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Spotty Tales



Five years as a professional Dog Walker, and counting. Dogs are interesting creatures, and ceaselessly amusing. Hopefully these chapters capture something of the unique experiences I've had in their company. It's been an idea bubbling away for a while now, and very slowly forming in this Work in Progress.

Getting Started

Dana's morning began abruptly. She had been chasing all the sheep her human had counted last night to get to sleep. As they came back, her body twitched and jerked violently until she woke herself up. And the human laying beneath her. Now, for all intents and purposes, Dana might as well still have been asleep. But despite lazily draping herself across the armchair, her eyes were intently following her human wherever he went.

"He's heading towards the food," she thought with characteristic optimism, "I'm sure he is." But she'd have to be a bit surer than that before she'd deign to leave the comfort of her chair. Maybe her human would bring something over for her? She'd eaten her breakfast just a few minutes ago so naturally she was already ravenous.

Her human pulled his coat on, and then walked past the treats again. Drat! What's he doing now? She loved her human, but often felt that he should be slightly better behaved by this stage. He picked up that flat black thing that sometimes bleeped and flashed, and put it in his pocket. And then . . . yes . . . that tiny bag of treats. A tiny piece of heaven. Very tiny, granted, but heaven nonetheless. He picked it up with infuriating slowness and attached it to his belt.

Dana went from mid-flop to ballistic missile in a fraction of a second, landing with precision just a nose-length away from the treats. Her human wasn't getting any younger so she nudged the bag with her nose. Who knows, he might get the message?

Dana had only ever had one human whilst some of her friends had had several. They often warned her, "Let your human think they're in charge, they're pack animals you know." Dana quite liked hers and hoped to keep him. He certainly had his quirks though, and never really took time out to smell the roses. Or dog's bottoms for that matter. Or poos. Now that was odd because he was always picking them up. Or, more importantly, scraps of food. "Oh look, the kitchen door's open . . .".

The car was parked just four or five feet from the front door. Unless you go the pretty way. Now, coincidentally, if you go the pretty way you may find bread left out for the birds.

Finally in the car, Dana's human was mumbling about all the extra miles this probably added up to each year. Dana was overjoyed that she'd got his attention and listened closely in case he mentioned the "F" word.




Written and conceived by M J Race

Copyright © 2018 M J Race
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The Pick-Ups

From the back of the car Dana was transfixed by the treat bag she could still just about see over her human's shoulder. It emitted heavenly light and the voices of angels until it was rudely obscured by a clipboard. Her human glanced at it: The Health and Safety Executive Risk Assessment for Dog Walkers. Number 1. Trip Hazards.

"Trip hazards", her human muttered to himself, "This is one of the few jobs where they hurl themselves at me! And without them I wouldn't have a job!" His mind wandered off briefly - the ivory towers in which the HSE worked were presumably not very high - OK, enough, his body would have to catch up with his mind and start wandering very soon. He flipped the page to review today's schedule.

Dana knew the itinerary by heart, and often wondered why her human spent so much time faffing around. It was Rocky first. Obviously.


Rocky was a downtrodden creature from a household where he was expected not to jump up, not to bark, not to lick, and generally not to behave like a dog at all. His humans would have been better off getting themselves a Victorian child who knew its place. But, historical people breeders were far and few between, so Rocky became the underdog.




Written and conceived by M J Race

Copyright © 2018 M J Race
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Strictly Come Walking

The gate to the field was in sight. But the closer they got the more distracted each of the dogs became. At precisely the same moment Dana shot forwards, Molly came to a standstill right in front of the human's feet, and Rocky stopped behind to relieve himself. In the next split second the human was airborne, taking the weight of Dana's lunge, careful not to trip over of tread on Molly, landing with impressive accuracy, and a neat little pirouette to finish off the routine. Now to pick up after Rocky before the other dogs decided whether to sniff it, tread in it, roll in it, or eat it.

Dame Bussell would have envied the lightness of the human's feet, his speed and his balance, but Strictly Come Dancing this wasn't. It would be hard to stir a human audience when you're muddy, dizzy, tied up in dogs leads, and holding a bag of poo.

The dogs thought he was cool though. Maybe tomorrow they'd try to make things even more fun.




Written and conceived by M J Race

Copyright © 2018 M J Race
All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.