A city street--

It’s cold, cold enough to see you breath, which has only happened a handful of times this “winter”. It’s close to the California last call; but we wrapped up our bitching about boys before the bar tender announced that its time to get the hell out. I should have asked my friend to stay before I let her drive off. What an afterthought.

Now I’m back in my apartment, struggling to get two dogs out the door at once. I’m appreciative of the cocktails I had earlier, making the task seem less stressful and more funny. I’m dog sitting my co-worker’s 50 pound Catahoula, Mia. Per my apartment lease, I am only allowed to have one dog in my apartment at a time; so I’m supposed to be sneaking the three of us quietly and inconspicuously into the elevator. Instead I’m barking, pun intended, orders to the unruly dogs and I’m think that trying to walk them myself is impossible.

Once we get in the elevator, my stomach sinks, as I realize that I am about to carry out the errand I have been dreading all day. My boyfriend is on a camping trip for the night and I knew I was going to have to walk the dogs by myself. The task was difficult; but I’m really scared to be walking on the street so late at night.

So I give the dogs a pep talk. As the elevator reaches the lobby, I tell them that they are no longer dogs of leisure. They are canine warriors and their job is to protect me.

Once on the street the dogs walk quickly, which makes me feel like they sensed that I was nervous. The cement is covered in a layer of water. We turn the corner and I am feeling relieved that there are no other humans in sight. Mia and Rufus select areas to do their business and we head back. As we approach our apartment’s front steps, the dogs and I run up the stairs.

We are home. Safe. And hopefully I will never have to walk two dogs, late night, by myself ever again. Knock on wood.