Navels peel great, but Valencias make more delicious juice, and more and more comparisons come up. On the morning dog walk, as we venture closer to the highway overpass, that whether-or-not feeling comes over. Do we go under? Sure, there is often creepy things there, but the dog seems locked-in, so onward under. I'm not as mulish as the dog and I can tell he smells something. Usually, it is dead, whatever it might be, but sometimes it's not, and that can be worse. It's an orange cloud morning however, and dawn breaks more nicely on the other side, so for the good grace of catching a better glimpse, I'll brave it. Then, of course, there it is, an irksome tableau, morbidly funny though. Next to the airport miniature bottle of  Fireball Cinnamon Whisky, is a turned over pigeon with his claws looking as if that bottle had dropped there from his little birdies' ***** feet. I had to giggle, as my stomach turned. Poor dead bird. Things are really bad when pigeon's are offing themselves this way. Debating to take a quick snapshot or not, time lapses, and I see the blood orange sky dripping by.

So, oh well, I'll just turn about, and not allow the dog to indulge. He's a tough tug on the leash at this point, fearless little fellow. When I return home, I peel one of those Navels. Its skin and pith roll off nicely, and as I split open the sections with my front teeth, I notice the complexity of it all. Though there are juicy parts of the pulp, around the end, it can get a bit dry and putrid. Tomorrow, I shall have to wake the dog just a bit earlier to get that glimpse of a more red to yellow moment. Something tangerine may tempt.