The weird thing is that I'm developing this sixth sense for when he does this stuff. I had gone to talk to Karen in the bedroom, and she asked me where Oscar was, and I said, "He's in the kitchen..." and I just knew. Which makes me wonder: is this my super power? And if so, it officially has to be the worst super power ever, right? I could be the most banal super hero ever. "Superman, you fly out and destroy the evil spaceship. Spider-Man, trap all the henchman in a web. I'll...oh, wait! My poop sense is tingling! I have to go clean the kitchen."
So anyways.
This being Sunday, Karen and I went out for brunch to Petite Abeille, a favorite brunch place of ours a few blocks down 1st Ave. It's a nice day out, so Karen says we should eat outside. So we do, and aside from a few gusts of wind dusting our brunch with random city grit, it's a lovely meal. And then, as we're about to leave, as Karen is taking f-o-r-e-v-e-r to sign the check and get moving, a distant pigeon takes flight...and sights me in, perhaps drawn to the bright yellow TV on the Radio t-shirt I'm wearing...and this pigeon lets fly his vile payload. Have you ever seen the news footage of Vietnam-era bombing runs, where a bomber drops several bombs and you just see this line of explosions going up, one! two! three! four! Yeah, that's exactly how it happened. A line of pigeon bombs splashed down along our table, hitting my napkin, my water glass, the table cloth in front of me...and finally splatting down on my shirt. My totally awesome favorite shirt.
So to recap: my day started with a big stinky dog crap and continued with pigeon crap. Really, all I need to do now is step in some bum poop and I'll have hit the New York Trifecta.
Some assorted puppy pictures, as a reward for those of you who read all the way through this crappy entry:
Oscar, plotting destruction
Chewing on random things is what makes me "me"
Portrait of a Poop Monster
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