The Dogs Must Be Walked (pt 6)
I’m on the final leg of my day, read on to see how my buddy Rex Thor takes it easy on me in the drifts, and then a beagle named Molly and I try to catch a cab uptown
As I sat huddled in my bus seat, tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt completely disconnected from my body. No matter how I tried to hug myself, how vigorously I rubbed my frozen limbs, my joints remained stiff, my body so cold and unfeeling it was like a cadaver.
I forced myself to stand and dismount from the bus at 110th street. Without knowing where I found the strength, I limped my way into a prewar apartment building. I rode the vintage lift up to the 10th floor, and before I could attempt to get my hand to stop shaking long enough to get my key into the door, I heard the frantic scrambling of paws and nails trying to grab traction as the dog within scrambled to greet me. By the time I opened the door, Rex Thor was running straight at me, ready to perform his signature greeting-leap into my arms. I had just enough time to put my hands out and yell “Rex, wait!”
Normally, when the giant Rex Thor, a Pit Bull, Rottweiler mix threw himself at me, I held my ground and embraced his huge, muscular body in a standing belly rub while he’d sniff every inch of me and my backpack, deducing who I’d seen that day. Today though, I knew my body could not handle the impact of his. He screeched to a halt before reaching me, and looked at me with curiosity.
Rex was a foster dog. His owner, a disabled veteran, had lost his housing and all five of his pitbulls. Rex was fostering with a woman only a few years older than me while his old owner found a new place. It was clear to me upon meeting Rex that he wasn’t used to being pampered. He was so awkward on our first walk. He seemed embarrassed every time I caught his eye. When I’d stop to scratch his flanks a look of shock would steal over his face, his ears would flatten against his head and he would stare straight ahead, unsure of what to do about my gentle cooing. Rex weighed close to as much as I did, but he always walked right by my side. Even when he did get distracted, just the lightest tug of his leash and he’d fly back to my side. He’d been trained for obedience, he’d never had someone who was just there to make sure he was having a good time. It didn’t take long for Rex to love his walks. When I’d come pick him up in the afternoons he would fly around the apartment, leaping off of me, a giant grin on his face. Usually we speed-walked on our strolls and covered an incredible amount of ground. I felt so guilty knowing I couldn’t give this sweet and humble boy the romp in the snow that he deserved.
Cautiously, I lowered myself to the ground and sat in front of Rex. I let out a breath and said, “Come here, my Rexo.”
He approached slowly, and gently sniffed my whole face, worriedly. He saw and smelled the tracks of my salty tears, and then gave my face a hesitant lick. Usually I don’t let my dogs lick me, I just know way too much about their lives to be okay with that kind of thing, but right at that moment, his tongue felt warm, and I wouldn’t turn away a comforting kiss. He lowered himself down and lay with his head in my lap, only rolling over for a belly rub after he was certain he’d put a smile on my face.
Normally Rex moved in a sort of barrel, not a walk. But that day, he took it easy. He didn’t lunge at the big dogs we passed who challenged him. He just sauntered next to me, knowing full well that he could tug out of my grip at any moment that he wanted to. I didn’t cut his forty-five minute walk short, even though I know his foster mother would understand if I did. Rex had waited all day for that walk; he deserved his time outside.
As we neared the park I heard someone call out to me and turned to see Julian, a dog walker that I’d met the summer before. Julian considered himself a “dog walker to the stars.” It wasn’t uncommon for me to run into other dog walkers who would immediately start rattling off the names of their famous clients. I’d met people who boasted of walking dogs for Donna Karen, Sting, Howard Stern, Kevin Bacon. Julian’s biggest claim to fame was L.L. Cool J. I couldn’t stand the guy. He was constantly following me around, doling out advice and asking me about my business plans. He called me “sweetheart” or “honey,” and stood too close when we talked.
In those days I didn’t have the confidence to tell other dog walkers that I wanted to walk alone, so I was often plagued by these hangers on who ruined the time I had out with the dogs I loved. Hearing his voice was like nails on a chalkboard, but I turned around to greet him anyway. Every once in a while dog walkers would give me leads on new clients they couldn’t take on, and in those days, since I was too prideful to march up to people in the park and hand them my business cards, I relied on people around town who knew me to refer me to new clients.
“Oh, hey,” I called out to him, my voice shook with the effort. I tried to stand without letting my knees wobble, I pushed my shoulders back and tried to force myself erect. Rex stopped and looked at me, a question in his eyes. He knew my voice didn’t sound happy like it did when I greeted him before his walks.
Julian sped up to catch up with me, dragging three dogs behind him without saying anything or looking at them to give them warning of their change in direction. One of the dogs was staring at Rex, his ears and hackles raised. Rex looked at me and then back to the dog, unbothered. Rex could be stirred only by dogs his own size. The pipsqueaks who growled at him never caused a real stir.
