Day 24 (zzzzz)

So, absolutely nothing of note took place today. Regarding the dogs, anyhow. It being the holidays and all, I'm down to 2 steady walks this week, with a couple of others thrown in here and there. Which amounts to a paltry income. So it might have been unwise to buy music, but fuck it. I did anyway.
The Kinks, The Cramps and Thee Headcoats.

While out to dinner with a friend, I gave her the lowdown on how sick I am of this job already.
"I mean, look at this! I'm wearing three shirts, a sweater, and a coat. I feel like the fucking Michelin man." I said, peeling off layers.

"You mean you were walking the dogs dressed like that?" she asked.

I nodded.

"You are the most stylish dogwalker I've ever seen." she told me, and started laughing. "I would think you wore sweatpants or something."

I frowned. "I don't even own sweatpants." I told her.

Then a friend in town from London called.
"So I'm intrigued about this dogwalking gig." she said.

"Well, there's absolutely nothing intriguing about it." I said.

"Do you get to bring the dogs around town?" she asked.

"No way. I thought it was going to be all relaxing, just walking around with dogs, but it's on a tight schedule. I have to go to the dog, take it out, bring it back, hurry to the next one, and do the same thing again. It's like having to be at work five times a day, instead of just once."

"Can I come with you?" she wanted to know.

"Well, yeah, okay." I said. I'd thought she hated dogs. I remember one time about ten years ago when we were stoned-out kids in a park on the Hudson River. It was a spring day, and someone's cocker spaniel came bounding across the grass directly towards her. She'd sort of backed away, but not quickly enough. The dog had leapt up onto her, and planted both its muddy forepaws onto her shirt. For the rest of the afternoon, she had two brown pawprints on her chest, which kept making us laugh.

Actually, it might be funny if she came with me.
"Yeah, give me a call tomorrow around 1:00." I told her.