Congratulations Clingy Dogwalker!

Dog walking is a strangely intimate occupation.  You’re forced to get really, really tight with people’s dogs and then, when the owners come back, you have to pretend it’s no big deal.  It’s like you’re a nanny for retarded kids, except the retarded kids are adorable instead of horrifying.

Well, today you’re going to strike back.  After you finish your dog walking for the day and leave your charge with her master, you’ll stick around in the bushes outside your client’s house.  Then you’ll wait, hours on end, pissing into a bottle until your client emerges from her home.

When she comes out, she’ll have her dog with her, on a leash.  Her dog, your charge, won’t look sad in the least: her tail will be wagging, her mouth open slightly, tongue lolling out.  Your brain will turn to fire and you’ll burst from the bushes, spittle flying as you shout at the dog.

“FUCKING TRAITOR!”

You’ll be brandishing a knife at her owner, prompting your charge to whimper as she backs away from you.  Her owner will look genuinely confused.

“Marcy?” she’ll murmur, baffled.  “What’s going on?”

You’ll move slightly closer to her with the knife and glower at her.

“Don’t cheapen this,” you’ll beg the dog.

The dog, in response, will bark at you, twice.

You’ll fall to your knees, chin on your chest, and start sobbing.

“I don’t know how you could…” you’ll try to begin, but your tears will choke you.

The dog’s owner will put her hand on your head as you cry, petting you gently.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she’ll mumble at the top of your head, confusion still tingeing her voice.  You’ll want to shout at her that nothing is okay, that no one loves you, not really.  But instead you’ll just sit there on the pavement and weep uncontrollably, unable to form the most rudimentary words.

Congratulations Clingy Dogwalker!