Dog fights and the kittens in the morning

This morning a thin lass with a bit of fuzz on a leash were in front of my tent, the cat squatting on the pea-gravel next to the Bocce court where I have made my home. It does look like litter. How much can their little bladders hold? More than I thought, and the girl did shoosh me when I first approached. (Difficult to get the cat to go. Oh). A good morning trip to intestinal bliss I must respect.

An even smaller one was getting a bit of fresh air minus the bully-dogs that rule the night, it on a 10' string emerging from a small tent, one of the flood plain ones. (The east gravel strip has drain issues that will make your tent into more of a beaver dam). I am the tent next to one of those huge concrete spheres - good signage for a ball court. I put my prayer flag string over it like a hairband. I wrote Welcome to the Circle A Ranch on a pallet set edge-wise and attached the black flag. Get branded!

The kitchen is about to snap. JD has achieved his own bliss in not caring, as he puts out the dozens of sandwiches and preparing more for the cause. Mike the guy who comes down from 101 is easy to work with. No one freaked when we had to move the kitchen to storage. The sink was a poor investment, when your water comes in 5 gallon camping or commercial containers. That went away yesterday.

Woke up to Christmas music. Thought the rink was very loud and...no, it is to my North. I'm confused. A boom box, aimed in my general direction by two guys in a higher up tent, South. I'm sorry, what? I check the time on the Ferry Bldg. It's 8:30 am. The crooner stuff at the Ice Capades last night was so much better. Mel Torme, Blue Eyes, good shit. Pseudo rockabilly Santa Claus is Coming to Town. You know the one. I go give them grief. Pull rank? I just asked if you experienced the non-stop wingnut melee that went on for three days. I think I moved each of those days. Once for the flood plain, once to the com tent, pulled down during 2am raid. Then to yup. 100 Main Street, JH Plaza, SF, CA 94666. Surely no one took that zipcode. We should have it.

Another dogfight. Where's the fucking muzzle? Who took the muzzle off? It's not my dog. (That's a punchline, you know). He spit on me. I remember I do in fact have a dogbite. Three punctures in box shape bruise. Dogbite. I forgot but now I have on shorts so I can have some props in saying what fucked up kenneling is going on. I was hassling its owner over shit on the ground or just being irresponsible. I forget. They are going to be the final straw. Irresponsible dog-ownership brought down occupy. Our unsafe verdict (the Public Health sheet - did you get the memo?) included feces and urine on the ground and a dog disease known as parvo.

This morning, I prefer kittens.