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

The Three Bs

There is an element of the unknown in my day. It's the madness of unloading the dogs and the commotion created by running into a random mountain biker or recreational hiker with their own dog. There is also a beauty at the end of the walk, when the dogs are all tired and blissfully happy after their little adventure.

After a week, I finally come up with a plan to consume something other than the ice coffee and pastry I buy at Starbuck's on the Sunset Strip every morning after the first walk. Today I call ahead and order a salad from a café in Westwood just blocks from Twyla, the chubby English Labrador's house. Twyla is as sweet and quiet as they come. She is also a senior, so all of her movements are slow and I have to lift her into the car. She is my last drop off of the day and snoring in the back of Stinky when I run into the café. She is still asleep when I return. I rest the salad on my lap and open the plastic container. Before I can dig in with my fork, Twyla flies between the the two front seats and crash lands onto my lap and in my salad. Lucas stares at her in shock as she chomps away at the lettuce and pasta that is scattered everywhere.

Even Lucas is showing signs of fatigue. One day when the car is full, he pokes his head up behind my left shoulder strap, kisses my ear and rests his head on my shoulder. I too wonder how many more days Bonnie will be gone but I don't have the heart to ask her. Her days are more grueling than mine. Helping her mother choose a dress for the wake and another for the funeral.

After months of having very little to do, I get a call from one of the Executive Producers at Chelsea Pictures at the worst possible time. After all these months, Danielle is at long last calling to offer me a producing job. It's a low budget music video for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club but I am still excited. The director happens to be her younger brother who is an emerging filmmaker and who works for the band as a roadie.

I don't want Danielle to know that I am walking dogs, but I am I am certain she can hear all of the panting in the car. When I speak with her brother, the director, later that afternoon from home, I make it sound as if I have been busy with production meetings on another project all day. We agree to meet the following evening at a bistro near the Beverly Center. I don't know how I am going to get the energy to clean up and drive back out to West Hollywood after being out with the dogs all day but I will have to find a way.

I feel like I am on a blind date when I arrive with my laptop. As we sit down at an outdoor table illuminated by string lights, my cell phone rings. I quickly turn it off and slip it into my computer bag. William is about my age and very cute. He has a clear vision and is passionate about his project but is inexperienced as a filmmaker so our conversation goes in circles. He earnestly tells me he doesn't care about earning any money. He doesn't understand that the single digit budget being provided by the band's management isn't even enough cover the cost of a camera package or the skeleton crew he will need for the shoot days.

I can tell he is frustrated with my inability to think like a run and gun producer. I am equally frustrated. I am not willing to work for free. I am earning roughly $350 per day subbing in for Bonnie. Granted, it's not on a film about a cool rock n' roll band but right now I'm not willing to give it up, especially under the circumstances.

As soon as our meeting concludes and William leaves the table, I turn on my cell phone. I have several missed calls and voicemails from the same unfamiliar number. Before I can check the voicemail, it rings again and I answer it. I am surprised to hear Schorsch's voice rambling on the other end. He is saying that Anderson and Rob have been in a serious car accident and have been taken to the emergency room at UCLA.

I drive to the hospital in disbelief. I had just happened to see Anderson, Rob and Ainsley a few hours ago when I was dropping off one of Bonnie's clients who lives on the same street. Anderson was in a nautical striped shirt buckling Ainsley up in the car seat in the back seat of the Jaguar. I waved and stopped briefly to say hello. She mentioned that they were on their way to California Pizza Kitchen in Westwood for dinner.

Walking into their hospital room feels like a nightmare. Brenda's husband, Christopher looks up at me from a metal visitor's chair next to Rob's hospital bed. Rob is wearing a neck brace and a splint on his leg. He is mumbling about his car. Anderson is in the next bed to him with a splint on her arm and a splint on her leg. Her face is swollen and she cannot speak because her jaw is broken. They are both covered in cuts and dried blood.

Christopher explains that Rob hit a tree blocks from their house trying to pass a car on the wrong side. A tree branch drilled through the windshield and pierced the backseat just above Ainsely's head. It is a miracle she is alive.

I walk over to the pediatric ward and find Brenda and Cara looking over her. We are all speechless as we stare at Ainsley who cries and screams hysterically. As she lays in the plastic cradle wailing, I hear her say the words, "I want my Mommy." I am not sure if it is real or if I have imagined it. I look over at Brenda and Cara who both have incredulous and bewildered looks on their faces and I know they heard the words too.

Anderson's Mom flies in to take care of Ainsley. A few days later, Anderson's Dad arrives. I am too busy with the dogs to be of much help but I try to stop by the hospital every night on my way home from work. Rob and Anderson have been moved to separate rooms. Brooke is usually in Anderson's room when I visit. I notice the nursing take turns checking her out and many sneak pictures of her whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Even Anderson's Dad can't help himself. Every time I stop by the hospital, he asks if he can get a picture of Brenda and Brooke and I at the foot of his daughter's bed. One evening, we awkwardly comply. He directs us to get closer in the photo and stand at the foot of Anderson's bed. He smiles as he captures the moment.

"The three Bs."

In the background behind us, his daughter's jaw has been wired shut and she still cannot speak.

Outside of the hospital, there is growing sentiment that Anderson should leave Rob. Nobody in their couples friends group has ever been a fan of his and now Brenda and Brooke have designed a plan to help Anderson exit her marriage. Rob has many shortcomings but he is also kind and loyal. He is not a natural family man like Brenda's husband or Erin's husband but Anderson would not have married him had he been that type of man. She is a restless soul and an adrenaline junkie herself. They had met at an exclusive rock climbing gym in Manhattan. Their courtship was about spontaneous weekend trips to Paris and helicopter skiing in Aspen.

Despite all of their financial resources, they live like undocumented immigrants. They have a history of abrupt moves across the country and don't file their taxes. Anderson has been arrested for writing bad checks and every few months she lines up at the Department of Water and Power with the red notice in her hands to pay their utility bill in cash.

Shortly after they are released from the hospital, Brenda frantically summons all of us to Rob and Anderson's house. A social worker is on her way over and Brenda needs help cleaning the house and disposing of the extensive pornography collection before the social worker arrives. Erin is the one who takes a stand and refuses to help. She calls me to tell me why she is not coming over.

"That little girl deserves to live in a clean house. That little girl deserves to grow up in a house that doesn't have pornography in it. So maybe social services should take her and place her in a home with responsible people."

Erin's words are like cold water on my face. I realize then that I have been sucked back into the drama. I need to focus on writing and finding meaningful work instead.