CityView Magazine

50 | March/April 2017 M C F A D Y E N ' S M U S I N G S M MY WIFE HAD NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK City and I had not been in 30 years. e total amount of time away from our home, including travel, was only 53 hours. Yet in that short span, I made four and she made seven new friends. We ate incredibly delicious, trendy and expensive food. We walked for miles blending into the Crossroads of the World, as long as I did not draw attention by speaking. "So what was your favorite part?" people ask. Mine was witnessing the unending stream of dogs visiting Central Park. Biscuit was my canine guide—our host's pet—with a large dose of poodle and a little something else mixed in. She was tall enough to have played basketball in her prime, but that was years ago now. She also smelled a lot more expensive than does my setter dog in Eastover. Biscuit made three trips a day to Central Park: morning, noon and night. She did no socializing while there, always avoiding contact with those of her own species. Her visits were primarily of a utilitarian nature. In a nod to Southern modesty, I turned my head during Biscuit's biologically functional moments. e problem is that you cannot turn your head in any direction in Central Park without witnessing a similar purge from some other man's best friend. It is going on all the time. To its credit, New York's human population, diverse as it is, demonstrates a unilateral commitment to not leave any visible evidence of these canine necessities. However, the process does require uncountable plastic grocery bags. It is a difficult concept to grasp for a country boy like me, whose dog gets turned out in a 5,000 square foot pen each day. I could almost discern the NY dogs speaking to each other in a language I did not understand saying, "Watch what I can make my human do." en again, it was probably just the wind. I knew that I, like Biscuit, was supposed to silently enjoy my time around Central Park and not inject myself into the lives of those millions of strangers. Honestly, I never really even attempted to abstain. On the first elevator ride to our host's eighth floor apartment, I learned that the lady on crutches broke her leg badly while skiing, would be in the cast for 14 weeks and the cast would be off before summer. She exited on the second floor. e next morning at the corner coffee shop, I introduced our host to Bob from the fourth floor who split his time between Florida, Colorado A Biscuit in Central Park BY BILL MCFADYEN

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