no matter what time David returned from whatever off off Broadway show he was working on, he always took Smokey for a walk . . . usually a long walk . . . a boy and his dog, i would rationalize . . . they need their time together . . . but one night, while awaiting their return, i took the garbage downstairs and found Smokey at the building entrance, dragging her leash and wagging her tail . . . an hour or so later, David finally came back, distraught until he spotted Smokey on her favorite perch, the sofa bed she eventually turned black . . . she got away from me, he said . . . i didn't buy it for a minute and kept pressing him for a more satisfactory answer until he admitted he had been getting a blow job when she wandered away . . . i learned two things that night: 1) taking the dog for a walk was his euphemism for cruising the park and 2) Smokey was a lot smarter than i had given her credit for, navigating her way home from Riverside Park through at least one busy intersection and making several turns in different directions . . . we bonded and she soon became one of the most frequently walked dogs on the Upper West Side.