ManicDDaily

I pause this morning in the middle of walking Pearl to take a photo of what seem to me to be the first roses of spring.   This being New York City, they are behind iron bars.

I then step back right onto a fresh turd, deposited, it seems, by my very own Pearl (who at 16 and a half tends to straggle behind.)

This, again New York City, I am allowed to curse, but must also properly dispose of the squashed remains of said turd.  Fine, I have shreds of the Times handy and do my best.

But what about my shoe?

Because, again, this is NYC (which has experienced a series of dry windy days), the only available moisture appears also to be canine-generated.

I rub my sole against the pavement, along the edges of cobbles, in piles of those prickly round balls, around the squares of dirt that are NOT moist.

And there, voila! behind an opening in the iron bars, I see a park person.  Turning on a hose!

Please, I ask.  But she is impervious.  I am not even allowed through the opening in the fence!  Much less a shoe spritz!  (What’s worse is that she’s not a REAL park person, subject perhaps to discipline for rule infraction–she’s wearing the shirt of a volunteer!)

I scrape the foot home, picking up Pearl.  She’s had enough of this walk.