Pit bulls.

They were looking for fighting dogs — which we didn't have. In fact, the closest thing we've got is a cute kitten, who spent most of the time hiding under a chair in the dining room.

As the police, at least partially convinced that we weren't harboring killer dogs, explained, someone with the same last name as our landlord had been arrested over in San Francisco and was being held in custody in connection with running a pit bull breeding ring. It was essentially a gambling operation, where the ring would breed the dogs for fighting and then blood hungry spectators would bet money on their favorite gladiator. The dogs were trained on little puppies, ravaging the unfortunate dogs in the name of sport.

Certainly a terrible crime, I thought, but what did it have to do with us? Well, when the police arrested this guy, he gave up our address. And today, in conjunction with some multi-jurisdictional Bay Area sting operation,

we got raided.

After about an hour of sweating bullets on the couch and making small talk with the boys in blue, the officers determined that we were not the droids they were looking for. Not that they were done -- they kicked down a door to a locked room in the basement that none of us had the key for and confiscated a few things there that probably had nothing to do with the ring. They took our pictures for their files, and I got my camera out too. They weren't very keen about getting photographed, but I managed to get a couple of shots in anyway...

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