p.s. as a side note, please excuse any typos -- I might be an editor, but I'm a bit of a hack.
Rufus
Synopsis: Professional dog walker Francis Scott seeks therapy after an Affenpinscher dies while under his care.
Session 1
Wednesday, August 1, 200-
Time: 10:00 am
Length of session: 40 minutes
“I walked them all. The Shepherds, the Pomeranians, the Poodles and Setters. Toy breeds, Mastiffs, clients with three legs, clients with one eye and with bladder problems so severe they’re peeing on the welcome mat when you first get in. There was no client I turned down, no animal too wronged or sickly or distended. I was a caretaker, a guardian, a champion by proxy of my clients’ handlers and their sometimes other handlers and bosses. In my own way I was the king of them, sometimes with four strapped to my waist, clients so neurotic and matted the first thing they would do was mount your leg, others frightful of the very leash I was about to attach. They ate from my hand, they ate from a bowl, knew me and could smell me as I walked down the driveways or through the long building hallways, and not a one was ever freakish enough to get less than my Grade-A service. Yes, they had their handlers, but the clients looked for me, and for us it was our special time and they knew exactly that, when I would show up, they would be loved, adored, coddled and exercised. That’s all they asked for, and I gave it to them with joy and energy, with purpose. There’s no point in trying to hide that, and that’s something I tell anybody trying to get into this profession – the clients can smell when you don’t want to be there, and the biggest relationship-killer is them knowing you’re a put-uponer, a non-participant in their activities. The clients, they want to play, but they want to know they’re allowed to do so, safely, with supervision, to show off when they need to. But mostly, they want to defecate, and they can’t do that without you around, gleefully picking up their droppings. For them, it’s a souvenir, a token of affection. The least we can do, the engineers and facilitators, is return that affection.
“Clients? That’s the dogs. They don’t like being called anything else.
“I’ve been in this business for around 14 years. At the very least 14. I was finishing med school, about to go into residency, when my father takes me aside and offers me a role in the family practice. We’re sort of the Karamazov brothers of dog walking.
“The Karamazov’s didn’t have a family business? How about the Carnegies?
“We were big news, anyway, passing down our trade from generation to generation, a line of dog walkers from eastern Europe. It was my great-great-grandfather who brought his skills to Southern California. On a boat he made himself. He walked for the Habsburgs. It’s a proud family tradition.
“But now I’ve got blood on my hands. I can’t do it anymore. This business – it’s been in the family for years upon years upon centuries and different continents, and I lost one. Maybe it’s that disgrace. I know I need to get over it. This business is lucrative and I’ve got money saved, but I still get nervous about feeding my family. My wife looks at me with a sort of stink eye. My kids now piddle on the carpet. And all because I’d taken a job I shouldn’t have, out of the family norm.
“The handlers wanted me to sit for their client. Watch him, an Affenpinscher – really one of the more grotesque breeds an engineer can oversee – watch him over the course of a week. But I was a pro, and there was a potential client in need. His name was Rufus.
“That was too hard, his name. We should probably stop.
“When one of them would mount my leg – it’s a dominance thing, I’m sure you know. I kept a squirt bottle on my belt. Five parts water to one part lemon juice. That was usually enough. Before he retired, my father had suggested a Taser. But we could never get the voltage right.”
Session 2
Date: Wednesday, August 15
Time: 10:05 am
Length of session: 25 minutes
“We should probably get down the terms. The clients are the dogs. Their handlers, you’d call them owners. I am a Canine Activity Engineer, a dog walker. I had to get my Facilitator and Guardian certification to be a dog sitter. Are there any more questions from the last session? Good.
“Now I don’t know what you know about the breed. Say it with me – ‘Affenpinscher.’ Even the name is disgusting. Rodent chasers. Flat, simian face mounted on a canine body. Mustached, with dark hair clumped on the top of their heads and more hair crammed into every crook of their wiry, ugly little frames. They look like a mishandled cross-breed between a monkey and... a more superior dog, now that I think about it. This one, he exemplified that, but he’d also been dolled up in pink bows and a sparkly collar. The leash they had was completely inadequate – worn, scuffed, unflexing leather. There was a Hello Kitty bowl for his water, too. I felt bad for the guy, what with the levels of emasculation he probably endured throughout the course of his life. It’s rough enough looking like a failed farmyard miscegenation, but to be an Alpha surrounded by pink? That’s historically ironic, and probably why I took the job. I felt bad for him.
“Can we stop here for a second? I want to get to the rest of this, but right now I just need to take a breather.
