Walkies! Way Back When

Right around this time of year, twenty years ago, I was driving to work at a job I hated.

In an effort to dispel my grumpy mood, I imagined what I'd be doing if I had the day off. Well, it was a pretty nice day for February-- sunny, even-- so I'd probably go for a walk outside. And since I was imagining, I imagined a dog to walk with me; a dog I'd been wanting for a few years but couldn't get thanks to apartments we'd been living in that didn't allow pets.

As I drove past the Washington State Capitol campus, I had a sudden thought: a dog walking service. Look at all these state offices. If half of the people working there own dogs... and half of that half hurry home on their lunch break to let that dog out or sit at their desk worrying if their dog is okay... and half of that half of that half would be willing to pay a modest amount to have me take their dog for a walk during the day --- why, I'd have more business than I could handle! And I didn't know anyone that was offering this sort of service at all!

That night I made a plan for my own business, printed up a few simple flyers, and went to bed dreaming about all the fun dogs I was going to meet.  Six months later I took a deep breath and quit that job I hated to be a dog walker and pet sitter full time.

I thought I'd share some memorabilia from those early days. I found my old introduction book that I used to show prospective clients in the days before the internet and it's full of old friends. 

I used to tell people that my space program was on hold because dogs kept putting their heads out the window and it was difficult to find space helmets in dog sizes. Then I had one woman who actually believed me and I decided that the idea of dog heads exploding in the vacuum of space maybe wasn't the best joke to make anyway. I thought it was funny, though. 

Look, Polaroids! 

The very first phone call on my new pager (this was before cell phones, imagine that!) was from a gentleman named Don, whose first question was "How are you with aggressive dogs?" I was a little nervous but I didn't want to lose my possibly first client, so I said I was great with all dogs and I was sure his wouldn't be a problem. 

When we met up, I was relieved to learn that Maude was a lovely dog with people. Her aggression was only towards some other dogs and all the squirrels in the world. As long as I kept a good hold on the leash and crossed the street whenever another dog approached, we got along just fine.  We even got our picture in the paper! 

Leave the squirrel alone, Maude.

Calvin was the second client to call. He had just moved to the area and wanted his dog walked while he was at work all day. Mai Lee was the only Shar-pei I've ever seen or walked, and what a sweet dog she was. Later on, Cal married, and his wife Phyllis came with her dog Buster, the biggest Rottweiler I'd ever seen. He was a bit more of a challenge. He had a majestic confidence that spoke volumes. It said "Hi. I'm Buster. Welcome to my home. I'm sure you'll behave just fine." He had a very definite idea of right and wrong, and if he decided something wasn't right, he'd let you know about it. 

The first time I tried to take him for a walk, we got to the end of the driveway and he stopped. I gave a little tug on the leash and called him to come along, but he refused. He sat down. When I tugged the leash again, he growled very softly.  It was plain to me that he wasn't planning on leaving his home property unprotected to go on some foolish neighborhood walkabout with me. I called Phyllis and explained the situation. "He's perfectly right," she said. "Just put him in the yard."

Sometimes it's good to recognize what works and what doesn't when it comes to walking dogs. While I'm no pushover with opinionated pups, there are times when I will compromise with a dog rather than insist on my own way. Rottweilers have been trained through centuries to guard their owners' property, and it's in their nature to do so. Buster's instinct and training told him to stay home and protect the house. It wasn't important that he go on a walk; he just needed the opportunity to relieve himself, and his own backyard was perfectly okay for that. So we compromised, and Buster and I got on fine after that. He was always a little concerned about the fact that I showed up when his people weren't home, but he'd let me in, enjoy his backyard time and play a little ball, and then escort me to the door to see that I didn't steal the silver on my way out. Once the front door was closed, he'd jump up against it and give one resounding WOOF! which startled me every time, even when I was expecting it. He was quite a dog!

I'm not sure because I stopped keeping track, but it's entirely possible that Melissa and Kona were my third clients. Kona was a wonderful dog, very friendly and beautiful as well, and I loved walking him because I could take him down the road from his house to the waterfront, where there was a private beach for residents. During the summer he could swim, and if it was too cold for that, we would play fetch walking up and down the gravelly shoreline, and find interesting things the tide had left behind: shells, tiny crabs, jellyfish, bits of broken glass.  It's not often I get to let a dog play off-leash, because my insurance (and common sense) is very clear about me having what is called "custody, care, and control" at all times. I only let a dog off the leash if we are in a fenced area and I know the dog will come to me when I call. The beach had a high concrete wall and could only be accessed by going down some steps and through a gate that latched securely. Some homeowners had their own backyard gates. Kona would never go farther than I could throw his tennis ball, so it was wonderful.

Except for the day someone left their backyard gate open. Kona saw it before I did and was through it like a flash, running up the steps, across their lawn, and up the stairs leading to their second-story deck. I was about fifty yards behind with my soggy, sandy shoes, calling his name and desperate to catch him. I followed him up to the second-story deck, where he had surprised a family having brunch. He had run right in through the open sliding doors and was making himself at home by the kitchen table begging for bacon when I arrived in the doorway, out of breath and holding his leash.

"I'm SO sorry!" I panted. "We were on the beach and he took off running--" Then I thought of how Melissa and Kona were friendly with all their neighbors and these might very well be family friends who would understand and laugh. "Do you know Kona? This is Kona." I stammered.

"We do NOT know Kona." The woman holding the coffeepot snarled, without a trace of an understanding laugh.

"Sorry sorry sorry sorry..." I kept repeating as I took wet, sandy, dripping Kona by the collar and hustled him out the door, back down the stairs, across the grass, through the gate (which I closed securely) and back to the beach.

As my riding coach would say, "Did you learn something?" You bet I did! Now I look for escape points everywhere, even with a leashed dog. Care, custody, and control -- I take them very seriously!

I hope you've enjoyed this look into my early years. As you can see, my motto "Every walk is an adventure!" is certainly true.