Dogs 21-29

A sort of part-dingo-lookin' dog, just chillaxin' on the corner on a Saturday night.

(Actually I think it was Tuesday)


This guy looks like one of those really old blues musicians who's had a horrible life. Like his name might be "Garbage Pail Texas" or "Hobotown Mike" or "Steamin' Pile Willie" or something.


Look at all the construction-type stuff around him! Was he thinking, "Man, if I only had thumbs, I could so build a badass half pipe."


I count four completely ass-kicking dogs in the back of this truck. The next time you think about "Rollin' wit' your homies," consider how much better it would be if your homies were these guys instead of some lame "crew" that wears stupid shirts and have begun compiling CDs of the greatest hits of Ludacris.


On my way into the Presidio Post Office one morning, I saw these. I'll admit right here that Bichon Frise are just about the only small dogs I have any patience for. I've known at least one great Frise in my time (shout out to Shadow, holdin' it down in Philly), and they are a stand-up breed.

Heh; look at 'em!


"Will you come out already? He's getting that look again."


I just wanted to point out that this guy's got the reflection thing going in both eyes, but they're each of a slightly different color. He's like the Cowboy Bebop's Spike, except in dog form, and not an anime character.

Also, he probably doesn't know jeet kune do.

I didn't say it was a good comparison, now did I?


I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking it too: How much better is it to have a dog check out what's in your bag on the street than one of the approximately sixty-hundred billion hobo dudes on the streets of the Mission?

Answer: A lot better.


What he's contemplating here is exactly how much more extra leash would be needed in order for him to reach the scooter behind him, hotwire the hell out of it, and drive it off to a better life doing poster ads that hang in stores like Express for Men or whatever the hell it's called, back when it used to be Structure.


These next three pictures I put up because I couldn't choose just one.


This dog used to hang out in a store on Valencia St. every now and then. She was basically the best in-store dog ever.


Best. In-store. Dog. EVER.


That thing about dogs always sniffing each other's asses as a way of saying "hello" has been stand-up comedian and cartoon fodder for the past seven thousand millenia.

That said, it seems to come from somewhere. I do like how the black dog seems sort of puzzled anyway, though.


And now he's like "Shit, they've got me surrounded. Do I owe these guys money? Do I even know them?"

Apparently the streets are rough in the Cole Valley on a weekend night.