Thank you for the concern. Even though it was annoying and then scary when it happened, now it just makes for a good anecdote.

Man, stay safe, LB. Swat teams, bullhorns and gunfire? I’d be tempted to start scanning the papers and the ‘net for other housing opportunities — but there are probably amenities living on the Point (or “la puente” as my Berkeley leftist realtor friend called it when he lived there 20 years ago) which keep you there.

I agree with you about the the whole high speed chase thing. Frankly, I think most of the time they are completely unnecessary. But, let’s face, if you were a cop in a sleepy suburb and you got the chance to engage in a high speed chase and nail the bad guy, I think it would be pretty darn tempting. Get that testosterone and adrenaline pumping, ya know?

But I have mixed feelings about our high-speed chase. It was kicked off by the Chevy Neon speeding, going 48 mph in a 25 mph zone. One assumes it accelerated from there. Part of me wonders if it might not be a better idea for the cops to jot down the license plate and pursue the matter later, rather than in a chase.

At least no one was hurt — except the bad guys.

A few months back a neighbor down the street had a police stand-off that lasted all night. The swat team was just droning on and on and on over the bullhorns. And even though I wasn’t even particularly near that house there were police swarming all over my neighborhood - one even bushwhacking through my shrubbery. Weird. But then again, I do live in Richmond (albeit Point Richmond), so I shouldn’t be all that surprised when these things happen.

I liked dogs in my teens and twenties, and liked it, too, that they often sought me out in a corwd to establish a rapport with me. But it was always something I put off until “the future.” The future was forced when I met Mrs. Ombud, and she had our old dog, Vinnie.

It was definitely an adjustment, and adjusting continues — they have their own personalities, after all. In some ways, just going to an animal shelter or store and walking off with one is odd. We don’t find our human life partners that way, after all.

A friend who grew up in Ohio invited me to go see the Cleveland Indians play the A’s at the Oakland Coliseum this weekend. I’ll admit, I hesitated because weekend is time with our Edie and Ernie.

And then I thought: that’s a bit nuts, man.

The thing is, several days during the workweek they are stuck home alone. Consider it: sleep all night. An hour or 2 of activity when the humans wake and prepare for their commutes. Then slumber all day. Waiting. Again. Dinner and maybe a walk in the evening, then … more sleep?

Well, our two do go to doggie day care twice a week, which helps. But on the weekends I like to include them in erands and what-not, and they clearly love it. I mean, they *love* going for a ride. Much more than I do, in fact.

So I’m going to the game this weekend. They will hang with the Mrs. It’s fine. My nutty desire to forego going out has been resolved. Although “cured” might be too strong a word.

Better to say it’s in remission.

And I will say that whatever I give Ernie and Edie in time and attention comes back to me tenfold.

Easy.

Yes, the insurance rigmarole has just begun. We’ll see how it goes. Obviously, I want the city kept safe. But the reluctance of the police to tell me, at first, why they were conducting a chase sequence like something out of a Dirty Harry movie on our street is a bit disconcerting.

Right. Definitely. Thank goodness.

And good for you for having the ‘pack sense’ to know that the dogs needed to be able to see what was going on in their patch.

I hope the insurance isn’t too much of a rigmarole…