by Berto the Street Dog (as told to Blake Nelson)
Sun’s coming up later and later these days. I arose slowly this morning, which is like saying the avocados seem a bit green lately. I’m a street dog for crying out loud. When we don’t rise slowly it’s because we fell asleep in the road and are being ground into chéveres. I bid goodbye to Francisco and the pack and moved on.
Speaking of avocados: that was the first thing I stole this morning. The lady was in the process of exposing herself (to the delight of her newborn and the discomfort of some Americans), which made her unable to hit me before I could bite into my breakfast. She did throw a rock at me on my way out. I’ll have to go back and bite her baby.
I wandered down 12th towards Central Park, passing three-legged Pedro on the way. We said hello and sniffed each other’s butts. Looks like he found some McDonald’s yesterday. I felt a brief pang of sympathy when I trotted away. It’s not easy limping your way over cobblestone, but he manages. At least he’s not like three-legged Danca, she’s missing a quarter of her appendages and is about to give birth. And I don’t even think Pedro’s going to pay alimony.
By the time I arrived at Central Park the avocado was mostly skin. I spit it out and sat for a moment to scratch my ear. Francisco’s right, it does look like a Greco-Roman god threw up all over the city. I wonder what the reverse would look like, Spanish colonial architecture peppered throughout Athens.
Before this thought could simmer, some guy with dreads who smelled like what I rolled in last night kicked me. I yelped and sprinted off. He must have noticed I marked his handicrafts as my territory last week. He didn’t have to be so violent about it though, he could have just peed on his blanket and everyone would be clear on who owned what. I’ve certainly seen my share of two-leggers marking curbs as their own.
Today’s going to be a good day. I can feel it. I think I’ve spotted Pedro’s McDonald’s stash and as long as I can cross over – whoa buddy, show that brake pedal some love! – as long as I can jaywalk towards those ex-pats on PETA’s mailing list, I’m looking forward to some full stomachs and belly-scratches.