Dog Walker

by Karen Spafford-Fitz

Gretzky yips beside me. “What’s that?” Leo points at Gretzky. “Gretzky. The cockapoo I told you about. She belongs to Loretta, this woman that Mom knows. Loretta’s husband is Dad’s boss.”

  “I get it. Someone you’ve gotta impress, right?”

  “Right. We’re looking after Gretzky for her this weekend.”

  “Lucky you.” Then Leo catches himself. “I mean—I don’t hate dogs or anything. It’s just that they do some gross stuff. You know, like smelling each other’s butts.”

  I decide not to tell Leo why I have plastic bags wadded up in my pocket.

  Instead I say, “Yeah, and too bad they’re not allowed in coffee shops. So Leo, do you mind?”

  “You expect me to fall for that?”

  “What?”

  “Who bought the hot chocolates last week? And the week before that?”

  “But Leo, I’m out of cash.”

  “Again? Ask your parents for some. They’ve got loads of dough.”

  “Truth is, Leo, they’re ticked off at me.”

  “What for this time?”

  “A few comments I made. About the Monopoly game last night.”

  “Monopoly? Don’t tell me. More quality family time?”

  “You got it. Nothing I’d rather be doing. Not that I have any better options. Not with my thrilling life, you know.”

  “I hear you.” Leo nods.

  Then we both get quiet. Leo’s probably thinking about the same thing I am: the big zero of our social lives. Neither Leo, nor me, nor the rest of our friends can figure it out. Sure, we’re kind of skinny and shy. And we don’t attract girls like those athletic guys do. You know, the types who score dates with girls even faster than they score points for their hockey and basketball teams. But still, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with us either.

  The only way we even have the tiniest social life is by a total fluke. Leo’s cousin, Meghan, is one of the popular in-demand girls at school. She is always touching up her makeup at her locker or sorting out her complicated social life over the cell phone that’s permanently glued to her ear. Along with her best friend, Lexia, Meghan occasionally takes pity on Leo and me and invites us along for a Coke or something.

  “Okay, okay,” Leo says. “I’ll get the drinks.”

  Leo turns back before he steps into the coffee shop. “How about getting a job, man?”

  “Not you too!” I say, thinking back to Mom’s words.

  Suddenly Gretzky yaps and tugs at her leash.

  “What a little sweetheart! Can I pat your puppy?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  I fix my eyes on the girl in front of me. Her blond hair bounces as she reaches to rub Gretzky’s chin. “Oh, you little darling. You like this, don’t you?”

  Yeah, what’s not to like!

  But just like before, I can’t think of anything to say.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Uh, Gretzky.”

  “Gretzky? Like the hockey player?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, he’s gorgeous.”

  “Uh, yeah. Only it’s not a boy dog. More like...uh...a girl.”

  “Oh. I didn’t notice.” She blushes in a shade of pink that matches her lipstick. “Cute. Gretzky the girl. I like that.”

  I nod dumbly.

  “Hello, Gretzky Girl.” She shakes Gretzky’s paw. “I’m Mallory. How do you do?”

  Just then, Leo steps out of the coffee shop.

  “Here you go, Turk.” At the sight of Mallory, Leo pulls his hand away. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Like me and the rest of our friends, Leo fails miserably in the girlfriend department. But that doesn’t stop him from being totally girl crazy. And at least he can think of something to say. Unlike me.

  “I’m Mallory,”

  she says. “Hi, Mallory. I’m Leo.”

  “Oh, hi.” Mallory glances at her watch. “Sorry, but I’ve gotta go.” She looks down at Gretzky again. “Bye, Gretzky Girl.”

  “Just when I was getting somewhere— maybe.” Leo shakes his head sadly as she walks away. “By the way, Turk, how did you manage that?”

  “What?”

  “Girls who look like that never talk to you.”

  “They do today.”

  “Oh yeah,” Leo says. “That other girl too.” He looks confused. “What’s going on?”

  “Beats me.”

  Then the answer comes to me in a rush. Or rather, in a yip.

  Yip, yip, yip.

  “Gretzky!”

