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Bernal BT

Our weekend adventures continue!
Last night, just as I slipped my dress out of the dry cleaning plastic and zipped myself in, I heard El Jefe groan… with disgust. Ace spontaneously puked all down the stairs. We were headed to a wedding and were T minus 15 minutes away from needing to catch a specific train. I ended up missing the wedding so I could watch Ace and make sure she was okay; she had never vomited before except once, after eating her kibble up way too fast. The creepiest part of the evening (Isn’t there always a creepy part of your evenings? No? Oh…) was when I could hear her stomach gurgling from across the room. I am glad I became an adult around the same time as the Internet became mature, because in this case, as in so many others, a quick Google search prevented me from freaking out (solution: feed the damn dog and it will stop).
Other than some poor poops, Ace was her usual self today. We took her up to Bernal Hill right as the fog was careening over Twin Peaks and spilling into the sunny valley below us. Bernal is in the central southeastern part of the city, a bald protrusion in an otherwise densely populated residential area. The hike up is a bit steep, but the view is absolutely spectacular. San Franciscans are known worldwide as insane, but I think our forefathers who plotted out the streets over this wild terrain were more out of their minds than even the edgiest hipster.
But no one, no one is as insane as Ace with a ball. Oh my.



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