The Craziest Dog Walking Tale Ever

So ten years ago, I thought I’d make a little side money by dog walking in my Nashville neighborhood. People would hire me to go to their house or apartment when they were at work, and take their dogs out for a walk. Most of the time it was uneventful.

The weirdest thing that ever happened was at an elderly couple’s home. They’d leave for the weekend and I’d visit their poodle twice a day to feed and walk her. We’ll call her Daisy. Daisy was great on a leash, but destructive in the house. She had a serious garbage addiction, and left alone for an hour she’d masticate her bed and spread the contents around the house.

So one random weekend when I was in-charge of her, I noticed she’d gotten into every trash basket in the time between her owners leaving and my first visit. There wasn’t much left, just scattered paper plate bits and plastic she had vomited up on the carpet. I cleaned it up and it was business as usual.

When I arrived for my next visit, I knew something was off right away. Usually Daisy was waiting at the narrow window next to the front door, barking her puffy little head off. There was no Daisy. As I got to the door, I heard strange muffled noises from the other side. Just loud desperate whines followed by huffing. The noise of something in high distress. Something dying in a loud way.

My brain immediately spun back to the trash baskets, and I remembered picking up chewed up bits of plastic. She must have eaten something toxic, like a cleaning product. I was in an absolute panic as I unlocked the deadbolt and threw open the door.

Many front doors open into hallways, but this one opened right into a quaint living room decorated with classic old-person decor, light pink furniture and odd teal wallpaper. I was very familiar with this room as it was one of Daisy’s favorite spots to spread garbage. On the couch immediately in front of me were three teenage boys masturbating. The noises I had mistaken for the death rattles of a poodle, were in fact coming from a porno playing on the tv. And there, laying in the middle the floor on the shredded remnants of her dog bed, was Daisy. She yipped shrilly at the sight of me and began prancing and hopping. Her little cotton ball tail wagged furiously. Everyone was yelling. I was yelling. The teenagers who were pulling up their pants were screeching over Daisy’s thrilled barks. The woman on the TV was reaching a very noisy climax. I pulled out my phone and began dialing the police. I must have asked them how they broke in, because one of the teens was repeating that he had a key. He knew there was a key hidden under a rock. They weren’t running away, so while the phone rang, I demanded their IDs. Don’t call the cops, they were begging. One of the boys held up an ID. He had the same last name as the clients, and he was seventeen. He was their grandson. In fact, I realized later that the culprit’s face was displayed proudly on the fridge with magnets.

I hung up my cell and snapped pictures of each of their licenses on my phone while they begged me not to tell the one kid’s grandparents. One of them even cried. The porno tape continued to play in the background. One of the strangest moments in my life. In the end I just let them go. Daisy and I kept this whole thing to ourselves. Until now.


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