neighborhood

Out-worlders would probably expect Brooklyn to sound like inner-city traffic, police sirens and "Yo! Vinnie! T'row me down some money fa a' egg cream!" Actually, it's pretty quiet down here by the harbor, except for the low-flying NYPD helicopters.

Nevertheless, I have two "bizarre noise" stories. I'll talk about the most public one first and, if I can keep it short, I'll tell the other one.

In late 2005, I was at the dog run when an obviously exhausted woman told me that she was kept awake all night by a loud hum outside. She lives only three blocks from me so she asked if I'd heard it too. I told her I was sorry but I hadn't heard a thing. She bore on, telling me that it sounded like a low engine rumble, almost like a fog horn, except it was non-stop. I thought there might be a simple explanation: she was nuts.

About 5:30am this morning I was suddenly awake. I'm not sure if it was the threatening thunder approaching from the northwest or my shivering, hundred-pound Newfoundland desperately trying to crawl under the covers with me.

Outside, it was like War of the Worlds... real Wrath of God stuff. Lightning was flashing like a paparazzi frenzy and the thunder was getting progressively angrier. I heard the rain starting. Within minutes it was coming down in buckets. Seriously, that's what it sounded like: someone dropping buckets on my roof.

After all, it's been almost two weeks since my last blog post. However, I like to accompany my renovation articles with photos and the bedroom is currently an eyesore while I reorganize closets and get rid of clothes I've had since my disco show band days. No way am I posting photos of it now.

No, I'm not talking about the street scene around here. I mean actual wildlife living in the shadow of downtown Manhattan. Rural folks are surprised to hear that we have something other than rats and pigeons here. But itsa fack, Jack.

In fact, I was walking Jack (and Auggie) last night around 1am when Auggie spotted something in my neighbor's garden and charged. I heard a hiss and caught a flash of white fur as it flew up a large bush. A cat? Then I saw the skinny tail and the lethal-looking teeth. It was a possum.

I wasn't that surprised because I know that they exist here. Karen rescued one on Christmas Eve of '04. We took it to the Christmas party with us that night because there was an emergency vet specializing in wildlife rescues on the way out to her sister's place on Long Island. Karen adopted it, gave it a name (Lorilei) and took it for walks with her dogs.

There's a whole colony of possums living on the Dyker Heights golf course about a mile from here.

What else do we have here? Raccoons! Big suckers too. Shortly after moving here I was cutting my back lawn when I stepped in a pile of poop that was too large for a cat. The fence pretty much ruled out a dog. And it was horrible smelling, worse than a dog's, leastwise a healthy one.

There's a no more contentious issue with Bay Ridge residents than parking, or rather the lack thereof. It's actually easier to find street parking in Manhattan than it is in many Brooklyn bedroom neighborhoods, including here.

When I composed my list of requirements for house hunting, a garage was at the very top. No kidding, I would have bought a house without a roof before one with no garage. The last thing I wanted to do was to play car hockey on alternate side day or to come home dead tired at 2am and have to park six blocks away. I also had several nice, theftable motorcycles to protect.

Lately, Brooklyn driveways have become a hot issue. Rather, the proliferation of illegal ones, which have always been a sore point with the locals, have come under fire from politicians.