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A collection of funny, feel-good, happy-ever-after dog stories (fiction) told by the ever-quirky, ever-sarcastic Brett
Picking up where This Will Not Look Good on My Resume left off (sort of—is it a job if you really like what you’re doing?) (and don’t really get paid for it?), Dogs Just Wanna Have Fun is a collection of funny, feel-good, happy-ever-after dog stories (fiction) told by the ever-quirky, ever-sarcastic Brett. Also featured are her own two dogs, Kessie and Snookums, and her four regulars, Chum, Hunk, Little Miss, and Spunky Doo.
It all started because I kept getting fired. I’d had over a dozen jobs in the last year and lost every one of them. Though ‘lost’ probably isn’t quite the right word. It sounds so…sad.
So I thought I’d create my own job. I decided I’d become a dog walker. Well, I was already a dog walker. I took Kessie for a walk several times a day. As she, to all appearances, took her bright green tennis ball for a walk. Don’t leave home without it.
And now we had Snookums too. Snookums was just a little baby. A sweet little bundle of licks and kisses. About twelve weeks. And six pounds. She (too) had me wrapped around her little paw. Her teeny little paw with the still baby pink pad. The one she lifted when she wanted me to carry her. In the snuggly sling thing I wore for just that purpose.
So, since I was already going for walks with Kessie and Snookums, what I meant was that I’d decided to become a professional dog walker. I’d get money to do it. I wouldn’t do it any better, mind you. I’d just get paid for it.
I put up signs in the neighborhood, and within a week I’d received three responses. Not from the dogs, of course. As far as they were concerned, they could walk on their own. Most had been doing so pretty much since birth. Which is more than I can say for members of my own species.
So a week later, Kessie, Snookums, and I were on our way to pick up Hunk. A male doberman who was aptly named, but not quite as big as his owner wanted him to be. Nor, he indicated, with gesture and facial expression, as smart. After a few days with Hunk, however, I decided the guy was wrong—and realized it’s true: it takes one to know one.
While we stopped to get Hunk, Kessie was patient, but indifferent. After all, she had a bright green tennis ball in her mouth. As for Snookums, she peeked with curiosity from the safety of her snuggly thing. At the dog! The BIG DOG!! She squiggled in excitement. She likes nothing better than being part of a pack. Even if it is from the safety of her snuggly thing.
Our next stop was to pick up Little Miss Bo Peep. Little Miss was a female standard poodle. A very white, very clean, standard poodle. So she had outgrown the ‘Little’ but not the ‘Miss’. Where the ‘Bo Peep’ came from, I have no idea.
Kessie was again patient, Snookums was again excited, and Hunk was—interested.
Next stop was for Spunky Doo. Half hound, half clown. Unlike Hunk’s architect and Little Miss Bo Peep’s lawyer, both of whom didn’t have time to walk their dogs, Spunky Doo’s owners did walk him. In the morning before they went to work, in the afternoon as soon as they got home, and again at night. And still Spunky Doo was a one-dog demolition crew. So the idea was that if I walked him during the day, he’d work off the excess energy he’d been channeling into deconstructing the living room furniture. Or maybe the walk would alleviate the boredom that led to his daytime amusements. In any case, if Spunky Doo wasn’t in the house, he couldn’t wreck the house. No argument there.