Tuesday sucked. I had just gotten back in town from a last minute trip to Minnesota for my grandfather's funeral. I was exhausted, emotional and it was pouring outside. I love rainy days...when you get to stay indoors, drink hot chocolate and watch A&E documentaries. But I no longer have such luxuries. Nope, on a day when most people look out of their office windows praying that the rain will let up just long enough for them to make a mad (5 minute) dash to the subway after work, I was out walking dogs...For about 4 hours.
Tuesday also happened to be my first day walking Clifford (the big red 90-lb dog). I think the truest test of a dog walker is to walk a 90-lb dog for the first time while trying to keep your balance on the slippery streets of China town and also hold an umbrella. Oh, and Clifford runs after cats. Afterwards, he tried to hump me in the elevator. It wasn't that disgusting, as much as comforting... Being that he is 90 lbs, it just felt like a much-needed, vibrating hug.
And, what else... Oh yeah, the person I had hired to walk the Upper East Side (we'll call her "Schmucky"), up and quit on me Tuesday. I had previously asked that she give me two weeks notice, but unfortunately, the other job she just accepted needed her the next day, coincidentally, right around the time of her scheduled walk. I should have known Schmucky was a dud when she didn't show up to our first interview, showed up twenty minutes late to our training session, and two days into dog walking, could no longer work Fridays. Yes, in retrospect, she sucked. But, to her credit, right after dropping the bomb, she did offer her condolences to me and my family.
So, to recap, I came home Tuesday night, soaking wet from the rain, freaking out from the lack of a dog walker, and slightly bruised from being on the receiving end of Clifford's day out.
Yesiree, Tuesday sucked. But today was just ridiculous.
Because today, Billy rolled in dogdoo. Now, you may ask "how does one go about cleaning poop off of a dog in an apartment you neither own, nor are accustomed to"? Well, I don't exactly know. But here's what I learned...right after I finished crying:
First its important to remove the crap-infested collar and clean it off. This was the point where I realized that poop was everywhere: In my fingernails, on my shirt, in the sink, in my hair.
The next step is generally to freak out -- realize that you still have dogs to walk that day.. In the next 15 minutes. Look around for towels, if you cant find them, then stick the dog in the shower, turn on the water and pray that this somehow works out. That seemed like an ok plan until Billy shook dogdoo-water all over the place... splattering brown droplets on the walls and floors of the bathroom. This is what I call "Code Red".
Just as I was searching under the sink for some disposable towels, Billy ran out of the bathroom and started shaking everywhere. every. where. At this point, I would generally recommend crying again. It cant hurt. Then call your boyfriend. Then wipe down the walls.
It was now 1:45 and I was 20 minutes late to my next dog appointment. So after I cleaned as much as I could, I had to leave. I called Billy's owner (Jilly) and left a voicemail, a text message, and I shot off a flare...And then went to my next appointment.
When the phone finally rang with Jilly's name on the caller end, I felt my stomache drop. I was prepared to offer (or rather, insist) to come back in the evening and help clean. I picked up the phone and rambled on incessantly about the goings on of the walk, and how sorry I was. And when I finally took a second to breath, I heard Jilly's voice on the other end, laughing hysterically at the story I had just told. She wasn't mad, she was more amused by the whole thing and said: "I just think its really funny that you put him in the shower." She also said that the text message I had sent her at the pinnacle of my panic, was equally funny: "Emergency: Billy has rolled in poop. Please call."
So, I guess things aren't all bad. They're just messy and still smell of dog poop...But even that can be cleaned up. And tomorrow's a new day.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Big Red
Last week, I received another inquiry about my dog walking services. Even though I now receive these emails/phone calls more regularly, it doesn't diminish my excitement. This particular caller, though, was special. Not only did he live around the block from me, but his dog was 90 pounds. NINETY. POUNDS. This choice bit of info came at the end of our rather lengthy conversation. It was more of a: "hmmm, what else is there to tell you?... Oh yeah, my dog is 90 pounds." click.
There wasn't enough time to process that information and then formulate an appropriate response. After hanging up the phone, I sat there in shocked silence. I had set up a meeting with the dog and his owners for the following day. So, should I tell them ahead of time, that I'm roughly the same size as their dog? Or, should I just show up, let them "laugh it out" and then win them over with my sparkling personality? When it comes down to it, I KNOW that I can handle big dogs, as I've always owned larger dogs. (Note: Larger = 50-60 lbs). I just didn't want to be the laughing stock when they prepare their horse-dog to meet a hefty dog walker and instead, find me with a saddle and lasso.
