Five years ago, K took me to Pier 39 in San Francisco and that's when I fell in love with the sea lions. As in...completely enamored. As in...he doesn't understand it. Nevertheless, he tolerates this love affair I have with them. That first time, he saw I wasn't about to budge, so he told me he was going to look around and shop for awhile and that he would be back for me. I nodded my head. Last year, he took me back, but gave me some sort of time limitation. This year, he generously budgeted some time for me once again to visit my "friends" as he calls them.
Well, my friends were up to their same old tricks. There was a pair who kept fighting each other and pushing each other off their dock. Time and time again, one would jump on, they would wrestle, one would get pushed back into the water, and then the loser would jump aboard again. Over and over again.
I love the ones who sleep through everything. Their head is upside down, lower than their body, the dock is rocking in the waves, and others are barking and yelling each other, and they just sleep on. Like me. Nothing wakes me up.
My very favorite are the ones who choose the busiest dock. The dock that is clearly already piled pretty high with sea lions. The dock which screams "no room at the inn!" Not only do they jump up and join the crew, but they usually land on top of some of their sleeping mates and then proceed to jump and flop and bounce their wet heavy selves way across the dock to the other side as if to say, "'Scuse me!"
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