75. The Dog Walker

I pick up the first dog, Sammy.  “With two ‘M’s,” the owner tells me.  I nod. 

Nobody is home at the next house, so I search through the keys until I find the right one.  Red key, blue key, green key.  Jim helped me put the colored dots on them.  I hear the dog barking inside.  I open the door and he lunges at me, leash already in his mouth.    

The third dog, small and fang-faced, I do not like.  He bit me once, and I worry that he’ll do it again.  I tell him he’s a good dog, but it’s a lie.    

I instinctively reach in my jacket pocket to make sure I remembered the plastic bags.  I checked before I left my apartment, but I can’t exactly remember if that was today or yesterday.  What if I forgot the bags?  That would be bad.   

I walk the dogs down the street, a tangle of wagging tails and furry legs.  They pull on their leashes, stop near some bushes, bark at a squirrel.    

We are on a shady path that winds through buildings and toward a park.  I smile at other people with dogs, and I wonder if they think all three dogs are mine.  Three dogs!  Who would own three!     

I like my job.  I like that I can think when I walk and no one will demand anything from me.  I look up at the sky and feel the fresh air on my skin.  It feels good to be outside.       

My mother told me this was the only job I was qualified for, I don’t know what she meant by that.  She said it right before she got on her flight back to Montreal.  Dana, you will always be a dog walker.  You are too stupid to do anything else. 

I think she must have meant it in a nice way.    

The second dog has to poop, so he stops at the edge of the sidewalk and squats.  I wait. 

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trifecta writing challenge:  the word is "flight", my word count is 333 words