  “That’s it, man. It’s the furball that girls are falling for, Turk. Not you.” Leo laughs. “I shoulda known.”

  I’m just about to remind Leo of all the times he’s struck out too when something starts to gel in my mind.

  Suddenly an idea is born. Right outside of Starbucks on Whyte Avenue.

  “Leo, man. I’m onto something.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to start a new business. My money problems are over. I’m going to be rolling in dough. And you and the rest of the guys are going to be rolling in girlfriends.”

  Leo’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Before he can ask me anything, I say, “Wait for me at your locker tomorrow after school. I’ll fill you in then. Tell all the other guys to be there too.”

  Leo whistles softly under his breath. “We’ll be there all right.”

  My future doesn’t look so grim anymore. Except for when Gretzky goes number two and I have to scoop it into a plastic bag, I smile all the way home.

  chapter four

  By Monday morning, I’m so eager to start my business that I hardly notice anything. Or anyone.

  “Move over, Turk.”

  “Sorry, Carly.”

  I close my locker partway so Carly can open hers beside me. Carly moved to my school back in grade four. For some reason, she loves running. She trains a lot with a running club, and she enters a lot of races. I don’t get that—especially with all the hard work and sweating that goes with it. But anyway, Carly’s last name, Turnbull, is close to Turkington. So our coat hooks were side by side in elementary school. Now our lockers are side by side in junior high too. That’s the good news.

  The bad news is there’s someone else whose last name is also close to mine: Turcotte. Chuck Turcotte. Or “Upchuck” Turcotte, as most of us call him. Not that he’s smart enough to notice. And speaking of sweating, Chuck does more than enough sweating for both him and me.

  “What’s up, loser? Hey, move over.” Chuck gives me a shove. Any chance to flex his big stupid muscles makes Chuck really happy.

  “Hey, Upchuck,” I say, trying not to look shaken.

  “Hey, buddy,” Chuck bellows. “I’m just playing with you a bit. But you don’t mind, right?”

  I know what’s coming next. Chuck is going to start acting like we’re best buddies. This is even worse than when he’s showing off his brute strength.

  He claps his arm over my shoulder. Unfortunately Chuck is way taller than all the grade nine guys, including me. So my face is about level with his yellow armpit stain. The smell of his stinky armpit and cheap aftershave hits me square in the face. Beside me, Carly makes a gagging sound.

  “You gotta get yourself to a gym, Stick Man,” Chuck bellows out. “Do something about that scrawny build of yours.”

  I shrug his arm off my shoulder and take a step back. “I like my scrawny build just the way it is,” I say.

  Chuck laughs. “Then I guess you haven’t checked out these biceps lately.”

  I glance over at Chuck who is admiring his biceps in the mirror he has hanging in his locker. Carly snickers. I roll my eyes. Chuck, meanwhile, is flexing hard.

  “Careful, man,” I say. “You might hurt yourself.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about me.” I take another step back. For some reason, Chuck can’t talk to anyone without being right in their face. And he also sprays about a jug full of spit at you in the process.

  Something shifts in Chuck’s locker
. He swears and tries to grab everything before it falls, but he doesn’t move fast enough. A pile of bodybuilding magazines slides onto the floor. A mountain of dirty gym clothes tumbles down after them.

  “Jeez, Chuck! You’ve gotta wash that stuff!”

  “Or burn it,” Carly says.

  Chuck stuffs everything back in.

  “Are you saving those sweaty T-shirts for trophies or something?”

  “Don’t worry about those, little man,” Chuck says. “Pump some iron, and you might fit into one of ol’ Chuck’s T-shirts yourself some day.”

  I nearly gag at the thought. And it doesn’t help that Chuck is now stuffing his face with a disgusting-looking green energy bar.

  “Can’t get enough protein into me these days.” Bits of energy bar are spraying out of Chuck’s mouth as he talks.

  Then another smell hits me. “Is that last week’s lunch rotting in there too?”

  “Could be.” As he starts combing his hair in the mirror, Chuck turns slightly toward Carly.

