The Cynical Career Counselor Explains Your Future as a

Dog Walker

Hi kid--no, you can't bring the pooch in here--it's not one of those helper dogs, is it? No? Then out it stays. Those dogs are amazing. I saw one on TV once that could start a car and clean the windshield before... uhm, what are you wanting to know about? Dog walker? That might be a good after school thing, but as a career? You researched it on the internet, huh? 50 grand a year? Hmm--you'll need the right set of circumstances, but I guess it might be possible.

You'll need to get connected to the right neighborhood. Judging from your school info on my computer here, you don't live in the most upwardly mobile part of town, so you need to find other ways to make friends in that community.

Your best bet will be the most pretentious businesses you can find--probably the trendy coffee place in the "shopping promenade"--the truly pretentious don't shop in mere "malls" any more--that also has the upscale pet salon. You'll soon come to recognize the regulars who drop their dogs off for a weekly massage, shampoo and manicure, and while they're drinking their double decaf soy chai lattes you'll chat about the difficulty of finding the right person to take their beloved shitzu for its daily constitutional.

You'll feign surprise when the first one wishes out loud that someone like you could do it, and soon that will lead to your mentioning that you don't start at the coffee shop until the afternoon. Before long, you've got three or four clients paying you more to shlep their puppies around than a typical daycare provider gets for watching a dozen human children.

Once you're established, you'll take advantage of the brownie points you earned by staying late to do those little "extras" at the coffee shop--you can figure that one out for yourself--and they'll be only too happy to let you put a little stand on the counter with business cards for your dog-walking service, at least until the manager figures out you aren't coming back to provide any more "favors" and chucks your display in the garbage.

Your business grows--you have the right combination of perky, wholesome and respectful to quickly win over the rich dog owners who lavish you with tips and over the top christmas and birthday gifts, attempting to outdo each other--and soon you're hiring some of your old school friends to help you out. You have your business logo printed on a bunch of those orange safety vests, and you're taking night courses on canine psychology to prevent any more accidents like the tragic decapitation of a pekingese in the jaws of a boxer with anger-management issues.

Fortunately for you, the Pekingese was owned by a woman who was out of the country and whose stock broker husband was only too glad to help make up an excuse for the untimely demise of the creature he referred to only as that "squash-faced spoiled baby surrogate".

Still, it was a close call--if word of such a tragedy got out, you could lose your goldmine in an instant.

You'll start dividing the dogs by breed and temperament, and assigning them to your employees who specialize in working with each group. The business keeps expanding, and soon you're able to lease a small office in the same "promenade" where you used to serve espresso.

The tragic end will be totally unexpected. First, there is a freak March snowstorm that blankets the city. Dog owners still insist on the daily walk; your reliability is key to your success. Unfortunately, your two assistants scheduled to work that day take one look at the window and both phone in sick. You struggle to your office, and wait patiently as one four-wheel drive Lexus or BMW SUV after another drops off the shivering dogs.

The last dog is dropped off by someone you don't recognize--it's the lawyer for a very wealthy spinster who died a week earlier. He explains that he will still need your services for a while longer; there is some question about where the dog will be living now that its loving owner has passed on, bequeathing her entire estate to the dog, much to the chagrin of her outraged relatives.

After the lawyer leaves, you head out in the snow. Your normal route is treacherous, and you aren't paying much attention to anything other than keeping the larger-than-usual pack together and out of the path of oncoming traffic.

Eventually, you wind up at a deserted park, and pause for a moment to answer a call on your cell. It's from someone who claims to be the caretaker of the newly-wealthy pomeranian who is at that moment humping your leg, and when you tell him your location, you're surprised to see a black SUV round the corner and speed toward you.

The gunman can't take any chances--he shoots all of the dogs, and you as the only witness. Eventually, the investigation team will use the cell phone call and tire impressions to lead them to one of the angry nephews who couldn't bear to let a spoiled pooch cheat him of his inheritance.

His conviction won't do you any good, though. Still, when your employees take over the business, they'll add your gravesite to their regular waking route. If you treated them well, maybe they'll even scoop up the little remembrances the dogs leave by your headstone.