People often mistake me for a dog expert. Note: I am a walker of dogs. I cannot read the mind of a dog, nor can I speak with the pet via telepathic means. I cannot diagnose a former pound puppy’s excessive howling and barking as being a manifestation of separation anxiety related to a fear of abandonment and the thought he may have to return to the aforementioned pound. I even find it difficult to pronounce Weimaraner (something with those w and r’s). I walk dogs.

While visiting a dog park a few months back, this guy handed me a card trying to sell his services as a dog walker. I felt a bit threatened at first, thinking this guy would take away potential clients. I told him that I too, was in the business and we started to talk. He seemed his-worldly, in that he existed more in his own world than the one where others existed. He probably never gets bored keeping company with his own thoughts. I know that some of my best conversations have been within my own head.

I extracted little more than his name (Jason) and something about graduate school per our initial conversation, but we forged a pretty good referral system in the weeks to come. When I meet a dog a bit too large and hyper for my smaller frame and level of patience, I pass them on to him. He does likewise if he knows a client lives closer to me or acquires too many canines to control.

It’s because of him that I met Blackie.

After the episode aired, my dad earned celebrity status at his work. He worked for a top advertising agency in Chicago and had written a commercial which found it’s way into the Seinfeld show. In this particular episode, Jerry and a date disagreed over the appeal of a Docker’s commercial. Jerry found it incomprehensible that someone could like this commercial which featured quick camera shots of men’s pants while mingling at a party and began questioning the character of his date who did find it appealing.

The commercial created an industry buzz that pleased both the Docker’s and the ad agencies’ “people”. My dad, though, kept hearing Seinfeld derisively degrade the spot he created. The same sensitivity which helped him create excellent words of art also caused him to feel hurt by this “nationally broadcast criticism of my career work.” Although a fictional television show, he believed truth underlies words said in jest and imagined the Seinfeld writers sitting around discussing how much they disliked “that Docker’s commercial”.

My father’s reaction surprised me because I thought the point of advertising related to the promotion of a product. I never imagined he cared what people thought of the campaigns on which he worked, for he still had a job which earned him decent money.

But care he did. His confidence took a tremendous beating effecting both his work and personal life. Within a year he lost his job. He claimed he never liked the advertising field anyway, denouncing its focus on money and materialism. He said people kept telling him he couldn’t make money as a writer, that advertising would prove a more lucrative career choice. So he switched from an English major to a Communications major while in college. In an attempt to remedy what he perceived as a mistake, my father returned to his writing roots and penned poems for a living. But not a paid living.

I remember walking past his office one night and peaking in to see how he was doing. The lights were off and the glow from the computer screen tinted his face blue. I asked him how it was going and he turned slowly to look at me. I was struck by how sad he looked. He smiled lightly and said things would be okay. I recall thinking, so that’s what people mean by the phrase “sad smile”, it truly was a blue smirk.

Our family life changed dramatically after the “incident”. Although never banned from watching Seinfeld, it felt taboo to turn it on while my dad wandered the house. In a show of solidarity, we (my mom sister and I) silently boycotted the show. We never could have imagined the culture status the show eventually earned, so when people now say “You know in that one Seinfeld where he…”, I have to shake my head with an apology, “Sorry, no, never saw it.”

I now walk dogs for a living. After college I never seemed to click in any of my job roles. After my last job review where my then-employer believed my “passive-aggressive personality was creating a hostile work environment”, I quit and found refuge with the dogs. My current clientele never remark about my appearance after a sleepless night, refrain from talking negatively about me with each other as they drink from the fountain (at least I think they don’t), don’t grade me on how well I clean up their crap and almost always seem happy to see me when I come into work. I finally like having a job.

And this is my Blog.