After much debate with friends and family, I decided to just show up and prove my capabilities. So, the next morning, I woke at 8am and prepared the usual meet-and-greet materials to take with me. With each step, I questioned what the hell I was doing and considered turning around and running home. But somehow I made it to their front door and rang the doorbell. I heard the elevator chime and braced myself, half expecting to see a man in a dog suit bound towards me.
Instead, a gorgeous, rust-colored mix-breed pup, only the size of a golden retriever, trotted over. Although he may BE 90 pounds, he didn't look it. And I knew that this would turn out ok. I met with the owners, won them over (obviously) and signed my newest client! Aptly named "Clifford".
There wasn't enough time to process that information and then formulate an appropriate response. After hanging up the phone, I sat there in shocked silence. I had set up a meeting with the dog and his owners for the following day. So, should I tell them ahead of time, that I'm roughly the same size as their dog? Or, should I just show up, let them "laugh it out" and then win them over with my sparkling personality? When it comes down to it, I KNOW that I can handle big dogs, as I've always owned larger dogs. (Note: Larger = 50-60 lbs). I just didn't want to be the laughing stock when they prepare their horse-dog to meet a hefty dog walker and instead, find me with a saddle and lasso.
After much debate with friends and family, I decided to just show up and prove my capabilities. So, the next morning, I woke at 8am and prepared the usual meet-and-greet materials to take with me. With each step, I questioned what the hell I was doing and considered turning around and running home. But somehow I made it to their front door and rang the doorbell. I heard the elevator chime and braced myself, half expecting to see a man in a dog suit bound towards me.
Instead, a gorgeous, rust-colored mix-breed pup, only the size of a golden retriever, trotted over. Although he may BE 90 pounds, he didn't look it. And I knew that this would turn out ok. I met with the owners, won them over (obviously) and signed my newest client! Aptly named "Clifford".
Monday, October 09, 2006
Cookie
I meet a lot of people on my daily dog outings. Most are pretty nice, some are creeps, and every once in a while, ill meet a true gem. I was lucky enough to meet one such person, in the Tompkins Square dog park last Thursday.
It was a busier day than normal and my usual seat (on the bench next to the quiet man with the headphones, New York times and Pit bull-mix) was already taken. So, my eyes eagerly scanned over to an open spot on the next bench, where an older, cartoonish-type man sat watching his adorable mix breed dog.
The man was straight out of a Roald Dahl book. He had a round tummy, held in by the same high-waisted, tan pants that connected to long red suspenders covering his grey patterned shirt. You could tell that he had been sporting his tattered old newsboy cap since before it was popular. And his face could only be described as "jolly".
The man looked weathered, but in a good way. I walked over and smiled subtly as I sat on the other side of the iron armrest. Truthfully, I didn't think the two of us would speak at all, but like the amazing conversation-starter he is, Billy started to hump this man's dog.
Our talks began slowly. The man (who I would later learn is named David) has a slight speech problem so it takes a bit longer for him to form words. But its worth the wait. I learned that David has lived in the same east village apartment for over 30 years. The rent, which started out at a billowing $120/month, has now topped off at $350. And he makes his keep by selling articles at local fairs and the occasional Astor Place vendor strip. Before becoming a vendor (which he has been doing for the past 25+ years) David lived on a commune in Virginia.
It was difficult, because I could tell his speech impediment was both embarrassing for him, and keeping him from giving me special details about his life. His explanations were rather simple. And although I was so interested in hearing more, I only had 1/2 hour before it was time to bring Billy back home.
After leaving the park that day, I felt as though I had met someone important. But, as the dog park sometimes goes, I wasn't sure that I would see him again. Today, however, I did. At first, I wasn't sure if I should approach David. On one hand, I was eager to talk to him and hear more about his life, but on the other hand, being the introvert that I am, I didn't want to give up my dog park "Billy-and-me" time.
After about 10 minutes of back and forth, I walked over and sat on the bench across from David... and he, in turn, walked over to sit on the bench right next to me. I cant quite explain it, and it could be because of my failing grandfather, or maybe its because Im still trying to find my way, but Im so interested in talking to David and hearing his story.
Lately, Im more and more interested in hearing how people have made it in the world... how they've managed to find their way through all of life's obstacles. When I think of my grandpa right now, I imagine what he was like as a 26 year old. I imagine that he was once the same age as me, looking at life with many of the same questions. And now, he's learned all there is to know here...or at least, all HE will ever learn here. Everyone has a story. Some people are living it, some are reflecting and others are slowly turning the last page of the chapter to see what lies ahead. Im really interested in hearing those stories. So I look forward to the next time I see David at the dog park. He's a sweet, old man with a lot to say...if youve got the time to listen.
