Must Walk Dogs

Exactly when did I become my friends' emergency dog sitter?

I don't have to ask "why." That's obvious: nobody thinks I have a job. I'm a writer. As such, I've been moderately successful: a published book and two optioned screenplays in three years. (Of course, "optioned screenplay" means a small production company offered me a Whopper combo meal -medium drink only, no cheese - for 20 years of rights.)

But to my friends, I'm the guy who takes a nap everyday. So I'm available to dog sit on ten minutes notice.

The dogs in Manhattan Beach and Hermosa Beach know, though, that this is not a good thing. They can tell I don't know what I'm doing.

As a kid, we had had a dog twice. Both relationships ended prematurely.

My behavior forced my parents to send our first dog away. In response to Hoople's nipping, my dad told me to give him - the dog, not my old man - a light "whap" on the nose each time.

Afraid that Hoople would retaliate by chomping by hand off, I waited to exact punishment. Hours later, with the puppy deeply asleep, I'd sneak up on him and "whap" him with my orange wiffle ball bat. Jolted awake by his lunatic "best friend," Hoople would run away, cowering.

A few more similar occurrences and Hoople was "running free on a farm." (A child psychologist ex-girlfriend of mine grew very upset when she heard this story, explaining that such childhood behavior was common in many serial killers. I simply told her, "Put the lotion in the bucket.")

A few years later my parents assumed I'd be able to handle myself appropriately. They brought home Freddy, a black mutt from the pound. Mom and Dad were right; I had no incidents with a bat. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for a baseball.

It was a freak "pitch-back" incident. A metal frame with netting strung across it, a pitch-back would automatically return to the pitcher any ball pitched against it. This enables kids to spend countless hours playing by themselves while their fathers nap in hammocks.

But, here's the thing about pitchbacks: the netting is not universally adhered to the metal frame. Instead, the netting connects to the frame every five inches or so, creating gaps between the string and the metal. Gaps through which a ten-year old might be able to hurl a baseball.

Freddy slumbered peacefully in the sunshine, twenty feet behind the netting. My fastball somehow sailed through the gap and hit Freddy on the side of his head. The veterinarian had to put Freddy down the next day. I cried for days.

Nearly every time I tell that story people laugh. In college, one friend yelled, "Dude...you killed your dog!" Thanks. Like I didn't know that.

The Reidy's haven't attempted to raise any more dogs.

I'd openly share this information with any dog-owning friends who asked. But none have. Some vetting process; CTU's Human Resources department on "24" performs a more thorough background check on new hires than dog owners do.

Yet, my friends "Mike" and "April" asked me to watch their King Charles Spaniels for a Friday night and Saturday morning. Actually, that's not totally true. I called Mike and asked him to lunch. He said he couldn't make it. Then he asked me to drive him, his wife and 6-month old daughter to LAX at lunchtime. And watch his dogs.

Charlie, the older one, used to be cool. Then Molly showed up. Now Charlie is a total wussbag. I am embarrassed by how he lets her boss him around, despite the fact that he is much bigger. Molly doesn't let Charlie eat until she finishes her meal and whatever she wants of his. Re-grow a pair, Charlie!!!

Shortly after agreeing to be the Friday Night Guy, I realized I'd double booked: a daytime commitment prevented me from getting to Charlie and Molly until at least 8:45 - much later than their standard 6:00 dinnertime.

Their eating late didn't worry me. Their waiting an additional three hours to go to the bathroom got me nervous, since I'd be on cleanup duty. So I called the only other single friend Mike and I share - Travis.

A former college football star, Travis carries himself with a quiet machismo. He is never asked to dog sit.

Fortunately, he had some free time to run over to the house. I gave Travis the alarm code and the feeding instructions. All good. Then I got a panicked call.

"The little one is eating everything!" After dinner, Travis let them into the yard for a bathroom break.

When I arrived, I took them out for a 20-minute walk. Rather, Molly took me. Like Charlie, I realized it's easier if you just do what she wants. I could picture Charlie imagining happier times when he led the nightly walk. Sigh. I texted Travis to see what bodily fluids had been produced in his presence.

His response text seared itself into my brain. "Two pees. No poops."

Travis and I are two successfully single men. Never did we think we'd be swapping texts re: the pooping habits of two dogs neither of us owns.

Shortly thereafter, the parade came to a screeching halt. I kept walking a good three feet. They looked up at me like, "Pay attention, Rookie!" Poop Break.

I frequently run or walk on The Strand, a cement boardwalk that runs from Santa Monica to Redondo Beach. Consequently, I routinely have to avoid pooping pooches and their owners. As a pedestrian, I am a big proponent of the Poop Scoop requirement forcing owners to immediately clean up after their pets. But as a Dog Sitter...I loathe that law.

Have you ever picked up a fresh dog turd? Ewwww. The heat burns through the flimsy plastic bag, the aggressive aroma adheres to the nostrils. This was never mentioned in the recruiting pitch. Wanna see the crime rate drop? Forget roadside trash crews with their metal spears. Force petty criminals to clean up dog shit with a plastic bag every day; now that's a deterrent. Same with suspected terrorists: water boarding, out; Poop Scooping, in.

Man, I really, really need to finish this next spec script and sell it to a major studio soon, just so my friends recognize me as a real writer. Maybe then the dog sitting calls will stop. In fact, I'm gonna get back to work on that masterpiece right now.

Wait. Molly's picking on Charlie again. Sigh. Two more hours till Mike and April get home.

Comments

[Billie]

For a writer, a little sensitive about the "shit," no? Picking up fresh dog turd is highly preferable to reading/viewing most "masterpieces" stinking up the movie theaters. Reread your Bukowski, hon.

[samuelpablo]

Great article Jamie, you wild little man. Use your big boy voice!

[Idytme]

Just a bit of warning here... you can respect her right to rule the roost with the other dog (although I would separate them during feeding time, but people have different opinions of that), don't let this little dog take control of you! It doesn't matter if you are only there part time, she should know that when you are there, you are in control. So you decide where she walks and when, you go first and you are "pack leader". If someone doesn't give this girl some rules soon, she is going to get even more out of control.
Really sorry about your second dog. It must have been horrible for you.