LifeinNewYork

Chapter 19

Tails of New York

After his handling of 9/11, Rudy Giuliani is probably best known for making the fur fly over pet ferrets by banning them as a health threat. He made it clear that ferret enthusiasts (or “people obsessed with weasels” in his words) should get help because it’s “a sickness.” If anything suspicious ever befalls him the investigation will surely start in the shadowy subterranean world of contraband ferrets, which are allowed in New York State but outlawed in New York City. Oddly, keeping chickens, bees, and pigeons is perfectly legal in all five boroughs.

Pigeons are famously the bane and mascot of New York City. They arrived with the colonists in the 1600s and likewise succeeded in putting down roots and flourishing. There have been pigeon supporters and pigeon detractors ever since. Pigeon raisers, racers, feeders, and rescuers are constantly pitted against pigeon relocators, cullers, sterilizers, and eaters. Building owners erect owl statues, netting, and metal spikes to keep these resilient birds from fouling public spaces. The Metropolitan Transit Authority has tried zapping pigeons with electrical wire, not enough to kill them, but enough to keep them from spattering outdoor subway stations. Pigeons appear to be with us for the long haul, despite the rumor that you never see any baby pigeons. They do not spring to life fully formed, but are very clever at hiding their young, notwithstanding what appears to be a lazy lifestyle of drunkenly weaving through traffic to forage for pizza crusts, French fries, and bagel crumbs. As for the romantic notion that pigeons mate for life, some do,

but like most New Yorkers, they tend to stay together until one finds a better mate. Being an urban pigeon is no walk in the park.

It turns out that it’s not just the coupling and uncoupling of New York young people that makes for popular story fodder. And Tango Makes Three is a 2005 children’s book based on the romance between two male chinstrap penguins living in the Central Park Zoo. Roy and Silo were behaving as a couple, made a nest together, and attempted to hatch a rock. When a male-female couple produced two eggs and couldn’t care for both, zookeepers gave one to Roy and Silo. The female chick was named “Tango.” However, the book relating this story was immediately controversial because Tango had two daddies, and numerous attempts have been made to ban it from bookshelves. Conservatives may not have succeeded in their censorship campaign, but they were surely delighted when Silo was hit with the six-year itch and took up with a female from the West Coast named Scrappy. This sudden change in partners “rocked the gay world,” reported influential commentator Andrew Sullivan.

Further exotica is in the air with the thousand or so monk parakeets that have built colonies throughout the five boroughs. The ancestors of these birds were imported to JFK Airport in crates from South America in order to become pets, but they skipped immigration altogether. Like most things in New York, these upstarts are both loved and loathed. Some residents adore their vibrant colors and cheerful chirping, while others have classified them as a nuisance since they build nests around heat-emitting transformers atop utility poles, which then catch fire. You can probably guess on which side of this debate Con Edison falls.

Petworking: When your social circle and work opportunities come almost entirely from the people you’ve met through your “animal companions.” Despite the fact that locals love to complain, fewer than one in five New Yorkers vote, compared to more than half of the folk in the rest of New York State and slightly under half in the rest of the country. However, one in three owns a pet.

Then there are the less common animals that are more common than you might think in our urban jungle. Elusive coyotes and swoop

ing red-tailed hawks have taken up residence in Central Park. Zelda, the wild turkey named after F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife, blithely struts about Battery Park uncooked, occasionally visiting TriBeCa and Greenwich Village. A poisonous Egyptian cobra that may or may not have escaped from the Bronx Zoo managed to keep up a weeklong Twitter feed about her adventures. A three-foot corn snake popped up in a Bronx man’s nineteenth-floor apartment. Four intrepid Brooklyn women found a python in their home, packed it up in a pillowcase, hopped on the G train, and delivered it to an animal rescue center. Around the holidays it’s possible to see the three camels that star (as themselves) in the Radio City Christmas Spectacular walking down 51st Street.

Then there was the 500-pound tiger kept as a pet in a tiny Harlem high-rise apartment that turned on its owner, Antoine Yates. Yates checked into a hospital saying that he’d been attacked by a pit bull. Animal Control was sent for the tiger while Yates was convicted of keeping dangerous animals in the city and given a prison term. Yates commented: “Ironically we were both placed in cages for the first time.” After serving five months in jail, Yates sued New York City and Police Department for searching his home without a warrant, the loss of his pets, and $7,000 he claimed had been stolen. U.S. District judge Sidney Stein dismissed the case saying that Yates was full of chutzpah.

That alligators dwell in the sewers is a popular urban legend, along with buried treasure on Liberty Island and a ghost ship on the Hudson River. Except that alligators have been found in city sewers and storm drains. A two-foot caiman (a species of crocodile) played hide-and-seek with pursuers for a week in Central Park in 2001 until alligator wranglers were brought up from Florida. The parks commissioner designated the reptile “Damon the Caiman.” A four-foot crocodile was found wandering around a Queens park in 2003 but wisely turned himself in to the responding police officers. It’s possible to view and photograph a subterranean gator at the 14th Street/Eighth Avenue subway station where a fanciful bronze sculpture by Tom Otterness depicts an alligator emerging from a manhole cover and biting the backside of a person with a money-bag head. (That urban myth

out of the way, I’ve never seen anyone fry an egg on the sidewalk, even during the worst heat wave.)

Like most urban dwellers, New Yorkers gravitate toward cats and dogs when it comes to house pets. Even if pet owners see one another in the park every day they tend to call each other after the pet, for example, Penny’s mom or Buber’s dad. On the Upper West Side in the 1980s I knew a golden retriever named Freud, a Collie named Manic, a high-strung Yorkie called Schizo, a teacup poodle named Crackers, and a tabby cat called Tofu.

New Yorkers tend to have pets instead of kids. Space is limited and it’s perfectly legal to sell or give away the offspring of your dog or cat. As a result, lots of businesses have sprung up to pamper these beloved pooches and pussycats. There’s doggy daycare, clothing boutiques, pet-icures, holiday photos, Zen classes, and party planners who will throw a splendid Bark Mitzvah. Prospect Park in Brooklyn is home to Dog Beach, where pups of all breeds and sizes can frolic together and perfect their doggy paddle. On the medical front you can get hydrotherapy, acupuncture, aromatherapy, and of course psychotherapy. Then there’s dog yoga, which is called (what else?) doga. Let’s just say that no one here was surprised when New York businesswoman Leona Helmsley left $12 million to her Maltese named Trouble, which handlers were always supposed to refer to as “Princess” rather than “the dog.”

One study says that two out of three New Yorkers talk to their pets over the phone. If all the pets in New York find out they’re adopted on the same day the crisis hotlines will be overflowing. Don’t get me wrong, I love animals and have four dogs of my own. However, I think one has to accept the fact that they’re a mixed bag. If I pass out in the apartment they’ll bark and whine for help, and perhaps the spaniel will try the phone. But after a few days they’ll eat me.

The professional dog walker leading a pack of sixteen or so canines to a park is another must-get NYC photo, complete with Labrador retrievers (who already have waterproof coats) dressed in Gucci rain gear. Although you may want to wait until winter when the Pugz (Ugg boots for dogs) come out. Interestingly, I’ve heard