Oh, and his dog's name is Cookie.
It was a busier day than normal and my usual seat (on the bench next to the quiet man with the headphones, New York times and Pit bull-mix) was already taken. So, my eyes eagerly scanned over to an open spot on the next bench, where an older, cartoonish-type man sat watching his adorable mix breed dog.
The man was straight out of a Roald Dahl book. He had a round tummy, held in by the same high-waisted, tan pants that connected to long red suspenders covering his grey patterned shirt. You could tell that he had been sporting his tattered old newsboy cap since before it was popular. And his face could only be described as "jolly".
The man looked weathered, but in a good way. I walked over and smiled subtly as I sat on the other side of the iron armrest. Truthfully, I didn't think the two of us would speak at all, but like the amazing conversation-starter he is, Billy started to hump this man's dog.
Our talks began slowly. The man (who I would later learn is named David) has a slight speech problem so it takes a bit longer for him to form words. But its worth the wait. I learned that David has lived in the same east village apartment for over 30 years. The rent, which started out at a billowing $120/month, has now topped off at $350. And he makes his keep by selling articles at local fairs and the occasional Astor Place vendor strip. Before becoming a vendor (which he has been doing for the past 25+ years) David lived on a commune in Virginia.
It was difficult, because I could tell his speech impediment was both embarrassing for him, and keeping him from giving me special details about his life. His explanations were rather simple. And although I was so interested in hearing more, I only had 1/2 hour before it was time to bring Billy back home.
After leaving the park that day, I felt as though I had met someone important. But, as the dog park sometimes goes, I wasn't sure that I would see him again. Today, however, I did. At first, I wasn't sure if I should approach David. On one hand, I was eager to talk to him and hear more about his life, but on the other hand, being the introvert that I am, I didn't want to give up my dog park "Billy-and-me" time.
After about 10 minutes of back and forth, I walked over and sat on the bench across from David... and he, in turn, walked over to sit on the bench right next to me. I cant quite explain it, and it could be because of my failing grandfather, or maybe its because Im still trying to find my way, but Im so interested in talking to David and hearing his story.
Lately, Im more and more interested in hearing how people have made it in the world... how they've managed to find their way through all of life's obstacles. When I think of my grandpa right now, I imagine what he was like as a 26 year old. I imagine that he was once the same age as me, looking at life with many of the same questions. And now, he's learned all there is to know here...or at least, all HE will ever learn here. Everyone has a story. Some people are living it, some are reflecting and others are slowly turning the last page of the chapter to see what lies ahead. Im really interested in hearing those stories. So I look forward to the next time I see David at the dog park. He's a sweet, old man with a lot to say...if youve got the time to listen.
Oh, and his dog's name is Cookie.
Sit. Stay. Speak.
I know, it takes me so long to write a new blog. Truthfully, I think its because Im EXHAUSTED by the time I get home at the end of the day. (I realized that I would be walking dogs, but apparently, it never occurred to me that I would be doing something I havent done in 2 years: exercising on a regular basis. I actually have to stretch when I wake up in the morning, otherwise I will be sore the next day.)
Secondly, Im very critical of what I write. Dont think I havent TRIED to write another blog since Sept 30th. I have. Ive actually written a few, but didnt really like any of them enough to post.
And lastly, there is SO much to write about now. From the comments I get on the street from other dog owners, to meeting new clients, to interviewing/hiring employees, to asinine comments I get from others about my career... Ive got a lot to say. The difficult part, I guess, is narrowing it down into one concise essay for your viewing pleasure.
Im not trying to make excuses.. Not at ALL. I love having a blog and writing about the daily dog occurrences. Like, for example, how interesting it is that people treat you differently when youre with a dog. Strangers who normally would have passed you by without a second glance, now stop to ask you questions, give advice or tell you about their canine experiences. It doesnt matter if you look busy, if youre in the middle of picking up poop or if youre clearly trying to get the dog to keep moving.. people feel like youre part of "the club" and that you, therefore, understand eachother. Ive never felt so loved, and so completely vulnerable at the same time. Walking a dog provides an opportunity for all types of people to strike up a conversation...
Yesterday, while walking in the park with French Bull Dog Fizzy, some (dirty, old) man watching us exclaimed, "that dog is really healthy... just like his mother." Might be the most disgusting thing Ive ever heard. And initially, I wasnt sure how to react. Did he actually KNOW Fizzy's mother? Probably not. But at the time, I was so shocked that anyone would have the gall to actually say something so inappropriate, that I was hoping he just mis-spoke. Doubtful.
