World's smallest dog

So, I'm on my way to yoga this morning, walking east on 51st Street toward Ninth Avenue. It's a quiet, leafy block. There's a small commercial bakery, a place that services institutional coffee machines. There's some sort of MTA office or something. All of this is very quiet on a Saturday morning. Some of the neighborhood stalwarts are already out on their stoops or walking their dogs.

Up ahead of me, on the left side of the sidewalk, there's a guy standing with his back to me. He's got close-cropped gray hair and he's wearing the local old-man uniform of slightly dingy white t-shirt and sweatpants. His left hand is out to the side, holding a freshly-lit cigarette. His right hand is hidden from view by his body, but his elbow is bent and, well, moving. Suspiciously.

I'm thinking, okay. I can deal with this. I've been here five years and the worst thing that has happened is getting half-way groped on a really crowded 6 train. And that time I saw the giant homeless guy in Central Park walking along with his cock out of his snowsuit, pissing. Really, this is just some neighborhood geezer. No problem.

I come up behind him. And I step a little further to my right, closer to the curb. Now I'm even with him. And out of the corner of my eye, I see his right hand, working furiously.

TEXTING.

Not a dirty old man. Just an old guy with texting to do at 9am on a Saturday. Now I just need to tighten up my storytelling, and this will definitely make it into the Times' "Metropolitan Diary."

And now, I leave you with the smallest dog I've ever seen.



Smallest dog close-up!