“Damn, Jamie. You look horrible. You okay, sweetie?” I clenched my teeth. What an ass.
“Yeah, I’m fine, how are you?” Julian didn’t look like he’d walked through the same day I had. His black jacket and waterproof pants looked dry. He had on a hat and gloves that didn’t look like they’d been soaked by that morning’s rain.
“What a day. I cut all the walks short, I told my clients, there’s no way in hell you can get me to walk through this. Did you get lots of cancels?”
“Just one.”
“You’re gonna charge them, right? You gotta charge them.” I tried not to roll my eyes. This was not the time for business advice. Normally I would have humored him a little longer and held out hope that he had a client he wanted to share with me. Today I couldn’t do it.
“Hey I actually have to run, I’m behind.”
“We’ll walk with you.” My heart dropped. Just a moment ago I’d thought my day couldn’t get any worse. I didn’t say anything but continued walking east toward the park.
“Here, let’s go this way,” Julian motioned north on Columbus Ave.
“There’s some good spots my dogs like up on this street.”
“We’re going to the park.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you can’t go into the park on a day like today! Take it from me, I slipped on some ice a few years back, I never go in the park when there’s snow on the ground. Stay on the sidewalk.”
The rage I felt inside seemed to warm me up a little. I looked at the three dogs behind Julian. They were dancing around, looking at Rex and seeming uncomfortable. Then I looked at my beautiful red-haired friend, who hadn’t moved from my side. His eyes looked up into mine, he didn’t like sharing his walk with these guys. In those days, I’d never met a dog walker who seemed to be in this business because of their love for the dogs they walked. I felt pangs of guilt if I didn’t provide the dogs I cared for with with non-stop fun and affection. My goal was always to leave them tired and contented. On a snowy day, when the park was a winter wonderland, I would never have denied my dogs access.
“We’re gonna run, see ya around.” I turned and lurched toward the park, this time my limbs carried me at an almost-normal speed, though my knees still wouldn’t bend.
“Honey, I’m telling you, you’re going to get hurt!” I didn’t even turn around to acknowledge him. Rex danced excitedly by my side, glad to be rid of the unwanted company and eager for his time in the park.
By that time in the late afternoon, the snow had been falling for hours, and it was already up to my knees. So different from Calvin and Cam, who giddily leapt through the drifts, Rex investigated the snow, like it could be an imminent threat to us both. He pushed through it with a serious look on his face, like he was on a rescue mission in the arctic. At certain spots he pulled over and stuck his giant head below the drifts, then looked up at me, wide-eyed and thrilled before throwing himself down and wiggling through the powder.
For a moment I wondered if there might be any bodies below us. It seemed to me that I could have fallen that day and no one would have seen or stopped to help. I would have just remained lying there while the snow fell over me. I felt utterly dejected by the idea, but then allowed myself the quip,
“Well, at least I’d be off my feet,” and chuckled to myself.
By the time I brought Rex home the February sun has disappeared. I staggered up to his apartment, dried him off and fed him dinner. I was behind schedule, but I allowed myself to sit down on one of the wooden chairs in the kitchen while I wrote a note for Rex’s foster mom.
2/25 4:43–5:31
Rex investigated the snow, he approves.
Jamie
On my walk to the train, the city looked like an arctic playground. People were out on the street now that the sleet and snow had calmed to a gentle fall. They wandered in packs, their limbs snug in warm clothes, beaver skin hats on their head. Armed with ice skates, skis and sleds, their bands were jolly and laughing, elated over the knowledge that schools and offices would be closed on the morrow, that the snow was still falling, and had turned New York City into a vision of sparkling white.
Just in front of the train a group of people were huddled and taking pictures of themselves in the snow. They posed with snowballs and funny faces, donned balaclavas and earmuffs. They didn’t move when I walked up behind them. I cleared my throat in an attempt to draw attention to myself so they’d make way to let me through. I had no energy to speak. They didn’t notice me. I’d blended into the background, I was just another part of the storm.
Finally, I gave up and stepped around them, off the curb and onto the street. My feet were already numb, what did it matter if I just re-submerged them in that hidden layer of slush?
I held tight to the railing and moved down the subway stairs like an eighty five year old with arthritis. I tried to regulate my breathing, but I couldn’t help but hold my breath for steps at a time as I lowered myself. Every movement was excruciating pain, and I wondered if my body would ever recover from this day.
I got off the train back at 86th street. This time I walked to a brownstone across the street form Lady and Henry’s. I let myself in the front door, and tottered to the back of the apartment, where Molly the beagle lay asleep in her crate. She didn’t look impressed or at all that happy to see me. We didn’t know one another very well, yet.
