TALES FROM SACRAMENTO'S STREETS AT NIGHT
Last June, on a particularly dark street, at 2 a.m. in a residential neighborhood, I encountered an 50-ish long-haired guy who wanted to know if he was getting any closer to Sutter Hospital. "I've been walking for miles: man, I feel really sick," he said. I told him he was going the right way, but he still had at least two miles to go before he got to the hospital. So he went off into the night, probably needing a ride to the emergency room, but on foot instead. I hope he's all right.
Last July, I had a strange encounter while walking Sparky (without a leash as always) at 2:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. We were walking past the south side of Sierra 2, a former elementary school converted into a neighborhood arts center, when we passed a car that had several people inside. When I looked back after Sparky, who was trailing behind at that point, I was surprised to see a gangly guy who had apparently been in the car we just past, creeping after Sparky. I called Sparky closer, but the guy kept coming. Finally I decided to confront the guy. The fellow was young (white, about 20), wearing sportswear, and a big ridiculous-looking necklace (apparently he had come from some nightclub or other). He asked me if Sparky would bite, and he pretended to be afraid of the dog. He tentatively petted Sparky, carefully eyeing me as I gripped the pooper scooper: Sparky, of course, was pleased to be getting well-deserved attention. The guy quickly trotted away to rejoin his friends, who by that time had pulled closer in their car. I suspect he and his friends wanted to do a thrill dognapping, but abandoned the idea because I would have had made him pay a painful price. Alternatively, he might have just wanted to pet Sparky - drunk people sometimes do strange things - but it was sort of strange nevertheless.
Also last summer, I was walking Sparky past the local adult bookstore on Broadway (I think it's called something like L'Shoppe Amour), about midnight, wondering whether I should tether Sparky to a post and go inside, when two beautiful and well-dressed women patrons climbed out of their late-model parked car. The driver looked at Sparky and said "Oh, he is so cute!" and started doting on him. Sparky of course sat at attention, winning even more admiration from the beauties. After a surprisingly long time, and after much amiable conversation, the women finally entered the store through the open door, and Sparky (of course) followed after them. Embarrassed, I had to retrieve the ever-sociable dog from the aisles of the store, and continue our walk down the dark streets.
Once, several years ago, while walking Sparky at night, I heard several gun shots being fired at a nearby traffic light. To get a clear look at who was firing the shots, all I had to do was walk around from behind a rose bush hedge. I decided, instead, that I really appreciated the scent of the roses, and I never got to see who was firing the gun, and at what.
There have been some close calls. Three years ago, Sparky and I missed the Kimi Anderson shooting by about and hour and a half, but did get to see all the police cars. Kimi Anderson, a 13-year-old girl who lives two blocks east of me, was shot by another neighbor who lives three blocks south of me, as her parents called police from the parking lot of Cafe Melange, a local coffee shop near Sierra 2. Kimi's parents had flashed their headlights at a driver who had menaced them on the road: the driver went beserk, chased them around in his car, then went home, got his arsenal, came back, located the vehicle and shot into it, striking Kimi in the spine, and paralyzed her for life. According to her aunt (whom I recently met), Kimi now lives at a specialty hospital in Indianapolis, IN, and has endured several surgeries in the last few months. The so-called "Road Rage Shooter", probably the least-popular man in Sacramento, now spends time in prison.
And then, of course, there was the infamous episode in 1995 when I got held up while walking Sparky. But that's for another time.....
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