I *love* me a dog. Like, all dogs. Any dogs. DOGS DOGS DOGS. I love all animals (except
you, eels) but dogs are absolutely number one on my list. I live in a no-pets
building but even if I didn’t I wouldn’t have a dog right now, as having a dog
in the city is frankly kind of insane and my schedule is all over the place,
but I love to see dogs on the sidewalk and always greet them politely when they
condescend to meet me. Recently I was reminded that some friends of mine have a
dog—a tiny, elderly, blind miniature dachshund named Barry—so I set my text
font to 32 point ALL CAPS and, in a flurry of like 15 messages, mentioned
casually that I’d be happy to dog sit if ever they were going to be insane
enough to go somewhere without Barry but if they did then I would of course
become his servant and spend all my waking hours cuddling his lumpy little
possum-looking blind old self.
As I type this, Barry is next to me on the couch. He likes to be pressed against a person, I think in part because he’s the companionable sort, and then also probably a little because of the blindness. He’s been asleep for a while, but now he’s awake and licking his foot with single-minded purpose, making that uniquely disgusting noise that is a dog licking itself. How do they manage to make that noise so gross? It sounds like slurping and sucking at the same time and if the tireless rhythm of it doesn’t drive you insane then there might be something wrong with you. It also bothers me that this licking is something they are compelled to do urgently and cannot be dissuaded from and then suddenly they’re done and it’s like the fever was never upon them. Why, dogs??
I’d previously tried to have Barry stay with me at my apartment but I’m no match for the eagle eyes of the doormen and that Sanchez in particular is a bit of a snitch so I got a phone call from the management office and yeah yeah okay, I get it, rules are rules, you heartless monsters, have you MET this little guy?
So now I’m staying with Larry at his place, which is actually much better for him as he has a backyard and some sort of a mental map of the house and the way he has learned to high-step around is pretty much the most adorable thing ever. He’s a little old, so he’s mostly very chill, and while being blind seems like it would be a real bummer for a dog, he seems to handle it okay. Every so often I’ll find him in the middle of a room somewhere and I’ll start talking to him and he’ll immediately start wagging his tail really hard which I think means he’s nervous and feels lost so I go help him out. Otherwise, I let him do his thing, and today he walked halfway down the block twice, me walking backwards a few feet ahead of him, bent over and talking to him constantly so he could follow my voice and know for sure I was still there. His coat is light brown and since he has been sitting on or near me all day I am lightly coated in fur and I am sure that when my friends get home their neighbors are going to bustle right over and be like what the HECK was THAT person about.
Aside from Larry, one of the best things that has happened to me lately has been discovering that there is, in fact, truly an app for everything. In this case, there are TWO apps, Wag! and Rover, and after a slightly concerning-ly small amount of paperwork for each, I am now an APPROVED and OFFICIAL dog walker.
I have not totally mastered the detail of how these apps work (mainly by not being interested in learning) but in general, on both, a dog appears needing a walk and the walker (me!) can see a picture of the dog, its name, and its general location. Walks are booked for 20, 30, or 60 minutes, and each app has a different way of paying walkers but who cares it’s not like walking one to three dogs a week is going to do much more than cover my coffee habit.
HOWEVER, here are the great things about walking dogs:
ALSO: It is a nosy person’s DREAM job.
Since April 12, when I got my first walk, I have walked 11 times for Wag! and four for Rover, so I am hardly an expert, but I can tell you this: I would absolutely not use either app as a dog owner. Both had an extremely light online “training” program, and both ran background checks on me; with Rover I had to meet a lady in person and take a harness test. She gave me five different types of harnesses and a stuffed dog and I was supposed to get all five on correctly in order to pass but I messed one up and she passed me anyway, most likely because each time I got out the next harness I said, Okay, buddy, here we go, we’re going to put your harness on now, and I petted this dumb stuffed dog and cupped its chin and told it what a good boy it was and did I mention my favorite stuffed animal of all time (as a child!) was a giant stuffed dog? I was MADE for this job!