  “There’s girls liftin’ weights these days too, you know. You could swing by the weight room sometime. I could show you how it’s done.”

  “No thanks,” Carly says.

  “Your loss.” Chuck tosses his comb into his locker, then slams it shut.

  As he swaggers off down the hall, Carly turns to me. “I can’t believe him. He is the grossest, most obnoxious guy I’ve ever met. How can he be so totally full of himself?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea, Carly. No idea at all.”

  Finally it’s lunchtime. I’m bolting down the hall when I see Leo.

  “Hey, Leo. You’ve talked to the guys?”

  “Yep. Everyone’s meeting at my locker after school.”

  “Right on! Listen, I’ve got a few things to finish up before then. See you later!”

  I rush to the computer lab.

  Ms. Kynsi, the computer teacher, looks up from her desk. “Here to do some work, are you, Turk?”

  “Yeah.” I flop down behind a computer.

  For the next half hour, I type frantically. I don’t even notice when Ms. Kynsi walks over to my computer.

  “Is this a school assignment?”

  “Not exactly. My parents—er—cut off my allowance. So I need to find a way to make some money.”

  “So you’re preparing a resume?”

  “Not exactly. I’m starting my own business.”

  “Good for you. What type of business?”

  “A—uh—dog-walking business.”

  “How wonderful! You must really like dogs.”

  I jump. Is this a trick question? I look closely at Ms. Kynsi and decide it’s not.

  “Truth is,” I lower my voice, “I’m not going to walk the dogs myself.”

  Ms. Kynsi tips her head to the side. “So then how...?”

  “I’m going to be the manager. I’m going to hire some staff to do the work.”

  “It’s great that you have big plans,” Ms. Kynsi says. “But most businesspeople start small. They do the work themselves at first. Maybe you should get your dog-walking business up and running before you hire any staff.”

  She looks like she might laugh when she says the word staff.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say coldly. “Can I print this now?”

  “Go ahead. The printer’s on.”

  I print ten copies. Then I duck out of the computer lab as fast as I can.

  chapter five

  “Turk!” Brad spots me first.

  “What’s this business idea?” Jonathan asks.

  “Yeah,” Justin says, his face glowing almost as bright as his red hair. “And where are the girls?”

  They’ve got me surrounded at Leo’s locker. “Come on outside. I’ll explain there.”

  We stop at a picnic table at the edge of the schoolyard. “Here’s how it works. You’re all going to become dog walkers.”

  “Dog walkers?” Kyle sneers. “I’m not spending my spare time with dogs. It’s girls I want.”

  “I know,” I say. “And you know what girls can’t resist?”

  “I wish I knew.” Jonathan scratches his bald head.

  “Dogs.” I say. “Girls cannot resist dogs. A couple of them made that clear to me this weekend on Whyte Avenue.” I smile confidently and wait for my words to sink in.

  “For real, Turk? You landed a date?” Brad’s eyes are wide behind his glasses.

  “Well, not quite. But it was going that way. Just a matter of time.”

  “Says who?” Kyle asks.

  “Says my witness. Tell ‘em, Leo.”

  All eyes turn to Leo, who loves nothing more than an audience.

  “Get this,” Leo says. “I stepped outside of Starbucks and saw this amazing blond-haired girl. Mal-lor-y—” Leo draws out her name. “She’s totally hot. Just like the redhead before her. And guess who she was talking to?” Leo flips his thumb at me.

  “She was talking to Turk?” Brad says.

  “Why would she waste her time with him?” Jonathan asks.

  “You guys are right,” I say. “The girls weren’t attracted to me—at least not at first. I had somebody with me who caught their eye: Gretzky.”

  “You’re kidding! What guy couldn’t land a date if Gretzky was with him?” Kyle says.

  “Not Gretzky the hockey player,” I say. “I’m talking about Gretzky the cockapoo.”

  “A dog?”

  “Yeah, a dog. Or at least a dog to us. To all the girls out there, Gretzky is a total magnet.”

  Leo nods beside me. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself, but Turk is definitely on to something. Girls can’t walk by a dog without stopping to pat it and give it a little cuddle.”

