No matter how well you know your route, you never really know whom or what you'll encounter along the way.
During yesterday's commute, I encountered this:
"Ricky" (It sounds more gender-neutral than "Rocky") crossed my path, literally, under the Hell Gate trestle. If you've taken an Amtrak train between New York and Boston, you've ridden on that trestle. The path leads to the Randall's Island Connector, which I take to the Bronx.
Since that path bisects fields and the connector crosses over the Bronx Kill, which connects the Harlem River with the East River, near the point where it meets Long Island Sound, it's not unusual to see animals, including the Randall's Island Salamander.
What surprised me, though, is that when I stopped, little Ricky approached me. Usually, when I see a raccoon, they dart away. Perhaps nobody had taught Ricky to be afraid of humans--or to defend territory against them.
It took me too long to get my phone out of my bag, so I only captured an image of Ricky in retreat. He/she was sooo cute (OK, how many baby animals aren't?) but I knew enough not to pick him/her up. As the Parks Department reminds us, they're never too small to have rabies.
But, really, how can you associate someone so little and cute with something so terrible? If I ever see little Ricky again, though, he won't be so little--and probably will've learned to be afraid.
During yesterday's commute, I encountered this:
"Ricky" (It sounds more gender-neutral than "Rocky") crossed my path, literally, under the Hell Gate trestle. If you've taken an Amtrak train between New York and Boston, you've ridden on that trestle. The path leads to the Randall's Island Connector, which I take to the Bronx.
Since that path bisects fields and the connector crosses over the Bronx Kill, which connects the Harlem River with the East River, near the point where it meets Long Island Sound, it's not unusual to see animals, including the Randall's Island Salamander.
What surprised me, though, is that when I stopped, little Ricky approached me. Usually, when I see a raccoon, they dart away. Perhaps nobody had taught Ricky to be afraid of humans--or to defend territory against them.
It took me too long to get my phone out of my bag, so I only captured an image of Ricky in retreat. He/she was sooo cute (OK, how many baby animals aren't?) but I knew enough not to pick him/her up. As the Parks Department reminds us, they're never too small to have rabies.
But, really, how can you associate someone so little and cute with something so terrible? If I ever see little Ricky again, though, he won't be so little--and probably will've learned to be afraid.
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