I had to write a profile for each site and post a picture of myself; owners are invited to review walkers (stars & comments and YES of course I have nothing but five-star reviews, did you think I wasn’t going to KILL at this?) and presumably other owners can see those reviews, and each app tracks the walk via GPS and requires all manner of button pushing to say “On my way” and “I’m here” and “Walk started” and naturally you have to drop a pin for each pee or poop and upload at least one picture of the dog and write a “report card” that has some minimum character count which I have never had to worry about because are you kidding me I get to write DOG REPORT CARDS? Each app also sets up a masked relay so the owner and the walker can text back and forth and the owners are invited to leave detailed info about their dog’s likes and dislikes, and on one app you can see what other walkers have said about the dog, and I kid you not there was this one dog I walked, Julio, and all the other walkers made a note that he really went crazy for people wearing long pants. Sure enough, all he wanted to do was…I don’t even know, I think he was just kind of mouthing my pants, not biting or slobbering or anything but for much of the walk he was behind me, this little white furry thing attached to the back of my legs. I texted the owner during the walk and mentioned this and got back, Yeah, sorry, he really likes pants. No prob on this end, Julio: you do you.
This is the only photo I was able to get of Julio, in the elevator, worrying at my pants.
So why would I not use these apps? A couple of things: no matter how much profile-writing and reviews and GPS action going on, and no matter how many nanny cams you might have set up, you are still letting a total stranger go into your home and take your animal out into the world where all you can see is a blinking dot on a map. I happen to be a ridiculously conscientious dog-walker, I mean like to the point of being a crazy person, but I cannot imagine everyone is as dedicated to the job as I am. I’ve not witnessed anything untoward, but I still can’t imagine just trusting that every random walker my dog matched with would take the same amount of care with her as I would.
If you google these apps, you’ll see horror stories about dogs getting hit by cars or slipping their collars and going missing while out with walkers. I’ve also heard that some people have gone to elaborate lengths to hack the app(s) so as to appear to be walking a dog when they are not, which means some poor pooch is at home when his owner thinks he is out. I am hopeful this doesn’t happen very often but reading about this reminded me that there are bad people everywhere. Awesome! Thanks, people!
Though I would not likely use these apps for my own (nonexistent) pet, in terms of my selfish self, I am fervently glad they exist. I love two things in particular: neither app requires any kind of commitment and so I can look for dog walks whenever/wherever is convenient for me, and I almost never have to speak to a human being. One day, around one in the afternoon, I was at my desk and feeling a bit logy: you know, that early-afternoon sag. I was about to get a cup of coffee when I remembered dogs! and sure enough there was a dog about a half-mile away from me that needed a walk. So I went and grabbed the dog and we walked around for an hour and talked and hung out and by the time I got back to my desk I was in such a good mood, so happy, so relaxed, that I feel almost embarrassed that they pay me to do this.
Here is where I must confess that this situation is also slightly addicting. I have, several times, walked more than 10 miles a day, not just walking dogs but walking to dogs. (I had a CitiBike membership but yeesh riding bicycles around this town just doesn’t feel safe to me so I gave it up; and besides, I like walking!) Sometimes when I finish a walk, I can’t help myself: I open the apps up right away and look for another dog, even when it’s late or rainy or I’m exhausted and really should go home. Shit, sometimes I open the apps and look at dogs even when I’m not available to walk them: Rover, in particular, allows you to see the full profile for dogs without having the book the walk and so sometimes I just browse the dogs that are on there, looking at them, reading about them, and if this is what online dating is like then…do not sign me up, I am perfectly happy where I am, swiping on dogs.
Because the apps are location-based, I can run an errand or go to a meeting and then see if there are dogs around afterward. I’ve walked dogs all over the city and a couple in Brooklyn, which means I’ve gotten to explore neighborhoods new to me and to see the inside of all manner of apartments. I’ve walked dogs for people who were home when I came, and no judgement there, at all: I completely get it that sometimes you come home and you love your dog but you are just NOT in the mood to drag yourself out on a rainy Friday night to take Moby around so he can sniff at everything, so you open up an app and find someone—me!—who will happily walk around for an hour in the rain because she’s already walked like three other dogs and she’s all geared up and these are the biggest Friday night plans she could possibly have.
