Great Chieftan O' the Puddin-Race!

TO A HAGGIS

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a" ye tak your place,
painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.


Thus reads the first verse of Burns' poem. Dad suggests it requires the heavy Glaswegian brogue to do it justice. While I'm not clear if "sonsie face" is good or bad, I suggest what is most required is one of Dad's better single malts.

Doesn't Dad look like the Great Chieftan, himself? I'm thinking, meanwhile, that he is ready for the next reunion -- at least for the next Fake Dad cutout...





Reports are that everyone had a good time at the annual Robert Burns' birthday dinner in Milwaukee. Tracy, Bruce, Andrea and Ben certainly seem to be doing so.


So, I guess we know what's topping the menu at the next reunion -- haggis! And perhaps a single malt taste test?

Linda