Open Letters to Park Picnickers

To the kid who lost his Pizza-themed Lunchable to my French Bulldog,

I’m sorry your dad was so stupid as to feed you at an off leash park. I’m also sorry your dad gave you flavored chemicals for lunch. The Bulldog did you a favor. Thank you for simply screaming instead of trying to save the “pepperoni”. You could have lost an arm.

To the guy who ate McDonalds and shared with my “cute little Pug”,

Next time, fucking listen. I wasn’t yelling for the Pug to leave you alone. I was yelling that he has severe allergies and you were about to kill him. I don’t care if he sat when you told him to, he doesn’t know there’s trace amounts of real Chicken in those nuggets that could send him into anaphylactic shock.

To the guy who yelled at me and kicked a dog who tried to steal his Subway sandwich,

You’re a dumb ass. I wish that dog had bitten you. I regret not biting you myself.

To everyone who picnics at the off leash park,

You know that beautiful, grassy hill right by the picnic table? There is dog pee there, also piles of things bad owners don’t pick up. That’s why you don’t let your children roll down it, as inviting as it looks to them.

The dogs I bring to the park every weekday run down that toilet of a hill before they play king of the mountain on your eating surface. That table top calling you to sit for a spell, is a cesspool.

Do you live under a rock? Is this your first day with your first dog ever? Even the most docile Golden Retriever can turn into a Velociraptor when there is food involved.

What makes you think the smell of your bologna sandwich won’t send someone’s dog into wild hyena mode, devouring your lunch as well as any forearms resting on the table? What if your dog plays family protector when another dog jumps on the table to steal a snack? What then? Is your four-legged family member dog enough to win a bout with a hyena? Mine’s not. That’s why I don’t eat at the dog park.

Awkward

Being a dog walker can be awkward. There are moments in my job where I would turn in my leashes for a desktop under florescent lights in a second.

Like the time I showed up early to a client’s house.

When the dogs didn’t greet me at the door and I heard an, “Oh fuck,” come from upstairs, I assumed the dogs were at the groomer’s and someone forgot to tell me.

I hate showing up when there are no dogs. Not only do I not get paid for a walk, I have to sit and listen to people over apologize and explain why their life was so hard that they couldn’t call me and cancel.

“Hello!” I called to announce myself. As if the house alarm chime ringing through the house didn’t make my entrance obvious enough.

A single bark shot down the stairs. So there was a dog to walk after all. A dog that never left the side of her owner who was taking a ridiculously long time coming down the stairs.

I wiped my shoes on the welcome mat and stepped into the living room with vaulted ceilings.

An elongated “Oh God,” floated over the banister and down to my level.

“You’re kidding me,” I thought to myself. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

I make a whole lot of noise when I come into someone’s house. Mostly because I don’t like scaring people, but also because opening the door to one client in his boxers was one time too many.

Unless the acoustics of the house only worked in one direction, there was no way these people didn’t hear my knock on the door, the alarm chime, the jingling of my enormous key ring, my hello, and near slam of their front door.

If I had snuck in quietly and sent them scurrying off the couch with throw pillows hiding sensitive areas, I would be mortified and apologetic. As it was, I was just pissed.

Pissed and awkwardly stuck in their living room weighing my options.

If I left and came back later, I risked them still being home and trying to cover up the obvious fact that I had already been there and left. That seemed super awkward and a waste of my time.

If I left and never came back, well, that would be unprofessional.

I decided to wait it out, then had second thoughts. What if they really didn’t hear me? What then? How long would I wait in silence before pretending to have just walked in the house? How would I know if they heard me and were just taking their time and then caught me pretending? There was no non-awkward solution.

As I backed toward the door in indecision, the dog came flying down the stairs followed by one owner in flannel pants and a pink tank top.

I greeted her like nothing had happened. My plan was to grab the dog and go but she sat down on the second to last stair and started chatting like we were sharing a table at a coffee shop.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Busy,” I said, clipping the dog’s leash and reaching for the door handle.

“Got any plans for the weekend?”

Seriously? It’s one thing to exchange ‘hellos’ and ‘have a great days' while pretending your partner isn’t smoking a cigarette eight feet above our heads, but engaging in idle chitchat while I’m trying to flee the situation is just plain inappropriate.

And so, dear reader, unless you too want to spend your entire career trying not to think about your clients having sex every time you open a front door, stick to your office job, where people are more likely to have their intimate moments in closets where you don’t frequent or on desks behind locked doors.