When walking the small Havanese, Hannah, on the upper east side, people often stop me to tell me how perfect the two of us look together. Now, dont get me wrong...I think small dogs are adorable, and yes, I can see how people might assume that I am the owner of this $5000 dog - I dont dress like a typical dog walker (there's no mullet, mom jeans or harness full of dog supplies), and Im walking around swank areas during day time hours with one little pooch by my side. On top of that, I probably seem really happy and carefree...not because Im loaded, but instead, because Im doing something that I love. So I can see how people would assume that Im living "the life" on the UES with my little dog. Now, I love all dogs, but when it comes to owning one, I fancy myself a large mutt owner. I tend to have a connection to most lab mixes. we just "get" eachother.
My favorite comment Ive ever received was while walking beagle-lab mix, Billy. Whenever we get to the dog park, Billy will run ahead of me and play with other dogs. After a few minutes, he'll jump onto a bench and start sniffing around looking for me. I know this, because once he finally sees me, Ill simply wave (as to say hello) and he will come bounding over to sit next to me. One day in the park, someone told me that they couldnt believe I was just Billy's walker, because he treated me like I was his owner. It was such a compliment.
But I guess thats why I love being a dog walker.. thats why I wanted to be a dog walker, because I LOVE being with dogs. And thats why it was so flattering -- someone was validating the fact that this is not just a job for me, but instead, an exciting opportunity to build relationships with my new friends.
On a side note, Saturday was Leo's birthday. He would have been 14 years old. Leo is one of the reasons I started the New York Pooch Patrol. I miss him everyday.
Secondly, Im very critical of what I write. Dont think I havent TRIED to write another blog since Sept 30th. I have. Ive actually written a few, but didnt really like any of them enough to post.
And lastly, there is SO much to write about now. From the comments I get on the street from other dog owners, to meeting new clients, to interviewing/hiring employees, to asinine comments I get from others about my career... Ive got a lot to say. The difficult part, I guess, is narrowing it down into one concise essay for your viewing pleasure.
Im not trying to make excuses.. Not at ALL. I love having a blog and writing about the daily dog occurrences. Like, for example, how interesting it is that people treat you differently when youre with a dog. Strangers who normally would have passed you by without a second glance, now stop to ask you questions, give advice or tell you about their canine experiences. It doesnt matter if you look busy, if youre in the middle of picking up poop or if youre clearly trying to get the dog to keep moving.. people feel like youre part of "the club" and that you, therefore, understand eachother. Ive never felt so loved, and so completely vulnerable at the same time. Walking a dog provides an opportunity for all types of people to strike up a conversation...
Yesterday, while walking in the park with French Bull Dog Fizzy, some (dirty, old) man watching us exclaimed, "that dog is really healthy... just like his mother." Might be the most disgusting thing Ive ever heard. And initially, I wasnt sure how to react. Did he actually KNOW Fizzy's mother? Probably not. But at the time, I was so shocked that anyone would have the gall to actually say something so inappropriate, that I was hoping he just mis-spoke. Doubtful.
When walking the small Havanese, Hannah, on the upper east side, people often stop me to tell me how perfect the two of us look together. Now, dont get me wrong...I think small dogs are adorable, and yes, I can see how people might assume that I am the owner of this $5000 dog - I dont dress like a typical dog walker (there's no mullet, mom jeans or harness full of dog supplies), and Im walking around swank areas during day time hours with one little pooch by my side. On top of that, I probably seem really happy and carefree...not because Im loaded, but instead, because Im doing something that I love. So I can see how people would assume that Im living "the life" on the UES with my little dog. Now, I love all dogs, but when it comes to owning one, I fancy myself a large mutt owner. I tend to have a connection to most lab mixes. we just "get" eachother.
My favorite comment Ive ever received was while walking beagle-lab mix, Billy. Whenever we get to the dog park, Billy will run ahead of me and play with other dogs. After a few minutes, he'll jump onto a bench and start sniffing around looking for me. I know this, because once he finally sees me, Ill simply wave (as to say hello) and he will come bounding over to sit next to me. One day in the park, someone told me that they couldnt believe I was just Billy's walker, because he treated me like I was his owner. It was such a compliment.
But I guess thats why I love being a dog walker.. thats why I wanted to be a dog walker, because I LOVE being with dogs. And thats why it was so flattering -- someone was validating the fact that this is not just a job for me, but instead, an exciting opportunity to build relationships with my new friends.
On a side note, Saturday was Leo's birthday. He would have been 14 years old. Leo is one of the reasons I started the New York Pooch Patrol. I miss him everyday.
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