The Lovely Aroma of West 49th Street on a Summer Evening

Garbage day on my street is very lovely. Often the piles of trash are up to your hips. I know that in 1968 there was a terrible garbage strike in NYC that lasted for weeks. I have no idea how people lived through it. On the bright side, while I was walking the dog tonight I saw the entrepreneurial spirit in action as people with shopping carts sifted through the recyclables for 5¢ deposits on cans and bottles. My ex-wife told me when we moved out of New York City in 1998 that it was because she couldn't live anymore with the garbage and the urine. She may have had a point about the garbage.

Just One Big All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

During a lull in our conversation my graduate school advisor would often ask, "so how's the dog?" Yes, THE DOG. My dog has been a big part of my life for the last 10 years and now we've hit yet another adjustment for him. Not only have I moved him from the comforts of suburbia to Manhattan, but he also has the pleasures of a 4th floor walkup to face every day. He seems to be coping -- maybe too well.

You see this is a dog who after six months of living with my parents could stand to miss a meal if you know what I mean. Anyway he has discovered that 9th avenue across the street from McDonalds, the area behind the hotdog cart on 50th street, 8th avenue near the subway all are great spots for finding food on the sidewalk -- like it's been laid out for him by a bunch of unrelated caterers. Two days ago I pulled a chicken bone out of his mouth and got my finger chomped on. What was on the menu tonight for my eskimo dog during our walk?

• One dropped soft serve cone (probably from the Mister Softee truck at 51st and 8th.
• Big thick krinkle cut fries (very unlike McDonald's)
• McDonald's French fries (exactly like McDonald's)
• One smushed piece of bread (I think)
• And the topper --some kind of regurgitated stuff at the base of a tree that just had to be vomit

This is one of those moments when my dog looks at me as if I am just plain stupid. I try to explain to him that eating garbage off the street is a bad idea. And he looks at me as if to say, "What are you an idiot? Free food! It's right here like 6 inches from my nose. Eating garbage is what dogs do. That's how we became domesticated!" I pull him away from whatever he's trying to eat and we begin walking again. He looks at me resignedly as if to say, "This poor guy. Doesn't know a good meal when he sees one and he follows me around cleaning up my poop. He pulled me away from perfectly good french fries tonight ... eh, maybe if I just pee on his bathroom rug he'll get the message. He does seem a little vacant though. Always asking me who a good boy is. How should I know?"