossed the river one final time, we saw that all that stood between them and us was a mighty wall. Why must this new country try so hard to keep us out? We just come to drink beer, is that so wrong? After scaling the mighty barrier, our coyotes awarded the fastest among us, Beat By A Girl and "Silver Fox" Just David, with our adopted homelands national drink...bad tequila.

We continued south to revel in the splendid streets and luxurious houses we had been promised. Instead we found this new land to be cold and dirty. People came from their houses to point at us and laugh. We were forced to travel through alley ways, encountering angry dogs and stolen vehicles. We feared for our lives in this new land and we all stayed close concerned that a lone straggler may never be seen again. Even our coyotes despaired as a vehicle they had left in a church filled with nourishment for our minds and souls disappeared without a trace.

Moving forward weakly, we eventually made our way to the final meeting place. There, the coyotes had found that their vehicle had not been stolen but merely towed. Being the giving people our countrymen tend to be, we collected money from our meager savings so our charitable coyotes could get the car back (well and mostly the beer that was inside). While we still not at home in our new land, we made the best of it and celebrated as we would in our own country, lining up in a circle, singing songs and drinking the sacred drink made by our most revered citizens. We even tried out a tradition of our new home - a piñata, but I don't think our Canadian coyotes quite got it as they provided us with a hockey stick to beat it with. When it was all done, we gathered our belongings one last time and met at a local restaurant to try the curious cuisine of our new home. Hey these mar-gar-ri-toss and boar-ee-toes things are good! Maybe I can be happy here!

Ima Luuuger (L)