That particular guy lived in an $8,000 a month apartment (I had to look it up, the building was gorgeous) and I could understand paying the $30 or whatever it was to have his (slightly tubby) pooch taken out; another lady booked a 60 minute walk for a teacup Yorkie that weighed like 3 pounds (seriously) and when I went to pick her up the woman could barely open the door to her apartment and what I could see looked, frankly, squalid, and while again I’m not here to judge I absolutely am curious—what is going on behind that door?? (Foreshadowing: I am a coward and I don’t actually want to know.)
When the owner isn’t at home and the building hasn’t got a doorman that means there is a lockbox somewhere nearby and, once I’ve booked the walk, I am given access to the code. No one ever appears to change their codes, which is…interesting, and so now I have a mental map of apartments I could access if I wanted to, which of course I don’t and I wouldn’t, but, again, really??
I’ve saved the ugh part for last. As I may have indicated, I love hanging out with these dogs and no matter what their deal is (like the one who would go full starfish on me any time he saw another dog, or the one who had such an elaborate sniffing ritual that we walked less than half a mile in 45 minutes (I kept her out longer than the booked 20 minutes because apparently I have officially turned into my mother/my father and decided rules don’t apply to me unless I want them to), as much as the walk is what I’m there for, I can’t help but feel a little bummed about what these dogs might be doing the other 23 hours of their days.
The very first dog I walked, Ginny, was down on Reade Street and she was a two- or three-year-old French bulldog. I managed to get her out the door and sure enough, all the other dog walkers who had left notes about stubborn she was weren’t wrong. I coaxed her along, stopping when she wanted to sniff and gently encouraging her to move when she just stood there. It was a beautiful day out and after a few text updates the owner asked if I could extend the walk to 90 minutes. I ended up taking Ginny all the way down Broadway to Battery Park, dodging tourists along the way, and she turned into a good little walker. We made a brisk pace and while we stuck to the shady side of the street and took water breaks and rest breaks, by the time I got her home I figured she had to be at least a little tired. Instead, we got in the apartment and I took her harness off and she went nuts—running in circles around the living room, floor to couch to floor to couch again, barking her head off, and when I tried to settle her she nipped at me. Ginny lived in what most New Yorkers would consider a very nice apartment in a nice building; I couldn’t help but notice the single-lady glass of wine and salad bowl in the sink. The living room and kitchen were tidy but the dog was a little insane, and I’m guessing she was left home alone a lot. Later that night, I saw Ginny on the app again, her owner looking for a walk at 10:30 PM.
Right after Ginny, already addicted, I subwayed up to the Upper East Side to pick up Billy. Billy is a Malti-Poo, a little over six months old, and he’s bonkers. Billy lives in a small studio apartment on East 83rd Street, and when I arrived I discovered Billy had dug up the couch cushions, shredded a pillow, and there was a little spot of what looked like pee on the couch as well. Billy was also puppy-soft and couldn’t keep his mouth off my hands and I took him out and talked to him and played with him and though it rained a little we had a great time. When we got back, I spent ages using baby wipes to try to get the dirt and water off his paws, his owner’s white bedspread and light gray couch in my view, then I cleaned up the mess of the shredded pillow, made sure he had food and water, and paused.
Billy’s neighborhood is a cliché for where young single women might live, with a Soul Cycle, a Bloom yoga studio, a Dry Bar, and a liquor store all within half a block. The apartment was a little untidy, stuffed to the gills the way a small studio can be, then a turquoise lace thong on the bed, dishes piled high in the sink, and a trash can stuffed to almost overflowing. Billy had a crate and I was relieved his owner didn’t ask me to put him in it when I left. Our text conversation was cheerful and friendly and I got the impression she meant very very well but again, when I got him home, Billy went a little nutty and I started to wonder, two dogs in, two dogs in a row, if this wasn’t a little bit of separation anxiety and/or loneliness/boredom coming out and then I tamped that worry down as hard and fast as I could and said my goodbyes to Billy. On my way out the door, another dog came up on the app, just a few subway stops away, and I couldn’t keep myself from hitting “Book.”
