A Toast To All The Lassies
I'd been excited about the Hangover Hour's Robert Burns night at Nick's Bar and Restaurant for a while now. My intention was to have a few drinks, eat some haggis, and sit back and have a good time. Wasn't even planning on reading.
Then, at about noon, Dave Macpherson tells me that one of the traditions of a Burns Night is "A Toast To All the Lassies," and asks me if I can come up with something. I say "sure," even though the show is at 5 p.m.
After a suggestion from Lea, this is what I came up with:
A Toast to All the Lassies
This is a toast to all the Lassies. For their heroics. Their inspiration. For pulling our asses out of the fire when we get into trouble. The ones who sounded the alarm any time that Timmy was in danger.
When he’d fallen into abandoned mine shafts, off cliffs, into rivers and lakes, into quicksand, but never the well
Because Timmy never actually did fall in the well, no matter how incompetent that stupid kid was. But this isn’t about him.
This is a toast to all the Lassies.
To Pal, the first and greatest of the Lassies, who stole a female dog’s role because she wouldn’t enter raging river rapids for the sake of a scene. Pal, who was rewarded for his bravery by spending the rest of his career a canine Joan Collins ...
To Pal, who lived to the ripe old age of 18, and to his son, Lassie Junior, and his grandsons, Spook and Baby, and their descendents Mire and Hey Hey, Boy and Howard, and most recently Junior — ten generations of mostly male dogs: Hollywood’s first drag queen dynasty.
To the Lassie that we never speak of, the dog who replaced Howard in the 1997 TV show, the first ever who wasn’t a descendant of Pal’s, whose career was short lived when fan outcry caused him to be replaced by Hey Hey II, and whose name appears to have been stricken from all records.
To whoever it is that names a dog “Hey Hey.”
To Mason, who also wasn’t descended from Pal, cursing his performance in the 2005 moviee, even though it was kind of cool that he was co-starring with a human who’s last name was also Mason. That sort of subtlety is lost on the critics.
To Mason’s stunt double Dakota, who did all the work and got even less credit.
And lastly, to Lassie’s direct descendents Bailey, Laddie, Sydney, Honey and Lil Lass, who abandoned the family business to become therapy dogs, and Rusty, who now works for The Red Cross and comforted victims on 9-11 — these dogs who put their family’s fame to noble use. And to Phoenix and all the rest of Pal’s descendents, working the circuit and putting in public appearances, waiting for their time in the spotlight, waiting to bark when someone needs rescuing. But not from a well. That would be stupid.
Then, at about noon, Dave Macpherson tells me that one of the traditions of a Burns Night is "A Toast To All the Lassies," and asks me if I can come up with something. I say "sure," even though the show is at 5 p.m.
After a suggestion from Lea, this is what I came up with:
A Toast to All the Lassies
This is a toast to all the Lassies. For their heroics. Their inspiration. For pulling our asses out of the fire when we get into trouble. The ones who sounded the alarm any time that Timmy was in danger.
When he’d fallen into abandoned mine shafts, off cliffs, into rivers and lakes, into quicksand, but never the well
Because Timmy never actually did fall in the well, no matter how incompetent that stupid kid was. But this isn’t about him.
This is a toast to all the Lassies.
To Pal, the first and greatest of the Lassies, who stole a female dog’s role because she wouldn’t enter raging river rapids for the sake of a scene. Pal, who was rewarded for his bravery by spending the rest of his career a canine Joan Collins ...
To Pal, who lived to the ripe old age of 18, and to his son, Lassie Junior, and his grandsons, Spook and Baby, and their descendents Mire and Hey Hey, Boy and Howard, and most recently Junior — ten generations of mostly male dogs: Hollywood’s first drag queen dynasty.
To the Lassie that we never speak of, the dog who replaced Howard in the 1997 TV show, the first ever who wasn’t a descendant of Pal’s, whose career was short lived when fan outcry caused him to be replaced by Hey Hey II, and whose name appears to have been stricken from all records.
To whoever it is that names a dog “Hey Hey.”
To Mason, who also wasn’t descended from Pal, cursing his performance in the 2005 moviee, even though it was kind of cool that he was co-starring with a human who’s last name was also Mason. That sort of subtlety is lost on the critics.
To Mason’s stunt double Dakota, who did all the work and got even less credit.
And lastly, to Lassie’s direct descendents Bailey, Laddie, Sydney, Honey and Lil Lass, who abandoned the family business to become therapy dogs, and Rusty, who now works for The Red Cross and comforted victims on 9-11 — these dogs who put their family’s fame to noble use. And to Phoenix and all the rest of Pal’s descendents, working the circuit and putting in public appearances, waiting for their time in the spotlight, waiting to bark when someone needs rescuing. But not from a well. That would be stupid.
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