16 April 2010

Racial, gender, class and breed based profiling and why I do not work in homeland security.

So we're heading down the stairs to the beach at Mitchell's, and I look down the cliff and see 2 dogs, 1 people down there. This is important to count, because if the ratio of pitbulls sans recalls is too high, we keep walking. Just one scruffy Jack Russel based dog, and a cropped ear, BIG dude of a pitbull. There's a skater guy with much visible tattoo action down there in a black work jacket and long shorts, leaning against a rock and having a smoke, and some ladies in fitness wear running up and down the stairs. Admirable, ladies. Later, I will view them doing pushups and special exercises with rubber bands, in full view and full sun. Rock on.

The 2 dogs look like they're chilling, no mean pitbull vibes, and I send down the dogs.

When we hit the sand, I approach big guy pitbull first, because we're going to all walk right through his personal space zone and he appears highly interested by Team Small Dog coming down on the beach. I figure, skater guy, he's right there, and big guy isn't eating the terrier dog, so chances are good that he's not a terrorist. But, because of homeland security and all, he is somewhat guilty until proven innocent.

I don't get the best vibe. Not the worst, but enough that I am walking backwards to keep eagle eye on him and my dogs as we walk over to the end of the beach. I am walking backwards so well that I fall ass over tea kettle on to a giant exposed beach rock.

Fitness lady comes RUNNING down the stairs, presumably because I am fitness challenged, except it's to corral Snickers. Who is the big dude gangsta style pitbull. Who she has been yelling at from on top of the stairs except I figured was the scruffy dog. Because, you know. Lady in pink Nike top? Terrier, and black Dickies and neck tattoo? Pitbull. He gets tied up at the top of the stairs. Skater guy is just leaning against the big rock that sticks up in the middle of the beach, finishing his smoke. He's with the little dog.

We climb the sea wall and are off doing our thing at the other side of the beach, by the sewage waterfall and where the good rocks and sticks are. Doing our thing can be a lot of things. There is stick throwing and rock climbing and jumping the run-off river and if I was in a good enough mood, I might have been singing Courtney Love songs in my best Tom Waits voice. Watching the seal swim and thinking about pancakes.

Ladies are doing their fitness thing on the stairs, skater guy and terrier are on the other side of the beach playing with sticks, and I see a new pack of dogs come down. Older guy in that sort of normal guy you might see at the natural foods store way, with a pack of little fluffy dogs. Bichon and lhasa apso based. Fluffy short moppets, running around. Never seen them before. Precious. If you like those low to the ground, barrette needing, little fluffy dogs.

We're heading that way because our expiration date of must get to work is near. As we walk into the moppet fray, I am still throwing Otterpop's stick for her into the sea. Ruby is meandering near us doing one of her mysterious projects. What that dog does, I can't really figure out. One day, Ruby will totally have the secret to the universe, and when she tells me, I'll only be able to say something like, "WHOA, DUDE! Awesome!"

I am so lame, compared to Ruby.

So I look up, and the little dog pack, that I figured would be oh-so-safe, hello. An angry pack of running short legged mops has packed up on poor Gustavo, and I can see his panic button has gone off. He's such a little weenie, which I mean in a totally nice way. He gets scared of stuff. And right now, he is scared of a horrible little flock of fluffballs that are chasing him, barking, up the beach stairs towards Snickers the tied up pitbull. When I call him to come back down, he can't get down because they are planted all over the stairs, the army of them, yapping. They look like yarn. Riled up, dangerous yarn.

Somehow they all turn around, and run back down the stairs. In his efforts to run over to us, he is again pursued by the lot of them and they pin him up against the sea wall. He looks terrified, but they're all really, really tiny. If you like to wear wigs to Star Trek events, then you know about Tribbles which are fluffy little hamsters that travel in a pack and take over space ships. Just like that.

The older gentleman starts plucking them up, and silently tossing them on top of the sea wall. One by one, each yapping chunk of curls. Until Gustavo is free and we are free to leave and there's a seal wall full of these horrible little dogs.

As I start up the stairs, the skater guy walks over.

"That guy," he goes, eyeballing towards older gentleman and tiny little friends, "and those dogs, wake me up. Every morning. They love next door. Awful."

Who knew. Next time, I'll take the bad vibe pitbull.


minnow said...

Hahaha, dangerous yarn! I think Homeland Security should take notice, it's granma knitter whose the threat.

Terry A said...

i am so glad you write-- it's amazing, poetic and one of the best blogs i've ever read (and i've read many!) just appreciating what you put out there!

team small dog said...

Yarns are cool if they're not the dangerous ones.

Thanks for the nice compliment, I like to write it!

Cynthia Blue said...

Ugh.. sometimes those little foo-foo dogs get away with murder... that's why I don't bring my BC, he'd have eaten them alive. :p

Elf said...

Funnneeee and so true that you just never know.