Once I was booked I was able to see the notes other walkers had left and immediately realized my mistake: according to what I read, the dog was terrible, with one person saying, all caps, NEVER AGAIN, and a whole bunch of detailed instructions, from both the owner and other walkers about how not to take the dog south on 2nd Ave because there was some food cart there that terrified her and made her refuse to go forward and she was a decent-sized dog, a 60ish pound brindle boxer, and while she looked handsome several walkers warned stay away and I can’t say I was terribly upset when the owner canceled my walk thought I was just two blocks away.
So outside of a dog, a book is a woman’s best friend; inside of a dog, of course, it’s too dark to read. I think it’s clear by now how much I love dogs and other animals and enjoy spending time with them; I have a friend who is horrified by this and says in X number of years we will look back at the idea of “owning” animals with shock and disgust. Think about it, he says to me: an intelligent living creature which relies entirely on us to give it food and water and even allow it to go to the bathroom. We leave it alone for long periods of time, indoors, away from the fresh air, sunlight, and open spaces which is its putative home, and we tie a rope around it’s neck and scold it for trying to eat the food it finds or for pulling after squirrels or birds or even other dogs.
There’s nuance to this argument as there is to every, but there is also enough truth in what he says to make me uncomfortable: I’ve had (okay, “owned”) and deeply, deeply loved dogs before and, frankly, hope to again one day. Still, I’m rethinking what the notion of a good life is for a dog, just as much as I am for myself. This idea of freedom, of agency, of the right to self-determination: it seems under attack or at least up for discussion these days and if I want to think about it for myself I have to think about for others. I’m not going to stop walking dogs, just as I’m not going to stop protesting or voting or speaking up, but I am going to ensure I do that mindfully, with care and attention not just to the animal but to what I can do for it in these moments we have together.
And, if shit starts to go all to hell, I know all the lock box codes to open all the doors.
I’m joking, of course: life isn’t like the movies and many of these dogs are no more equipped to be “returned” to “the wild” than I am, and so I’m going to keep trying to walk all the fine lines and spend my time trying to be fully present, no matter where I am or who I’m with. Right now, my buddy Barry needs an armpit in which to bury his snout and a body against which to press his small shivering length, to feel warm, to feel loved, to feel safe. I’ll do for you what I can while I’m here, pal. Snuggle up—there’s got to be more fur you can shed on me.
As I type this, Barry is next to me on the couch. He likes to be pressed against a person, I think in part because he’s the companionable sort, and then also probably a little because of the blindness. He’s been asleep for a while, but now he’s awake and licking his foot with single-minded purpose, making that uniquely disgusting noise that is a dog licking itself. How do they manage to make that noise so gross? It sounds like slurping and sucking at the same time and if the tireless rhythm of it doesn’t drive you insane then there might be something wrong with you. It also bothers me that this licking is something they are compelled to do urgently and cannot be dissuaded from and then suddenly they’re done and it’s like the fever was never upon them. Why, dogs??
I’d previously tried to have Barry stay with me at my apartment but I’m no match for the eagle eyes of the doormen and that Sanchez in particular is a bit of a snitch so I got a phone call from the management office and yeah yeah okay, I get it, rules are rules, you heartless monsters, have you MET this little guy?
So now I’m staying with Larry at his place, which is actually much better for him as he has a backyard and some sort of a mental map of the house and the way he has learned to high-step around is pretty much the most adorable thing ever. He’s a little old, so he’s mostly very chill, and while being blind seems like it would be a real bummer for a dog, he seems to handle it okay. Every so often I’ll find him in the middle of a room somewhere and I’ll start talking to him and he’ll immediately start wagging his tail really hard which I think means he’s nervous and feels lost so I go help him out. Otherwise, I let him do his thing, and today he walked halfway down the block twice, me walking backwards a few feet ahead of him, bent over and talking to him constantly so he could follow my voice and know for sure I was still there. His coat is light brown and since he has been sitting on or near me all day I am lightly coated in fur and I am sure that when my friends get home their neighbors are going to bustle right over and be like what the HECK was THAT person about.
