It's gotten so that when I'm walking around town, and I see a giant turd sitting there in the middle of the sidewalk, I can't help staring at it as I walk by and trying to figure out whether it's canine or human. When it's half wrapped in a piece of newspaper with finger-shitprints on it, there's no doubt.

Today I saw a pair of pigeon wings on the sidewalk. Not a dead pigeon, mind you: just the wings. With the gristly little drumstick bone-ends sticking out. They were lying there spread out in all their Joel-Peter Witkin glory. No body in sight. I really want to think this was the result of some four-legged predator, but, well, I don't.