Leave Your Chow Like That

I was at The Mill this morning with Ash, Diego and Xander, gulping down Guatemalan pourover and munching cinnamon-sugar toast. We were laughing about haircuts, rom-coms, and how childhood injuries might prevent us from engaging in various acts of love, when all of a sudden—

"Who's dog is that," a guy shouted from the doorway. He was tall, wearing a skate helmet, and carrying a toddler in his arm. He had his coffee in a compostable cup and he was on his way out, making his way past the line that still snaked out the door.

"Who's dog is that?!" He shouted again, over the hundred people chatting, drinking coffee, waiting in line, baking bread, enjoying their Sunday morning. "Who's Chow is that out front? You can't leave your Chow tied up like that! That's not cool."

He stared into a hundred faces, coldly, righteously, and swept out the door.

My head fell into my hand. "This city..." I muttered. Diego's eyes rolled. Ash and Xander shared a smirk.

Only in San Francisco can you live your life without judgment – yogi, Baha'i, Baptist, starving artist, rich technologist, gay, straight, bi, trans, polyamorous, swinger, leather, hipster, preppy, bro, Burner, vegetable gardener, vegan, freegan, gluten-free – we welcome you all.

But how dare you curb your dog! If you transgress the laws of pet care, we will rain down judgment and pretension on your head, all too publicly.