Aside from Larry, one of the best things that has happened to me lately has been discovering that there is, in fact, truly an app for everything. In this case, there are TWO apps, Wag! and Rover, and after a slightly concerning-ly small amount of paperwork for each, I am now an APPROVED and OFFICIAL dog walker.
I have not totally mastered the detail of how these apps work (mainly by not being interested in learning) but in general, on both, a dog appears needing a walk and the walker (me!) can see a picture of the dog, its name, and its general location. Walks are booked for 20, 30, or 60 minutes, and each app has a different way of paying walkers but who cares it’s not like walking one to three dogs a week is going to do much more than cover my coffee habit.
HOWEVER, here are the great things about walking dogs:
- Meeting dogs.
- Hanging out with dogs.
- Walking around with dogs and talking to them.
- Dogs.
ALSO: It is a nosy person’s DREAM job.
Since April 12, when I got my first walk, I have walked 11 times for Wag! and four for Rover, so I am hardly an expert, but I can tell you this: I would absolutely not use either app as a dog owner. Both had an extremely light online “training” program, and both ran background checks on me; with Rover I had to meet a lady in person and take a harness test. She gave me five different types of harnesses and a stuffed dog and I was supposed to get all five on correctly in order to pass but I messed one up and she passed me anyway, most likely because each time I got out the next harness I said, Okay, buddy, here we go, we’re going to put your harness on now, and I petted this dumb stuffed dog and cupped its chin and told it what a good boy it was and did I mention my favorite stuffed animal of all time (as a child!) was a giant stuffed dog? I was MADE for this job!
I had to write a profile for each site and post a picture of myself; owners are invited to review walkers (stars & comments and YES of course I have nothing but five-star reviews, did you think I wasn’t going to KILL at this?) and presumably other owners can see those reviews, and each app tracks the walk via GPS and requires all manner of button pushing to say “On my way” and “I’m here” and “Walk started” and naturally you have to drop a pin for each pee or poop and upload at least one picture of the dog and write a “report card” that has some minimum character count which I have never had to worry about because are you kidding me I get to write DOG REPORT CARDS? Each app also sets up a masked relay so the owner and the walker can text back and forth and the owners are invited to leave detailed info about their dog’s likes and dislikes, and on one app you can see what other walkers have said about the dog, and I kid you not there was this one dog I walked, Julio, and all the other walkers made a note that he really went crazy for people wearing long pants. Sure enough, all he wanted to do was…I don’t even know, I think he was just kind of mouthing my pants, not biting or slobbering or anything but for much of the walk he was behind me, this little white furry thing attached to the back of my legs. I texted the owner during the walk and mentioned this and got back, Yeah, sorry, he really likes pants. No prob on this end, Julio: you do you.
This is the only photo I was able to get of Julio, in the elevator, worrying at my pants.
So why would I not use these apps? A couple of things: no matter how much profile-writing and reviews and GPS action going on, and no matter how many nanny cams you might have set up, you are still letting a total stranger go into your home and take your animal out into the world where all you can see is a blinking dot on a map. I happen to be a ridiculously conscientious dog-walker, I mean like to the point of being a crazy person, but I cannot imagine everyone is as dedicated to the job as I am. I’ve not witnessed anything untoward, but I still can’t imagine just trusting that every random walker my dog matched with would take the same amount of care with her as I would.
If you google these apps, you’ll see horror stories about dogs getting hit by cars or slipping their collars and going missing while out with walkers. I’ve also heard that some people have gone to elaborate lengths to hack the app(s) so as to appear to be walking a dog when they are not, which means some poor pooch is at home when his owner thinks he is out. I am hopeful this doesn’t happen very often but reading about this reminded me that there are bad people everywhere. Awesome! Thanks, people!
Though I would not likely use these apps for my own (nonexistent) pet, in terms of my selfish self, I am fervently glad they exist. I love two things in particular: neither app requires any kind of commitment and so I can look for dog walks whenever/wherever is convenient for me, and I almost never have to speak to a human being. One day, around one in the afternoon, I was at my desk and feeling a bit logy: you know, that early-afternoon sag. I was about to get a cup of coffee when I remembered dogs! and sure enough there was a dog about a half-mile away from me that needed a walk. So I went and grabbed the dog and we walked around for an hour and talked and hung out and by the time I got back to my desk I was in such a good mood, so happy, so relaxed, that I feel almost embarrassed that they pay me to do this.
