I had the pleasure of dog sitting this weekend, which may be in contention for the best job ever. What could be better than getting paid to play with two adorable Boston Terriers? Not only that, but I get to eat their owner’s food and watch cable TV. (I haven’t had cable in my apartment for over a year–I forgot how many awesome, bad, and awesomely bad shows are out there.)
It’s not all fun and games though. Living in a swank condo for the weekend comes with the challenge of walking two dogs at once. Boris is the larger but younger dog. He walks quickly with determination and perseverance. He knows where he wants to go and he’s going to go there–no amount of coaxing or pulling will change his mind. Natasha is older and has a bad hip. She walks slowly, lagging behind and sniffing everything. So I’ve got one dog walking a full leash-length in front of me, and one walking a full-leash length behind me. We’re a jogger’s worst nightmare.
But the sidewalk isn’t where the problem is. Boris always leads the way on the walk. Often, usually on a Friday or Saturday night, he likes to pull us towards Division St. For those not in Chicago, Division is lined with boutiques and al fresco dining. It’s the place to be on a weekend, and Boris knows that. He and Natasha love to trap waiters in their leashes and stick their faces in diner’s laps. Boris also likes to try to peek inside boutiques. Most people laugh at their antics, but occasionally I’ll get a “Can’t you control your dogs? Keep them on the residential streets!” look. I want to tell them that they’re not my dogs and Boris insisted upon this route, but instead i just apologize and try to trick Boris into heading down a side street.
In short, I have a whole new level of appreciation for this guy: