Clan Douglas

As many of you already know, when the Plotniks first left their small but humble hut, in a tiny but miserable village, in a weakly-lit section of an undereducated country full of Republicans (in those days they were called "Cossacks"), they were required, for reasons of safety, to form clans.

The Douglas Clan is only one of many such clans. In most of the world, nobody gives a hoot, but it became a big deal in Scotland. 

So yesterday at the Scottish Fair, which Mush and S.B. invited Plottie and Ducknik to attend, which is held a BART ride away out in Pleasanton, where Scotsmen gather to drink whiskey, throw around large, heavy objects, drink beer, parade their American values, dance like stiff-kneed white people, listen to bagpipe music, which is fun to hear -- the first three times -- Plottie hied immediately to the Clan Douglas tent, where he purchased the above-pictured shirt from his clanmate. 

The man behind the counter, wearing a kilt, asked Plotnik which part of the country his family had come from. He told them Poland. The man looked at his wife and said "Well, the Douglases do get around."

There appears to be no Clan Plotnik. Stuart, Giles, MacDougall, MacFergus, MacIntosh, MacRosoft, MacNCheese, MacAdamia, yes. But Clan Plotnik, no.

"A Douglas a Douglas" means "Go Douglas! Go Douglas!"

Praise Dog, they do dance funny.

Scotswomen have large shoulders and exhibit great strength. They toss telephone poles around. You can tell the men from the women by the beards and the pony tails.

The horses are beautiful, walking Bud commercials. Their clippety cloppety is delightfully musical.

The sheepdogs (border collies) chase sheep around a course, and try to get them to go through gates, which sheep, being sheep, will not do unless somebody else does it first. The dogs are exceptionally fast runners, while the sheep mostly want to get this thing over with.

Ooooh, the cars. Morgans and MGs. Plottie's teenage dream car was right there, lacking only the leather strap across the hood. The British racing green Morgan.

The best part of the fair was the falconry exhibit. Who knew there were so many kinds of hawks?

Speaking of hawks, Plotnik saw his first Romney/Ryan bumper sticker in front of the fair.

It was a grand day, but it is hot at Pleasanton Fair Grounds. Good as that feels, it was a relief to get out of BART and plunge straight back into the ol' Saint Plotniko fog.