One would think that on a blog loosely about pets, any mention of poo on the streets would be centered around furry companions. Oh, how I wish that was the case. Anyway, you are now warned.

After reading my 1988 birthday wish list, my dad came to me with a look of puzzled disgust and asked me "what is a sly crapper?" I quickly pointed out that he misread my poor hand writing. I was actually requesting David Lee Roth's second, more experimental solo album, "Skyscraper." Nonetheless, his excellent question stuck in my mind. Now, the same year of David Lee Roth's short-lived radio career, my dad's question is answered.

When Cheryl and I returned from a Central Park bike ride a couple days ago, we were greeted at our building door by a non-dog-poo poo smell. This was not a light wafting that we questioned at first. With a combination of egg-baking summer heat and our post-exercise deep breathing, the unquestionable odor hit us hard enough to displace the mirth.

At our feet, between our building's entrance and that of the brownstone under gut reno next door, was human feces. The person who could do the doo there was, obviously, a sly crapper.

When facing East, one has an appreciation of how sly this crapper had to be. Although the area is semi-secluded on the West side, the opposite direction, which the imputable individual would have been facing, is open to all kinds of public scrutiny. There are three banks, one to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead, a busy grocery store, and a school. What teenager would pass up the opportunity to make fun of someone soiling the sidewalk? Also, given that we do not remember seeing the mess when we left for our evening bike ride, the culprit had to have done this in broad daylight.

The sad irony of the whole situation is that for weeks I have been watching this same area for whomever is using it as a pissoir. Camera at the ready, every day I come home I have been hoping to catch a couple of good public humiliation shots a la the Village. I even have a posting title ready: Say Cheese, Wiz. (Runners up for the title of this posting were "Who Ordered The Poo Poo Platter?" or "I Can Finally Put That 'No Dumping' Sign To Non-Ironic Use.")

I am guessing the short wall in question became this summer's orina al fresco hot spot when the ground floor bank opened. The people who hang out all day in front of an adjacent laundromat on Lenox Avenue probably don't feel comfortable urinating in the tree pits there anymore, now that people in office attire sitting behind large windows are looking right at them. The space between the two building entrances is the first semi-seculuded area around the corner.