“A guy came around the office yesterday. Really he was a kid. Spanking brand new engineer, looking for any insight into the industry. I gave him a look at my kit, the banana clips for attaching the extra leashes to your belt, the shin guards for the scuffing and potential rummaging under bushes, the extra waste bags, latex gloves, the necessary tie-downs in the case of an overly rambunctious client. The first thing they go for is the pant legs, always remember that. I left out the bit about the spray bottle, it’s a trade and family secret. I told him the most important thing is to always leave the client wagging their tail, happy, hungry for more. Watch out for other handlers and engineers, and don’t ever lose them to birds. Depends on the breed, anyway. Always know your breed. Every breed, every client, they have weaknesses, things they like to chase. Always know what they are.
“He asked for a slogan. I told him mine was taken.
“You haven’t heard it? There’s radio spots, billboards. I saw one on the drive over.
“That surprises me. The market saturation is huge.
“I forget cat people exist sometimes. Nothing against them, they’re beautiful creatures. No business in them though. Anyone can walk a cat. Don’t take that personally.
“For your reference, the slogan is ‘Walks with Francis Scott: When Your Precious Dog Drops, We’ll Stand By to Mop Up The Plop.’
“Does that break a rule? The word ‘dog’? You know I never thought about that before. Maybe this occupational hiccup is for the best. I was entertaining dreams of franchising.”
Session 3
Date: Tuesday, August 21
Time: 4:45 pm
Length of session: 45 minutes
“My wife has taken to showing me Marcel Marceau videos, and I break down whenever the dog goes for the second tree. She’s also now complaining about my weight. This can’t keep going on. So bear with me. I’m going to do this the best I can.
“Let’s start with the details I know. There was a branch he had somehow perched himself on. Maybe he jumped from the bird bath. Maybe he flew. I have to assume it was because of the squirrels. The tree is riddled with them, and as I’ve said before, this breed is a rodent chaser. He chases a squirrel as big as himself up the trunk then leaps off before I have any chance to react. I run to where he’s lying. He gets up. He walks inside. This was in the backyard.
“He was about eight pounds. Is that what you’re asking? I usually measure them. I’m not sure why I didn’t this time.
“I should backtrack a bit. I haven’t talked about the Fitzgeralds yet, correct? Patent attorneys, man and wife, childless, not expecting. Going off on a holiday to Borneo. They were one of these couples that, because they were never going to have any progeny of their own needed to simulate the effects with a proxy. In this case, Rufus. I’m still not sure why they had him dressed in pink but it’s not my responsibility to ask these questions. They tied the bows and had him manicured and fluffed and teased and primped, giving him his own room with stuffed animals and toys, strewn all over. Again, not too surprising with this class of handler. Before leaving, they advanced me some of the fee and a warning about the backyard, and showed me where they had already fenced off the tree. But, as dogs will dig, Rufus found a way under. So be it.
“More details – the water dish was in the kitchen. Toys, balls, bones as well. His favorite was a cat toy, a stuffed plush rat with kibble stowed inside. Again, it’s not my job to ask questions. We get back inside, he goes immediately for it. I try to separate him from it, that doesn’t work. I try to distract him and take it away, but his teeth are sunk in deep. Again, so be it. What I forget to do is close the back door. In comes a squirrel, and immediately the two square off. Claws, barks, squeals, all of it. I don’t know what had gotten into this thing, but it was a squirrel and it was bent on revenge. Rufus chases it off. Without a scratch on him, he chases it off.
“I walk over to the door, seal it. To make sure Rufus is not interfered with again. He’s had enough excitement, and now I can hear him slobbering and chewing and making little squeal-like grunting noises. I double-check all the locks, yank on the handle to make sure it’s secure, and return to the kitchen, where Rufus is lying on the ground, incapacitated. I check for a pulse. No pulse. I try mouth-to-mouth. I still have that musty flavor of iams in my mouth. It scratches like a desert. He’s dead. I breathe and pump. He’s still dead.
“Give me a second.
“I think his heart gave out. From too much excitement. He was three, if I remember right.
“I buried him. Under the same tree. My wife had suggested having him stuffed and mounted, but I couldn’t leave him to that indignity, turned into a showpiece and a paperweight and an artifact of some great and formerly glorious squirrel catcher. I couldn’t leave him as a sham. I removed the bows, tracked down a garden trowel, buried him in a hat box. I gave him his toy.
“Of course I took off the bows. Would you be put to rest in pink?”
Session 4
Date: Wednesday, August 29
Time: 9:45 am
Length of session: 7 minutes
“Doc, sorry to call you on such short notice, but I’m going to end our sessions. I’ve embarked on a different career path which I’m really excited about and see a great economic future in. Turtle polishing. It seems safer, and I’m already developing a new brand of wax for the profession. I’ve got a friend and we’re working on the patent, just in case.
“Not the Fitzgeralds, but I understand why you’re thinking that.
“So anyway the sessions won’t be necessary going forward. But I wanted you to know that your help has been immeasurable.
“In my house? How many dogs? My father liked to keep them around, but frankly with my wife, and since the kids, we’ve felt it would be safer without. We’re strictly a bird house nowadays.”