Here is where I must confess that this situation is also slightly addicting. I have, several times, walked more than 10 miles a day, not just walking dogs but walking to dogs. (I had a CitiBike membership but yeesh riding bicycles around this town just doesn’t feel safe to me so I gave it up; and besides, I like walking!) Sometimes when I finish a walk, I can’t help myself: I open the apps up right away and look for another dog, even when it’s late or rainy or I’m exhausted and really should go home. Shit, sometimes I open the apps and look at dogs even when I’m not available to walk them: Rover, in particular, allows you to see the full profile for dogs without having the book the walk and so sometimes I just browse the dogs that are on there, looking at them, reading about them, and if this is what online dating is like then…do not sign me up, I am perfectly happy where I am, swiping on dogs.
Because the apps are location-based, I can run an errand or go to a meeting and then see if there are dogs around afterward. I’ve walked dogs all over the city and a couple in Brooklyn, which means I’ve gotten to explore neighborhoods new to me and to see the inside of all manner of apartments. I’ve walked dogs for people who were home when I came, and no judgement there, at all: I completely get it that sometimes you come home and you love your dog but you are just NOT in the mood to drag yourself out on a rainy Friday night to take Moby around so he can sniff at everything, so you open up an app and find someone—me!—who will happily walk around for an hour in the rain because she’s already walked like three other dogs and she’s all geared up and these are the biggest Friday night plans she could possibly have.
That particular guy lived in an $8,000 a month apartment (I had to look it up, the building was gorgeous) and I could understand paying the $30 or whatever it was to have his (slightly tubby) pooch taken out; another lady booked a 60 minute walk for a teacup Yorkie that weighed like 3 pounds (seriously) and when I went to pick her up the woman could barely open the door to her apartment and what I could see looked, frankly, squalid, and while again I’m not here to judge I absolutely am curious—what is going on behind that door?? (Foreshadowing: I am a coward and I don’t actually want to know.)
When the owner isn’t at home and the building hasn’t got a doorman that means there is a lockbox somewhere nearby and, once I’ve booked the walk, I am given access to the code. No one ever appears to change their codes, which is…interesting, and so now I have a mental map of apartments I could access if I wanted to, which of course I don’t and I wouldn’t, but, again, really??
I’ve saved the ugh part for last. As I may have indicated, I love hanging out with these dogs and no matter what their deal is (like the one who would go full starfish on me any time he saw another dog, or the one who had such an elaborate sniffing ritual that we walked less than half a mile in 45 minutes (I kept her out longer than the booked 20 minutes because apparently I have officially turned into my mother/my father and decided rules don’t apply to me unless I want them to), as much as the walk is what I’m there for, I can’t help but feel a little bummed about what these dogs might be doing the other 23 hours of their days.
The very first dog I walked, Ginny, was down on Reade Street and she was a two- or three-year-old French bulldog. I managed to get her out the door and sure enough, all the other dog walkers who had left notes about stubborn she was weren’t wrong. I coaxed her along, stopping when she wanted to sniff and gently encouraging her to move when she just stood there. It was a beautiful day out and after a few text updates the owner asked if I could extend the walk to 90 minutes. I ended up taking Ginny all the way down Broadway to Battery Park, dodging tourists along the way, and she turned into a good little walker. We made a brisk pace and while we stuck to the shady side of the street and took water breaks and rest breaks, by the time I got her home I figured she had to be at least a little tired. Instead, we got in the apartment and I took her harness off and she went nuts—running in circles around the living room, floor to couch to floor to couch again, barking her head off, and when I tried to settle her she nipped at me. Ginny lived in what most New Yorkers would consider a very nice apartment in a nice building; I couldn’t help but notice the single-lady glass of wine and salad bowl in the sink. The living room and kitchen were tidy but the dog was a little insane, and I’m guessing she was left home alone a lot. Later that night, I saw Ginny on the app again, her owner looking for a walk at 10:30 PM.