She stretched her way out of the crate when I open it, and allowed me to give her a quick throat scratch.
“Alright Moll, you’re coming with me,” I said, and I gathered the food that her mom had left out and shoved it into my sopping-wet backpack. This was my last task of the day; I needed to bring Molly uptown to Washington Heights to stay at my place for the night. Usually, when dogs were coming for the night, I walked them the hundred or so blocks up to my place. That way I wouldn’t have to spend any of the money I was making for boarding them on transportation. On that particular day, walking up was not an option. I’d have to bite the bullet and buy a ride up to Washington Heights.
When we left Molly’s brownstone, I trudged toward Central Park West so that I could try to to hail a cab. Molly moved eagerly with me, and I was grateful for that. In my experience, beagles (and all scent hounds, for that matter) were some of the most difficult dogs to walk. Hounds, unlike labs pointers and spaniels, are independent hunters, meaning that they followed a scent without having to look at a human for instruction. The humans followed them on the hunt. I told myself that was the reason the hounds I’d walked were so stubborn; they were forging their own paths, intent on taking the lead to decide which way our pack would move. Lucky for me, Molly wanted to go to Central Park so it was easy to get her in moving in that direction, though she was not happy when I stopped short of the park entrance and stuck my wet and frozen arm out in the street, attempting to hail a cab.
Traffic was practically at a dead stand still. Cars moved at a crawl and the few cabs I saw with their light on, indicating they were looking for a passenger would take one look at me, soaked to the bone, shaking involuntarily, hobbling around like an old hag, a dog at my side. It would only take an instant for even the greenest New York cabbie to imagine the mess of water and dog hair I was going to leave on their seat.
For twenty five minutes, I attempted to hail a cab on Central Park West. My insides were screaming and sobbing, Molly whined at my side, dancing from foot to foot, getting more agitated by the minute. When I stopped being able to convince myself that that there was any hope of getting a ride, I turned back to walk west and try my hand at hailing on Broadway Avenue.
Molly was not into the idea of walking west. She got low, and bent backwards, her center of gravity lending power to her obstinacy. I tried to walk around her and herd her from behind, but I was staggering so slowly that I couldn’t surprise her into moving, she had too much time to think about what I was doing. Finally, when I saw there was no way of getting her to walk with me, I got down on my knees and lifted her twenty pound body into my arms. The strength it took left me staggering, and for moment I almost fell. But a voice in my head told me this was the end, I’d made it so far, I couldn’t give up now.
I pushed one foot in front of the other, bent my head down against the wind, and I moved the two of us the two blocks to Broadway, though it took me three times as long as it would have on a normal day.
I set Molly down, and she bristled. I turned and looked south at the traffic that moved at a crawl. I raised my arm, and it took all the strength I had left to wiggle my wrist in the air. When ten minutes past I felt tears boil up in my chest again.
“Don’t you dare, or you’re never making it home.” I clenched my jaw and told myself
“You’re going to get a cab, just wait.” Then I started to pray to a god that I only believe in when I’m in dire straits. I didn’t have the strength to dance from foot to foot. I just told myself over and over that there was nothing to do but wait.
Fifteen minutes later, a taxi SUV pulled up beside me, and my heart almost stopped in shock. I couldn’t move. Was this real, or had I lost my mind? Suddenly, the the window rolled down and a man with a salt and pepper beard, glasses, and a turban on his head shouted,
“Miss! Get in, please!”
I shook myself out of my daze and scrambled to open the car door and lift Molly inside, then I threw my backpack on the car floor and climb onto the seat. My chest caved when I sat down, my body heaved a sigh so deep I thought I might be dying. When I could I sat forward and exhaled,
“175th and Broadway, please.” The cabbie groaned. Traffic wasn’t moving at all, and I needed a ride further than he’d been hoping.
“I knew this was going to be trouble for me, but I couldn’t leave you there. I saw you once and kept going, but you looked frozen I had to turn around and come back.”
He was beating himself up, angry at himself for giving in to this weakness for seeing a girl frozen on the sidewalk, no hope of a ride. The tears came out fast, there was no stopping them now. I couldn’t speak for the first five minutes. When I could I leaned forward and said,
“Sir, I will never forget you picking me up today.”
He turned back to look at me, startled, but when he looked into my eyes, I knew he believed what I said.
Ten years since this day, the worst I can remember walking, I’ve taken thousands of cabs. I’ve walked countless miles and met more people than my memory could ever recollect. But the face of that man, so agitated over the choice he’d made. Those glasses that covered his kind, dark eyes, his narrow chin with its wispy beard, the soft wrinkles on his cheeks. I can see him perfectly.
