What I’ve Learned from Being a Dog Walker
Screens are affecting all of us.
There’s one dog I nanny for, regularly. Let’s call him Hug-it. He’s a Schnauzer-Chihuahua mix. I stay at Hug-it’s, and his older sister’s house a couple times a month, on average, for a few days at a time. Their humans merely set up our stay, but the dogs are clearly in charge.
We all know the routine now — they’ve taught me well. Wake up around 6:30–7am. Do potties outside. Eat breakfast biscuits. Nap. Play outside, which for Hug-it means obsessively investigating the plants and grass for scary creatures. Nap. Play. Nap. Lunch at 2. Nap. Play. Nap. Play. Nap. Walk in the evening sometime around 6pm. Raw hide dinner. Nap. Nap. Nap. Sister goes potty outside. Bedtime.
If at any point during this time I am not paying attention to the routine, Hug-it lets me know. And if, by chance, I’m working on my computer, say, typing out a story for example, he will place his paws on my hand and make it abundantly clear that I need to disconnect from the screen.
Sometimes he does this when I haven’t forgotten part of the routine, simply because he would like to be paid attention to. Perhaps rubbed on the belly or rocked like a baby.
I have studied him several times, in these moments. And I am convinced that every time, he’s rolling his eyes, quite bored with my stupid obsession with a screen.
Dogs are sick of screens, too.
Just being together is the good stuff.
“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
‘Pooh!’ he whispered.
‘Yes, Piglet?’
‘Nothing,’ said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw. ‘I just wanted to be sure of you.’” ~A.A. Milne
I’m staying with a dog now named “Hike”. He’s a small, light grey Poodle with two large, dark grey spots on his eye, and back. I’ve been hanging out with Hike, and his very older sister (she’s 19!) for the past five nights.
As soon as I walk through the door, Hike looks at me from the couch and immediately jumps down to run and greet me. He then proceeds to jump and claw at my legs, lick whatever skin he can get to, and he starts panting and making sweet little sounds of excitement.
I take Hike outside and remind him he needs to potty. He pees. Then he runs back towards me. He follows me into the house and watches every move I make. If I need to pee myself, he doesn’t mind sitting right at my feet until I’m done.
AS SOON as we get on level ground, he charges me with kisses. If I sit on the couch where he can reach all of me, he licks every exposed piece of skin he can find, if I let him.
I must admit, sometimes the licks irritate me. But when I think about how utterly happy this sweet creature is to simply be next to me? I melt.
Eventually, he settles and snuggles up next to me. And we melt together.
Cherish little moments of joy.
Sometimes poop gets stuck to your butt. And sometimes you pee on the ottoman “accidentally”. And sometimes you try to bite someone who wants to help you.
Sometimes you feel like eating rabbit poop. And sometimes you can’t stop barking at someone who just wants to tell you how cute you are. And sometimes you have to sleep in a crate.
But sometimes you get to go on adventures in your neighborhood. And sometimes you get to hike to a view of the ocean. And sometimes you get to chew on the most delicious food on earth: a bone. DUH.
Sometimes you get to chase rabbits. And sometimes you get to play with friends on your street. And sometimes you get to lay in bed all day with your dogs and people.
It’s all part of life. The shitty stuff and the pretty stuff. May as well roll around in the grass and soak up the sunshine as often as possible. And don’t forget to lick your humans.
Lindsay Linegar is a writer living in her home state, California. Her educational background is in International Development (MA), Psychology (BA), and she is certified in Therapeutic Creativity. She currently finds herself thrilled to be a dog walker and yoga student as she works on her first book, based on her three-year adventure in South Sudan. She loves making meaningful connections with humans, wondering at nature, doodling, listening to good music, and more than anything, dancing. You can reach her through email at lindsaylinegar@gmail.com
