Dog Bites

Given the global concerns over the spread of mad cow disease, Dackman said, the museum staff understands its supplier's decision to halt shipments. But evidence also suggests that mad cow disease -- a rare and fatal disorder believed to be caused by a prion, an abnormal protein that affects structural changes in a cow's brain -- is spread only through ingestion of infected meat. "I don't know that there is any danger from a dissection," Dackman said. "It's a cow eye. This is not anything that's consumed."

"Thank God," Dog Bites thought; you never know with those scientists.

Speaking of animals and the implements that maim them, Dog Bites dropped by the San Francisco Ballet's premiere of Don Quixote last week, where security around the Opera House was braced for a confrontation. Word had spread that members of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals would protest at the event in their inimitable fashion, seeking to change the minds -- and clothes -- of fur-clad ballet patrons. And PETA is known for changing minds the hard way: Lisa Franzetta, coordinator of the ballet protest, was arrested last year at a fashion show for pouring red-painted cash over the head of designer Michael Kors while shouting, "Here's your blood money, fur pimp!"

Hoping to catch a similar confrontation, Dog Bites arrived to find the SFPD already deployed on the steps of the Opera House. PETA hadn't shown up yet, but the mere prospect of splattering red paint sent ripples of tension through the chill winter air. "I just seen some fur go in," said one security guard of a ballet patron who arrived ahead of the protesters. "She dodged a bullet."

Not literally, we hoped, but just as we were steeling ourselves for the anti-fur firing squad, six ballerinas -- five women and a man -- pirouetted forth, wearing tutus and fur stoles stained red. "Don't wear fur, it hurts my tutu," cried the guy, his toes pointed and lips painted. He identified himself as Luciano, and told us he and Franzetta had dreamed up the "bloody ballerina" concept mostly because he wanted to wear pink for PETA.

A noble goal, Dog Bites thought. But for PETA, wasn't the approach a little, well, sissy?

Franzetta confirmed that the kinder, gentler exercise was a conscious decision to use "humor and camp and sex" to get the PETA message across. Indeed, the mood on the sidewalk was decidedly warm and (dare we say it?) fuzzy.

But this was a PETA protest, after all. Steve Wells soon showed up wearing a chest-mounted video screen, which displayed footage of animals being trapped, caged, and skinned. One scene depicted two men electrocuting a fox by clamping an electrode to its nose and inserting another in its anus. Some balletgoers resented the addition of an anal probe to their evening's entertainment, and one of them -- not wearing fur -- thrust his belly at Wells in defiance.

"You talk about cruelty to animals?" he cried, gut-bumping Wells. "I'll be cruel to you!" Then he climbed the stairs to the entrance, shouting, "Fur is great!" at operatic volume.

By this time, Dog Bites, quite chilled through, had rediscovered the difficulty of taking notes while wearing gloves. "I wish I had some fur," we muttered to one of the cops in the security detail, Lt. Terry Barrett.

"No, no -- not fur," the lieutenant said. And from the pocket of her pants, she produced a pair of warm cloth mittens. (Anna North)

Staggering to our mailbox on a cloudy afternoon, we were delighted to discover a package, in keeping with our law enforcement theme, sent by new Mayor Gavin Newsom. Gnashing apart the pink ribbons (nice touch, Kimberly), we found ourselves the proud owner of an Official Gavin Newsom Crimefighting Kit. We'd read the San Francisco Chronicle stories about Newsom's "surprise visits" to murder scenes in the Bayview-Hunters Point neighborhood, and how his interviews with witnesses were rankling investigators, but we never dreamed the new mayor would produce his own toolbox for aspiring detectives. And as it turns out, he knows his stuff. Each Gavin Newsom Crimefighting Kit includes:

Magnifying glass with Fabergé handle

DVD compilation of CSI: Miami episodes

Map of limousine routes through Bayview-Hunters Point

Pen, notebook, and mini me of Chronicle City Hall scribe Rachel Gordon, to take notes that never vary from the mayor's thinking

Split of champagne

Life-size inflatable Gavin Newsom Crimefighting doll, in case bullets are still flying

Copy of Berkeley High School Slang Dictionary (which, its publisher says, "contains words that students in Berkeley High's Communication Arts and Sciences [CAS] program have identified as part of the cultural and linguistic fabric of spoken English. CAS promotes the investigation of discourses in the communities we encounter -- many of which are marginalized. Words come from African American, Chicano, Jewish, and sports cultures, and include era-specific slang from the beatniks, '60s African American church, movie culture, hip hop, and drug subculture. This is an eye-opening adventure into the way different cultures and communities communicate and take ownership of their language in creative and pragmatic ways").

The first hundred citizens to request a kit will also, Dog Bites has learned, receive a complimentary copy of the Official Gavin Newsom Crimefighting Handbook, featuring his introductory essay, "What Encyclopedia Brown Meant to Me."