People think dog walking is peaceful.

“Must be so relaxing,” they say.

“Just you and the dogs,” they say.

“How easy, just walking around fields,” they say.

Well, let me tell you what it’s really like.

Strap in.

1. I talk to dogs like they’re my colleagues, and honestly, they’re more reasonable.

“Right lads, let’s get ourselves together.”

“Please don’t be weird today.”

“I’m one latte away from giving up, don’t test me.”

Dogs nod along.

Humans nearby slowly increase their walking speed.

2. A split poo bag once exploded on me. (Ok, maybe more than once)

Nothing says “I love my job” like wearing someone else’s cold, squishy regrets on your sleeve.

And leg.

And soul.

Standing in a field whispering,

“Don’t swear. You’re a professional.”

3. I’ve been dragged from my own van by a Labrador.

Labs don’t exit vehicles.

They detonate from them.

Professionalism goes straight out the window as I get dragged down the road like a ragdoll on speed.

4. I have fallen in the mud. More than once? Maybe.

Always after saying something like:

“It’s not that muddy today.”

The dogs stare at me like,

“Well. We weren’t expecting that, but alright,”

as they dive in for face licks.

5. Every dog has a nickname and none of them would hold up in court.

A few examples..

Winnie Winnie Woo Woo (Win Wins for short)

The Bobster

Coopie Woopie

Little Miss Jumpsalot

6. I sing narrations of whatever chaos is happening, loudly, and without warning.

Some people hum quietly.

I, apparently, sing my way through disasters like a deranged Disney princess.

It’s always something deeply unglamorous like:

🎵 “Don't step on the poo poo?”

🎵 “Oh dear God, what are you eating now?”

🎵 “No no no no NO don’t roll in thaaaat!”

I don’t even realise I’m doing it until another walker appears out of nowhere and I have to pretend I was definitely talking to the dogs.

The dogs, by the way, look just as mortified as I am.

7. I pretend I meant to jog when I’m actually being dragged.

A dog pulls → I involuntarily sprint → a stranger appears → now I must act like I’m “just keeping fit.”

Absolutely not.

I haven’t voluntarily run since 2017.

8. I can predict a poo like a fortune teller. I know the dog needs a poo before he does.

The sniff.

The spin.

The faraway look.

I could charge money for this gift.

9. I congratulate poos that should genuinely be studied by scientists.

“GOOD BOY!” or “Jesus, what did you have for dinner last night?”

I say, enthusiastically, whilst my soul leaves my body through my nostrils.

10. I’ve yelled things in public no sane person should ever say.

“WILL YA STOP LICKING HIS WILLY!!”

“SHEEP ARE NOT YOUR ENEMY!!”

“IF YOU EAT THAT I’M MOVING TO SPAIN!”

“DON’T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT ROLLING IN THAT!”

11. Some days the dogs are better behaved than the humans I meet.

And I stand by this wholeheartedly, without a shred of sarcasm.

12. I regularly convince myself I'm single handedly ruining the universe if I'm running late.

There's nothing like sitting in traffic, gripping the steering wheel, whispering,

"THIS IS IT. THIS IS HOW I DIE."

My brain:

"You're five minutes behind schedule."

My nervous system:

"WE ARE DOOMED. THE WORLD IS ENDING."

13. I dry dogs in the rain.

There's nothing quite like trying to dry a dog when it's absolutely pissing it down. I don't even need to explain this one

In Summary

Dog walking is in fact...

Muddy.

Messy.

Ridiculous.

Traumatising.

Frequently hilarious.

And honestly?

I wouldn’t trade it for anything because for every fall, every explosion of poo, every spontaneous musical number, there’s a quiet moment of trust, and the kind of joy that makes the madness worth it.

And yes…

There will absolutely be a Part Two.

Because the material? Endless.