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Pepper was my first best friend. He would once in a while of an evening sneak out an open apartment window and go about the neighborhood raising hell with the lady dogs, then -- these being the days just after the war when many delivery wagons were still drawn by real horse power -- roll in some nice fragrant horseshit on his way home, and crawl back into the crib with me to sleep in the early dawn, before he might be missed, but much to my mother's loud and very active agitation when she would come in later to wake us up. Good old Pepper. To this day, I do enjoy the sweet smell of horseshit.