  “And from there,” I continue, “guess who they’ll want to cuddle next? The guy holding the dog’s leash!”

  “Are you sure about that?” Kyle says.

  “It was working for me,” I say.

  As the idea sinks in, they all start talking at once.

  “So listen,” I interrupt them. “Here’s the deal. I’ll find us some dogs to walk. And I’ll collect the money from the owners. Whenever you walk a dog, I’ll pay you half the money the owner gives me.”

  “So when do I get a turn walking Gretzky?” Justin asks.

  “Soon. But first I need a few days to set everything up.” I hold up the first computer printout. “I’m going to post these ads where people with dogs will see them. Pet food stores, dog grooming salons, vet clinics.”

  “Good going, Turk,” Jonathan says. “There must be hundreds of dogs who need to be walked—hopefully cute, cuddly ones that girls can’t resist.”

  Justin gives a low whistle. “Maybe that will put us up there with the jocks.”

  “Yeah,” Brad says. “The ones who the girls fall all over.”

  “That’s the idea,” I say. I hold up the other computer printout. “In the meantime, here is an information sheet. It lists prime meeting spots where you should hang out with the dogs. You know, along Whyte Avenue, by the market on Saturday, at the Hub Mall over at the university and outside coffee shops.”

  “Wow, Turk. You think of everything,” Jonathan says.

  I nod. “One last thing. For this to work, we’ve got to keep a lid on it. If word leaks out, everyone will try the same thing.”

  “Not good,” Kyle says. “I don’t plan on sharing my dog-loving girls with anyone.”

  “Yeah, like with Upchuck and his huge ego,” Leo says.

  “He’s disgusting enough already,” Jonathan says. “And that’s when he’s only in love with himself.”

  “No kidding,” Justin says. “We wouldn’t hear the end of it if he stepped into the dating scene.”

  “Yeah, I can hear it now. Him and his hot dates!”

  “Oh gross!” Brad groans. “He’d give the rest of us a bad name.”

  “Exactly!” I say. “And remember, his locker is right beside mine. So if you have any questions, catch me in the halls. O
r let Leo know. But my locker is off-limits.”

  “Got it, Turk.”

  “I’ll call another meeting once I’ve found some dogs for us to walk. Then I’ll draw up a schedule and we’ll get started. And remember, not a word to anyone.”

  Everyone leaves, and Leo and I head for home.

  “I was just thinking,” Leo says. “The dog owners pay you cash up front, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you keep half of that, right?”

  “Right.” I smile.

  “You should do all right with this, Turk.”

  “That’s the idea. Remember how I can’t even pay for a round of hot chocolates?”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “That’s about to change.”

  Leo thinks some more. “So what about the people who own the dogs? Are you going to tell them why we’re walking their dogs? That it’s like a dating service?”

  “Why would I tell them that? The owners just want their dogs to get some exercise. We’ll take good care of their dogs.”

  “Are you gonna walk some dogs too?”

  I shake my head. “Maybe later. For now, I’ll just be the brains behind the operation.”

  Leo nods.

  “Actually, Leo.” I decide to come clean with him. “Even though I met those two girls Saturday, I didn’t know what to say to them. You know, the business is a great idea. But I don’t think it would work for me.”

  “Sure it would, Turk. You just need more practice. Like the rest of us.”

  “I’m not so sure. So for now, I’m gonna let you guys go for it.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  That’s what I like about Leo. He accepts the answers you give him. He’s a hard worker too—rounding up all the guys like that. Maybe I’ll give him a bigger cut of the profits, once business takes off.

  chapter six

  “Turk, get off the phone.” Mom fires me a threatening look.

  I wave her away. “What was that, Mrs. Nielsen? Weekends only for the next three weeks? Then Wednesdays and Thursdays? Got it. Okay, so I’ll pick up Rowdy”—I check my calendar—”nine-thirty Saturday morning.”

  I turn to Mom. “Okay. I’m done.” “For now.” Mom heaves a big sigh. “When you’re not on the family phone these days, you’re yakking into your cell phone.”