Lost Dog

I love animals. It is a possibility that I was St. Francis in a past life, how else can you explain my love of animals and being born in San Francisco?

This morning on my bike ride to my local cafe, The Last Laugh, I daw this litte chiahuahua running in the street, looking lost, which indeed it was. A dog owner, Nathan, was walking past and I asked him if he knew the dog. Nope. But he was a sweet young man and said that he lived just around the corner and could get me a collar and lead, as the dog had none. So me and my new furry friend followed Nathan and after biting me (though not breaking the skin) we managed to get the collar on. If I were a heterosexual, I might have made more of a connection with Nathan, as he is my age, handsome in long blond hair and a gentle type.

Anyway, I locked my bike up at the Last Laugh and thankfully Bill The Cafe Owner knew the owners and home of the dog and I went to return the pup. No one answered my many ringings of the bell and pounding on the door.

Drawing upon my ancestral native American tracking abilities, I noticed that a half smoked cigarette was resting on the railing outside the door, and ashes had dropped all over the morning paper. This was an obvious sign that the owner was indeed up this morning, and perhaps in a sleepy stupor (I was told they are clubbing types), let the dog escape unnoticed during her smoke.

Sitting at the cafe with dog wrapped in my new anarchist t-shirt reading "Revolution Between the Lines" above an old typewriter, which I got at the Anarchist bookfair yesterday, I sat getting loads of attention from passers by gooing and cooing at the dog. If I am EVER single again and wanting a partner or at least a date, I'll get a dog, probably a little dog, or a very very good looking one.

An hour later I tried the house again. This time the old man neighbor with bulbous purple nose, also a dog owner, kindly said I could go around the back and let the dog in through the open window. That was quite a reach and I wasn't sure I could stretch as far as I would need to, to ensure a safe return. A very friendly cat in the house was cheering us on, missing it's friend, but we aborted that attempt to go to a side window instead, at the purple nosed man's suggestion. So I took the lead off my new pal, said goodbye, opened the window, spying the numerous empty bottles of wine and vodka, and popped the little pup onto the sofa, where he snuggled and the cat came to welcome him home.

Hopefully the little thing won't jump out the back window.

Whew.

I had a great time at the Anarchist Bookfair yesterday. I bought a book called Vegan On A Shoestring written by a group of college kids in Canada. I know most of the info, but I want it as a model of an idea that I have about putting something together for residents of San Francisco and the political aspects of food and eating and how to be a revolutionary eater. I think that being healthy is a radical thing in this day and age, and that a person's approach to being healthy or becoming healthy, can be a revolutionary act.

Watching all the kids in black, grungy, unhealthy, smoking, I wondered if they knew that they, in their own way, really will depend upon the systems they claim to abhor, because one day, they will likey rely upon a healthcare system to treat their ailments caused from "rebellious" and "cool" lifestyle. Ward Churchill, Professor of Ethics in Colorado, was a speaker and I highly recommend checking out anything he's written or said.

Power To The People.