No need to judge myself so harshly . . .

 . . . if all my goals weren’t accomplished on the first day. Or so I told myself. After all, a list was only a suggestion. It might take a few weeks to get the hang of my new life as a self-directed homeschooled student running two businesses and writing the great American graphic novel.

In the meantime, I’d better pay special attention to the things Mom would notice when she came home. She was the one who held the key to my future, or at least the key to my last year of high school. Prioritized right below Mom were the dogs. They’d have to be walked before their owners got home. Felix’s owner was no problem; he was nearly housebound with his emphysema and didn’t care when Felix got walked, as long as it happened before dark. The others, though—they expected their dogs to be home no later than five o’clock.

May as well have the TV on while I empty the dishwasher and wash the sink full of dirty dishes. A show was on about people who survive on their own in the Arctic wilderness. Amazing, the things they had to do just to get through the day. Did I have it in me to live in such a harsh environment? Could I? Would I?

When the dishes were done, I still didn’t know if the woman with the arsenal of weapons would be safe from prowling grizzlies that night. There was a load of clothes in the dryer that really needed to be folded before the wrinkles set in past the point of shaking them out. Mom would be happy if I folded them since she hadn’t specifically asked me to. And why not do it in the living room where I could finish watching the show? Turns out it was one of those marathons where they play the whole season in one day. After the first episode, I got lured into the next one. It was hard to tear myself away, but there was justification. I was getting an idea for a possible graphic novel. Someone living in the wilderness. Hallucinations from too much alone time. Maybe even an abominable snowman. Wolves howling at the door. Spending all that time home by myself, I thought I could relate. Before I knew it, another hour was gone, and I was going to have to hurry to give the dogs (or The Boys as I called them) the hour they had coming.

Buster, the one-eyed Chihuahua, was easy to collect. The fence between my backyard and the backyard where he spent most of his life had a loose board. If I lifted it, he’d come charging through, mad for any distraction from endless days of boredom.

Felix was next on my route, and he was an easy handoff. He scrambled on three legs faster than most dogs with four. After that, about a block away and across the street was Jennifer’s house. Jennifer, the white poodle, was a male dog with an inexplicable name. I took the key from its hiding place and went inside. Sometimes Jennifer was in his dog run, but he could always hear the key turning, and he’d dash through the doggie door, blazing with excitement. He’d walk right up to the hook in the kitchen where his leash hung and wait for me to clip him in. Poor Jennifer. Sometimes I’d call him Jim just to boost his ego a bit.

The first block was usually pretty slow since all three of The Boys stopped every few feet to mark their territory. After that they normally settled down and were ready to actually walk. Only rarely did I have to use one of the plastic baggies I kept in my back pocket.

>>>

I’d been walking for about thirty minutes when a new red SUV drove up, slowing as it passed. Alana was in the passenger seat, and she rolled down the window and waved.

“Hi, Hudson!”

Bryce Something, behind the wheel, waved even though he probably didn’t know who I was.

They turned right on the next street. I knew the area well enough to be aware of a path that connected the two parallel streets. If I cut through it, I could come out the other end just after they drove by. I figured Bryce Something was driving Alana home. Why did I care to see what street she lived on? Just curious, I suppose.

But my timing was off so I came out ahead of them. I was also unaware, until it was too late, that someone’s sprinkler runoff had turned the path into a mess of mud, devastating mostly to Jennifer’s snow-white paws.

“Hi, again!” Alana yelled out the window. “The dogs are so cute.”

They pulled into a driveway about two houses past the shortcut while I fumbled and yanked The Boys back down the same muddy path. To any outside observer, I must have looked like either a stalker or a complete fool. At least Jennifer was enjoying himself. He foraged through the forbidden mud, sniffing the strange substance and ended up with a chocolate brown muzzle to match his feet.

Time was running out to get the dogs back before their owners got home. I jogged along the sidewalk, and The Boys were happy to oblige. Even Felix had no trouble keeping up. After a few minutes the red SUV drove back (without Alana), and Bryce Something waved at me again.

I looked around for something to clean the mud from Jennifer’s paws and snout. I tried rubbing his feet on the grass but that only added a green tinge to his fur. I used the plastic bags, but they were worthless. Finally, I took off my t-shirt and wiped away whatever mud I could.

Back at Jennifer’s house I was retrieving the key from the hiding place when the door swung open. Missy, Jennifer’s thirteen-year-old owner, looked out in horror at my shirtless self and her muddy, ruined precious pet.

“What happened to her?”

“Um . . . we had a little accident. Sorry, I tried to clean him up.”

Jennifer, panting from exertion and excitement, disappeared inside the house.

“My mom’s going to be mad,” Missy’s deadpan voice was chilling. “Jennifer just got groomed last week.”

“I’ll pay for a grooming,” I offered. Jennifer was a great dog, and I would hate to lose their business.

“Do you have any idea how much that costs? More than you make in a week.”

To stand there in front of this annoying young girl and have my nose rubbed into the reality of my livelihood was almost more than I could bear.

“Him.”

“What?”

“You said her, and I’m just saying Jennifer’s a him.”

“Whatever.”

She closed the door and left me standing on her doorstep alone with Buster and Felix. After a few minutes, when nobody came out, I figured I may as well leave. Missy’s mom would either fire me, or she wouldn’t. My spirits sagged. My brief experience with entrepreneurship was on shaky ground since Jennifer represented thirty-three percent of my dog-walking business. Not to mention the word-of-mouth referrals that probably wouldn’t be forthcoming. Fortunately, Felix’s owner just laughed at the mud, and I managed to get Buster cleaned up in my bathroom before pushing him through the loose board in the fence.