Fair far y'honest sonsie face
Great chieftain o' the pudding race etc etc
This is the night Haggis traditionally keeps very quiet and maintains a low profile, due to rumours going about that humans eat ... um.... the "H" word tonight, with bashit neeps and clappit tatties, not to mention good onion gravy.
Our humans love their haggis (small "h") but they're on fierce diets at present following over-indulgence at Christmas, so gloopy butter-laden mash is off the menu. We had a treat - we've not been forgotten. When Dad shot out to buy wine (OK, not that fierce a diet then?) he came back with dried beef-tripe strips for us as a treat.
He'd got back early from work, so we'd had a decent walk, taking in the boat yard and the town, and meeting a couple of nice people who admired and fussed us at length (couldn't get away), and then a brown mongrel called "Monkey" (It's short for Toby, apparently).
Anyway, the H is over his fears of Jan 25th now, having survived 10 Burns Nights with his drum-sticks, shoulders, breast-meat (ooe-er), bavette, neck shops,best end and thighs intact, so he's fairly cool, and has even been texting all his Scottish dog friends a Happy Burns Night
Yeay Mollie, Hector and Arch'
Haggis the Bard
...and Deefer
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