Years ago, I saw a picture of a young woman walking a pack of dogs of all shapes, colors, and sizes. It was a black and white photograph, artfully composed, and it really wasn't about the dogs, although that's what drew my attention, of course. That, and the control, the sangfroid of the dog walker. She and the dogs were in profile, leashes fanned tautly away from her fist, her long hair flipping behind her in a breeze and glowing at the edges. She was braced slightly backwards against the pull of the leashes.
There was so much in that picture: beauty, social commentary, economic ironies. I have it in my head that I found it in an anthology. Maybe it was news pictures by the decade, maybe pictures by a famous photographer, like Annie Leibovitz. It was her sort of picture, as I remember it. And the memory is all I have to go by. A google search brought me yoga poses, silhouettes, people walking large numbers of dogs, people walking 2 dogs, dogs looking straight at the camera, dogs running in a park, two-fisted dog walkers, burly young men walking in sweats, older gentlemen in tweeds and hat. None were the picture I sought. I tried searching phrases, I tried searching single words. Examples: "new york" dog walkers, or leibovitz dogs, or my piece de resistance, "new york" young woman dog walker "annie leibovitz" black and white. I limited by "images" and skimmed through several pages of images. Nada. But one thing struck me as I searched: none of the dog walkers displayed the equanimity that I remembered. They all looked overwhelmed, stressed.
The reason I was looking for that picture is that now I'm paying for my lodging by walking dogs, specifically the dogs that I am pet-sitting. And tonight, as I unwound the two leashes for the umpteenth time (pink for the girl dog, blue for the boy dog, I kid you not), I thought back to that image and I thought..."it had to have been posed." The naive nascent photographer that first saw that picture didn't think in those terms. I was new to the idea of an industry of dog walkers, said industry being created by a society of people who want pets but don't have the time to actually care for them. Instead of speculating on photographic logistics, I pondered paradoxes: why have a dog if you can't walk with it? why have a dog in New York? Dogs need to run free, right? I also pondered the skill of the walker: how did she manage all those dogs, each pulling with a hugely different weight. Did she ever get off balance? What happened if she fell? It was a lifestyle on several levels: owner, walker, dogs. I thought about that, and I admired the lines created by taut leash and flowing hair.
Now, I think, yes, she was probably posed, but that just raises more questions. How did they manage the pose? The dogs were all in front of her, all going in one direction. None were stopping to sniff, the leashes weren't tangling, the dogs weren't barking at trucks or straining at the leash to eviscerate a squirrel. It was actually rather boring, and the girl clearly thought so too: her face was composed and still, giving nothing away. It was a job, that's all, maybe an hour in the morning.
It's not a job for me. It's more an avocation. I'm not getting paid (well, other than with lodging). I am fascinated by the different personalities of dogs and owners, and I am certainly neither bored nor composed. I am in loco parentis, trying to make sure the fur babies are happy and healthy. I'm learning the neighborhoods while I exercise myself and the dogs. I'm absorbing the styles of houses and gardens, and I'm meeting the neighbors. I'm checking out the trees, and I'm enthralled to discover that both neighborhoods have a little free library. And, I'm starting to recognize the differences in dog owners.
I discover that I was a lackadaisical dog walker. I had few tools of the trade: some treats in my pocket, some plastic bags saved from the daily paper delivery, a leash that fastened to the collar. I'd say "Walkers!" and Carbon would run to my side, wagging her pseudo-tail. I'd say "Sit!" and she'd sit while I hooked the leash to the collar. And then we'd be out the door. Sometimes it would be along walk with H, through the Laurelhurst rose gardens. Sometimes it would be a short walk to the nearby park. Eventually we had to limit to 1 short walk a day, as her laryngeal paralysis kicked in.
The process is more involved with these other dogs. For one thing, these dogs all have harnesses, the donning of which they resist. They walk away, they duck their heads, they shake themselves vigorously afterwards. Partly because of the resistance, it takes me forever to figure out the proper procedure for winding the harness so that legs and head are in the proper holes. I try not to get flustered, because I need to make sure I have keys, sunglasses, and plastic bags. And not just any plastic bag: they also have special waste bags. Rudy's were green and square, dispensed from a box, rather like a kleenex box. I pulled out two and tied them to the leash handle. Cookie and Didi have long blue bags that fit into a dispenser made of hard blue plastic. It's cute, shaped like a little bone. The top unscrews, and the roll fits inside, with the end poking out through a hole. The dispenser clips to the larger leash, and I never have to worry about the 3-dump walk...until tonight, when the roll ran out.
Control is a problem. These are small to mid-sized dogs, so I can handle the pull, but they are definitely not under voice command. Cookie and Didi mainly focus on sniffing, although they will chase the occasional lizard. Rudy had several quirks: he hated all trucks and German shepherds, and was a little wary, even of dogs he knew. And he was obsessed by the grey squirrels, straining at the leash as the squirrels raced up the tree trunk and then over our heads to the other side of the road. But, as long as those distractions were not present, he was amendable to "come!" while Cookie and Didi are not. Didi, in particular, has a fondness for a particular type of lush lawn: she'll lie with her entire belly pressed to the grasses, cooling off. She won't leave until I pick her up and carry her away. Of course, it's hotter here. I don't really blame her.
When I get home, I have to wipe their feet, even if they didn't get muddy (and they don't: it's dry, dusty, and hot.) But, these rituals are easy to learn, and while my nature is slapdash, I have plenty of time to follow the patterns that make the animals happy. And that makes me happy. Part of the reason I'm enjoying this gig is that it gives me a chance, a requirement actually, to get outdoors every day. I've needed this for a long time. So, while I don't have the skills to manage the multiple dog walk, I do have the theory down: pick up the waste, notice the hazards, get outside, and be consistent.
Now that I think of it, those are darn good rules to follow even without the pleasure of a dog companion.
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