Day 23 (busted, return of dog 3)

December 27, 2004

It seems wrong to be working today. I mean, I know most people are, and Xmas isn’t really a big deal to me anyhow, but still.
I got sort of busted for being late one day last week. The cold I’d had made me run late a couple of days, which I didn’t really feel all that bad about. It’s not like I called in sick or anything. I still went out in the cold with a cold and dutifully picked up dog waste.
But I guess when I wrote one of the cards (sickeningly cute pre-printed pink affairs with checkboxes for “pee” and “poo”) I didn’t happen to mention the walk time was an hour later than usual. Why would I have? The dog can’t tell time. I did my job.
But strangely enough, I saw this problem slowly approaching last week.
When I was at the the same owner’s apartment the next day, the card with the incorrect time was sitting coldly and starkly alone on the table next to the door. The following day it had been moved to the kitchen. Some intuitive force inside me saw that damn card and knew it was going to be a point of contention.
Sure enough, I got a voice mail message from the Man with the Dogs this morning,. He said the owner was concerned because one day last week she had been at home until 2:30, and I hadn’t showed. Then when she had gone out and returned, I had left a note saying I had been there at 1:45. Ugh.
First if all, if you’re home, why do you need me to walk your dog? Secondly, I’m a big proponent of taking up problems with the people you actually have them with. Instead, she chose to go over me to the Man with the Dogs. Fine, take it up with management, but I would think it denies you the gratification of confronting me yourself.
So I ended up not only calling back the Man with the Dogs with my explanation, but (hopefully) pointedly leaving the owner a note. You know, so she gets that not all transactions have to go through a third party. My explanation was this: I was sick all last week, and ran late on a couple of days, and must have meant to put the correct (late) time on the note, but my mind was so muddled by cold medicine that I erroneously wrote 1:45.
I guess that explains why I didn’t even get a “Have a nice holiday” note from Owner 4 on the day before Xmas.

So, I was forced to deal with Dog 3 today, after a merciful near-week without him. I was silently praying his owners had made the same stupid mistake of locking both locks, so I wouldn’t be able to get in and could go straight home, but no luck.
And the cleaning lady was there, anyway, so I would have been able to get in regardless.
“Mucho frio?” she asked me
“Uh, yeah. Si, si.” I answered.
Dog 3 was dreamily tucked into a corner of the couch, amongst his embroidered pillows. In rousing him, I saw one that had previously escaped my notice. It was small, and velvet, and said: WHEN I GET SICK OF SHOPPING, I TRY ON SHOES.
“Jesus.” I muttered out loud to myself.
Not only was it a thoroughly disgusting sentiment, full of blasé capitalism and reeking of small-minded spoiledness, but it scarcely made any sense. If the bearer of the pillow was so sick of shopping, why didn’t they just go home?

“Come on, let’s go.” I said to the dog, who was yawning as I pulled his limbs through the harness. We stood to leave.

The cleaning lady said something I didn’t catch most of, aside from ‘perro’ and ‘frio’. I looked at her, and she said it again, gesturing towards a table in the living room.
“Mucho frio.” She said.
I looked over and saw a small coat, presumably for Dog 3.
Goddamnit, I thought. Shouldn’t you be on my side?
But with her looking, I couldn’t not put the coat on the dog. Nor could I pretend I didn’t understand.
It was ridiculous to begin with, of course, but what made it worse was that it was a sort of sporty-looking coat, for such a lazy, decidedly un-sporty animal.
So we went out, both of us wearing coats. For christ’s sake.