Must love dogs, and a sense of humor really helps.
When I envisioned my dog-walking service, I saw myself dressed in a cute white sweater and 501 red-tag Levis, walking along the Pacific shoreline with six attentive, well-behaved Golden Retrievers and Labradors. Being my own boss, making my own hours and being around dogs all day long. What could be better?
Reality hit on my second day of professional dog-walking, when I twisted my ankle and fell face-first into the sand after chasing a ball-obsessed, overweight yellow Labrador named Willard and a Sheepdog named Bear who behaved like she was on an acid trip. Sand was everywhere—up my nose; down my pants; in my mouth, my shoes, my hair. It was an exceptionally bad start to my new career.
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