Right after Ginny, already addicted, I subwayed up to the Upper East Side to pick up Billy. Billy is a Malti-Poo, a little over six months old, and he’s bonkers. Billy lives in a small studio apartment on East 83rd Street, and when I arrived I discovered Billy had dug up the couch cushions, shredded a pillow, and there was a little spot of what looked like pee on the couch as well. Billy was also puppy-soft and couldn’t keep his mouth off my hands and I took him out and talked to him and played with him and though it rained a little we had a great time. When we got back, I spent ages using baby wipes to try to get the dirt and water off his paws, his owner’s white bedspread and light gray couch in my view, then I cleaned up the mess of the shredded pillow, made sure he had food and water, and paused.
Billy’s neighborhood is a cliché for where young single women might live, with a Soul Cycle, a Bloom yoga studio, a Dry Bar, and a liquor store all within half a block. The apartment was a little untidy, stuffed to the gills the way a small studio can be, then a turquoise lace thong on the bed, dishes piled high in the sink, and a trash can stuffed to almost overflowing. Billy had a crate and I was relieved his owner didn’t ask me to put him in it when I left. Our text conversation was cheerful and friendly and I got the impression she meant very very well but again, when I got him home, Billy went a little nutty and I started to wonder, two dogs in, two dogs in a row, if this wasn’t a little bit of separation anxiety and/or loneliness/boredom coming out and then I tamped that worry down as hard and fast as I could and said my goodbyes to Billy. On my way out the door, another dog came up on the app, just a few subway stops away, and I couldn’t keep myself from hitting “Book.”
Once I was booked I was able to see the notes other walkers had left and immediately realized my mistake: according to what I read, the dog was terrible, with one person saying, all caps, NEVER AGAIN, and a whole bunch of detailed instructions, from both the owner and other walkers about how not to take the dog south on 2nd Ave because there was some food cart there that terrified her and made her refuse to go forward and she was a decent-sized dog, a 60ish pound brindle boxer, and while she looked handsome several walkers warned stay away and I can’t say I was terribly upset when the owner canceled my walk thought I was just two blocks away.
So outside of a dog, a book is a woman’s best friend; inside of a dog, of course, it’s too dark to read. I think it’s clear by now how much I love dogs and other animals and enjoy spending time with them; I have a friend who is horrified by this and says in X number of years we will look back at the idea of “owning” animals with shock and disgust. Think about it, he says to me: an intelligent living creature which relies entirely on us to give it food and water and even allow it to go to the bathroom. We leave it alone for long periods of time, indoors, away from the fresh air, sunlight, and open spaces which is its putative home, and we tie a rope around it’s neck and scold it for trying to eat the food it finds or for pulling after squirrels or birds or even other dogs.
There’s nuance to this argument as there is to every, but there is also enough truth in what he says to make me uncomfortable: I’ve had (okay, “owned”) and deeply, deeply loved dogs before and, frankly, hope to again one day. Still, I’m rethinking what the notion of a good life is for a dog, just as much as I am for myself. This idea of freedom, of agency, of the right to self-determination: it seems under attack or at least up for discussion these days and if I want to think about it for myself I have to think about for others. I’m not going to stop walking dogs, just as I’m not going to stop protesting or voting or speaking up, but I am going to ensure I do that mindfully, with care and attention not just to the animal but to what I can do for it in these moments we have together.
And, if shit starts to go all to hell, I know all the lock box codes to open all the doors.
I’m joking, of course: life isn’t like the movies and many of these dogs are no more equipped to be “returned” to “the wild” than I am, and so I’m going to keep trying to walk all the fine lines and spend my time trying to be fully present, no matter where I am or who I’m with. Right now, my buddy Barry needs an armpit in which to bury his snout and a body against which to press his small shivering length, to feel warm, to feel loved, to feel safe. I’ll do for you what I can while I’m here, pal. Snuggle up—there’s got to be more fur you can shed on me.
He is pretty tiny!!
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