Took the Dobermans for a run at the beach this morning. What fine specimens.

Got back just before Jason came roaring up the road and into the driveway, stopping on the dime in Mr. Rococco's pocket.

He was swigging from a 40 oz. bottle of Schlutz Malt Liquor, with several empties of the same in the back seat. He seemed a little wild eyed and was bound and determined to take us take us to some Santa Cruz Mtn. wineries. Why we agreed to go with him is beyond me.

To make a very long story much shorter, he drove us up and down a succession of torturous winding roads all over the Santa Cruz Mtns. without ever once finding a winery of any kind. During all this, he continued to slug down the Schlutz, while expounding upon the varieties of the Santa Cruz experience. After four and a half hours of this, I'd had enough, and when he stopped the car to urinate by the side of the road, I took the opportunity to mace the maniac and throw him into the trunk. I then got behind the wheel of his auto and eventually found my way out of wherever in the hell we were.

On the way back to Cloudy Bay, we were cut off by five outlaw bikers, and almost came to a bad end. When I laid on the horn, they gave me a mean look and two pulled out chains, approaching the car menacingly. I didn't have enough mace for them all, and don't like to involve The Director in a physical confrontation if I don't have to, so I backed off and they sped away.

Later, on the way back to Bree's, I thought I saw the same bikers at a seaside bonfire. A quick looksee thru the field glasses confirmed this, so I pulled up to the closest point on the road, blaring the horn and gesturing with the universal finger of contempt. Then I dumped the unconscious Jason and sped off, leaving him at the mercy of these predators.

Will sleep well tonight, IN the house, and the Dobies get to come in too.

More later,

B