First impressions

            I've come to the conclusion that I may have a fear of first impressions. I don't know why I let myself get so uncomfortable when I meet new people, but I suddenly become a complete ignoramus. Most likely, the people that I’m meeting for the first time are just as uncomfortable with themselves as I am. However, I'm really good at blubbering like an idiot for the first twenty minutes of a first attempt at conversation. My good friend Dina started a dog walking business about a year ago. Combining her two great loves, marketing and animals. She's an animal lover like I've never seen in a person before. She will stop in the middle of an involved conversation while we're strutting down the street, just to talk baby to a dog still a block away, being walked by its owner. If she had the time and space, I'm certain she would have a house full of happy, bouncing, tail-waggers and I'd never see her again. Recently, she lost her business partner to higher education when he transferred to a University out in Pennsylvania and now she has more dogs to walk than she can handle on her own. In comes Marcy, the go to person who can't seem to say no when someone needs a favor. I do love animals though. Probably more than I like most humans, so it's really not much of a sacrifice. When Dina asked me if I could help her out with some of the walks, I figured why not, I could use the exercise and the extra income. Also, most of the dogs are conveniently located in the apartment building directly across from mine. Mind you, the building itself is a little intimidating as it is. It definitely separates the classes in the neighborhood and people with money always made me nervous to begin with. The architecture of the building is a shiny new modern design that seems a bit out of place on our dingy street. It looks more like a three tier wedding cake next to the shabby, prewar, bunt cake that I live in. But I brush that aside and cross the street to no man's land for an interview with my neighbor, Rob. Rob is the proud owner of Hercules, aka Boogie, as his close pals like to call him. Boogie got his nickname due to the eye boogie that tends to accumulate in the inner corners of his eyes. He's a spunky little black and white shih tzu with a whole lot of energy.

            This is the part of the job that I hate though, meeting the mom's and dad's of these dogs. I can't help but feel like I'm being assessed for signs of being a dognapping Cruella Deville or someone who might be into bestiality and could possibly be carrying whips in anticipation. These people love their dogs enough to hire someone just to walk them around the neighborhood while they're at work. Some even have these strangers spend the night in their apartments so the dogs won't feel lonely while the owners are away. No latchkey dogs for these folks. They want the best care for their babies and I better measure up to their expectations.

            The pressure is almost at a max by the time I show up at Rob's door, but luckily, Boogie was wagging his tail and jumping up on me the second I was able to utter a greeting. After some awkward introductions and a tour of the apartment, I couldn't help but sound like a complete buffoon when Rob asked me some simple questions. For example, "So which building do you live in across the street?" Rob inquires.

"Oh, I live in the one on the right."

"The second or third building?"

I scratch my head in confusion while Boogie is likely feeling my awkwardness and licking the skin off of my arm, "Ah, there are only two apartment buildings. Isn't that third building a factory?" I said.

Rob gets up and looks out the window, "There's three buildings and then the factory."

I get up realizing that he's right, before I even go to the window for a look. "Oh, yeah, the middle one. I just never really paid attention to that first one. I suppose I just walk past it to my building in auto pilot then shift into manual when I get to my door." I'm an idiot. I've lived on this street for nearly TWO years and I couldn't remember what my side of the street looks like? Apparently, I forgot how to count too. Good thing Boogie likes me. Otherwise, I'd be out of a dog to walk. Then, when I went off on a tangent about a casual topic, halfway into my story I lost my train of thought and started to think, where am I going with this? I did have a point when I started. Didn't I? Then closed my pointless statement with Rob looking at me, eyes blinking and jaw slightly slack in confusion. After that, I was on high alert for signs for my cue to leave. He was polite though, and I got through the interrogation, eventually, with a time and date scheduled for Boogie's next walk. So, I suppose I passed the test. I may be a bit of an imbecile when it comes to conversation, but I'm no Cruella Deville.

            This afternoon, when I got to the door I could already hear Boogie's excitement on the other side. The second I opened it, I was greeted with so much enthusiasm I nearly shut it again just so that I could relive the moment one more time. When I entered the apartment I searched through Boogie's drawer of shirts to find something that could cover his furry body from the rain that was beginning to sprinkle down outside. Unfortunately, I had to don a Yankees shirt on the poor fellow. It was either that or a choice between a vivid blue and white striped sailor shirt and a fleece reindeer outfit. I am a girl but I'm not that girly. I don't think Boogie would appreciate looking like a reindeer right now anyway.

            When we stepped outside, Boogie seemed a little reluctant about the rain and I felt a little uneasy forcing him to take the first few steps from under the buildings awning. But once he got acquainted with the rain and knew there was no going back, off he went. There was no say where we were going to go at this point. I was making him walk but he was telling me where to go, and fast. I didn't realize how out of shape I was until a half hour in and twenty light posts and fire hydrants later, I was huffing and puffing like I just stepped off a treadmill at the gym. I might have legs five times longer than that soggy little shih tzu, but I wouldn't wage a bet on my winning any marathons against that powerhouse of energy. I better start powerwalking to the train from now on if I plan on doing this for a while. Later this week I have Bucky the boxer to take for a walk. I just hope my first impression on him will be enough to garnish some sympathy when he realizes just how out of shape I am. This ought to be interesting--or painful.