My Dog Years: For Every Year I Walk Dogs, I Age 7

Homina, Homina, Homina

Almost overnight, the park had gone from being an oasis, to a place where I wished I didn't know anyone. Because of this, Lucas and I had reverted to the early shift at the park where we were only familiar with Scott the dogwalker and a few other dog owners. There was no traction on any of my writing projects and the post 911 employment situation was dire. My days were all about numbers. Every morning I woke up, weighed myself then logged onto the Internet and checked my steadily dwindling bank balance. The only writing I seemed to be doing was keeping track of my Weight Watchers points. Were it not for all of Lucas' activities, my waking hours would have been completely without structure.

A small assignment with Premiere Magazine called Tom Cruise Slept Here, which had been tossed my way by an editor I routinely pestered, had been killed. The piece, which was about the first homes of celebrities when they arrived in Hollywood was more research than writing and had kept me busy for a couple of weeks. My network of television commercial casting directors and talent wranglers turned out to be fruitful resources and within a few weeks I had come up with the first-time addresses for just over a dozen then unknown television and movie stars.

The manager of the Farmer's Daughter Motel on Fairfax confirmed that Charlize Theron had been a guest for a few weeks. An assistant director went on record with a hilarious story about James Gandolfini living in a shed overlooking the Hollywood Bowl that very inconveniently didn't have a bathroom. Renee Zellweger's manager shared that he had discovered her outside an apartment building on Larchmont where Mae West had once lived.

Instead of getting a greenlight from the editor once I turned in my research, he surprised me with his decision to hand my research to an established magazine writer and turn it into a larger article. Despite my contract with the magazine, he made no mention of a kill fee and I didn't know how to ask.

My afternoons felt endless. I spent at least an hour everyday thinking about Carrie Bradshaw. She only spent a few hours every week writing her column between sexy trysts and glittering social events and it afforded her a closet full of designer clothes and shoes. I identified more with Nicolas Cage's hapless character in the movie Adaptation. Every time I sat down to write, I was plagued by thoughts about my finances, which inspired me to find a secure corporate job. This decision always left me feeling ambivalent so I would either clean my bathroom or take a hot bath. The hot bath always led me to think about the last time I had had sex and I wondered if it would ever happen again.

Most days Lucas and I met up with Bonnie and her crew for a hike or her playgroup at the park. One afternoon Bonnie asked if I would be interested in walking some of her client dogs for her so she could take an overnight trip to Las Vegas with one of her girlfriends. The proposal came with the offer of a couple of paid training days. I wasn't sure how I felt about walking dogs or if I could handle more than my own dog but I needed a change of routine as much as I needed the money.

The very next morning Lucas and I were up before our alarm and ready for our first day of training. He knew before I did that Bonnie had rolled into the alleyway behind our apartment in her perpetually dirty SUV she affectionately called, "Stinky." Fig yapped at us from Bonnie's lap as we trotted out to the car. Lucas excitedly hopped in, kissed Fig and dances around the back of the car. A pungent elixir of dog secretions stings my nose as I slide into the passenger seat. Bonnie crinkles her nose.

"Sorry about the smell. The scary part is, in half an hour, you won't even notice."

We both laughed as she put the car into drive and we began the morning route.

We picked up just one dog, a female Golden Retriever named Chelsea from a condominium just south of Wilshire, before hitting the congestion created by the 405 freeway. By the time we made it Westwood, Chelsea is panting heavily and pokes her head up between us to get Bonnie's attention. Bonnie glances over her shoulder at the dog.