I'm a marked man
I was in the park in SF the other day. I had went to the Bay to Breakers. Pretty much the Bay to Breakers foot race is more a walk, with a lot of beer. So it seems. I got to the race at 9:30. One hour after it started, got off BART, walked through the Civic Center to Hayes and picked up the end of the race. By the time John (my fellow observer) had reached Golden Gate Park two miles away, we’d passed half of the participants. (Note, we were just walking normally.) It was easy to pass them as most seemed to be pushing various contraptions mainly outfitted to carry kegs. This required lots of stops to fill cups, mouths, etc. Also, stops were needed to find bushes and trees. I’ve only drank beer at 8:00 in the morning once in my life, and I was at the Santa Rosa Highland games. Call me conventional, but it felt just weird enough, I haven’t felt the need to repeat.
I bring up beer and the resulting need for bushes and trees, because later in the day, sitting in the Mission Delores dog Park, with a great view of the Bay, peacefully watching pooches frolic with each other in the midday sun, one walked up behind me, lifted his leg and marked his territory on my back. His owner just said, “Sorry about that,” and quickly left. I never actually saw her or the annimal. I was too busy taking my shirt off. So, by the time I looked around, she and the mutt had gone over the hill. Probably afraid I’d loose my cool. At least, the owner probably did, the dog just probably felt relieved. But, I didn’t loose it, I just took off my shirt and put on the fleece I had in my backpack. But as I walked down to the 16th and Mission BART station for my ride back to Berkeley I did muse with John what the greater meaning of the event might be.
First, I hoped that had been marked by an exotic breed, a Mastiff --a Sealyham Terrier. --No, not a terrier, a St. Bernard or a Basset hound. John assured me it was just a mutt. Great, I was marked by a mutt. Not even something of breeding. I was no better than a tree stump or a bush to a mutt and an inconsiderate owner.
If the dog needs a bush to mark, I know a Bush he can mark. That’s if the dog is taking appointments.”
But in the meantime, nobody can give me a hard time for upper middle class life style any more. I know what is like to be tinkled on.
I bring up beer and the resulting need for bushes and trees, because later in the day, sitting in the Mission Delores dog Park, with a great view of the Bay, peacefully watching pooches frolic with each other in the midday sun, one walked up behind me, lifted his leg and marked his territory on my back. His owner just said, “Sorry about that,” and quickly left. I never actually saw her or the annimal. I was too busy taking my shirt off. So, by the time I looked around, she and the mutt had gone over the hill. Probably afraid I’d loose my cool. At least, the owner probably did, the dog just probably felt relieved. But, I didn’t loose it, I just took off my shirt and put on the fleece I had in my backpack. But as I walked down to the 16th and Mission BART station for my ride back to Berkeley I did muse with John what the greater meaning of the event might be.
First, I hoped that had been marked by an exotic breed, a Mastiff --a Sealyham Terrier. --No, not a terrier, a St. Bernard or a Basset hound. John assured me it was just a mutt. Great, I was marked by a mutt. Not even something of breeding. I was no better than a tree stump or a bush to a mutt and an inconsiderate owner.
If the dog needs a bush to mark, I know a Bush he can mark. That’s if the dog is taking appointments.”
But in the meantime, nobody can give me a hard time for upper middle class life style any more. I know what is like to be tinkled on.
posted by Stan at 11:48 AM
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