King of the turf

I slipped through the gap in the screen door because four walls can't contain talent of this caliber. Out on the porch, the drop down the concrete steps looked like a canyon, but I just grabbed the black wrought-iron railing and slid right down the slant like a pro. At the bottom post, this puffed-up city pigeon was strutting around like he ran the neighborhood. I planted my sneakers on the ledge, brandished my bat, and gave him an earful. One frantic flutter later, the bird took off in panic. This stoop is officially my territory now.