One Day in the Life of a Rover Walker
I got the request on my Rover app. It said the dog was 3.6 miles away. West Hollywood. I live near the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. An easy bike ride. Maybe twenty minutes. Why bike ride? Um, have you tried parking in WeHo, let alone the greater Los Angeles area, before a deadline? Good luck.
As I rode along Santa Monica Boulevard, trying to time my stops with the traffic lights, I started thinking about whether Rover.com was lucrative or not for people like me, dependent on flexible schedules. I’m an actor, so being available for those in-person auditions is paramount — you never know when they will happen. Pedaling faster, I also wondered if another request would pop up, instead of having just one for the day. I got closer to my destination.
Meet Butter: a rescue Pitbull Terrier, who barked a greeting when I reached the door. She has a system. A routine. She’s told me these things. In Doguese. If anyone believes these breeds are inherently dangerous and deadly, try taking a Kabbalah class. Or eat a Pop Tart. And drop that belief. Please.
Never has there been a warmer pooch than Butter. I’m playing favorites, I know, and this article may one day be read by my own daughter dog, Muff. But the fact remains: she loves visitors. She adores exercise. And she is a prime example that dogs have feelings too. Dogs have a light in them, like us. Their love is unconditional. Their loyalty is unwavering.
We reached the dog park just fifteen minutes away from Butter’s place. These walks are usually requests by owners for one whole hour at $15.00 — not much, but a perfect excuse to get the blood flowing. Upon entering the gated section for big dogs, I kept Butter on her leash as she pounced up and down in excitement, seeing friends and the fun, Astroturf lawn before her eyes. We walked around, throwing a tennis ball, and greeted other happy dog owners, who all had their dogs off their leash to romp around. Within reason.
Until one particular owner signaled me to come over, which I did. Upon approaching her, she began with a curt question:
“Why is your dog on its leash? Don’t you know you’re supposed to let them roam free in here?”
I began to explain that due to Rover.com policy, I had to keep the dog leashed at all times to avoid accidents or mishaps with other dogs and humans. She then continued:
“Well, that’s not our problem. It’s confusing the other dogs in here and it’s bothering us.”
My gut reaction was to argue and defend our right to be there. The words that came out of me were, “Are you speaking for everyone else here?”
Then something happened. As I addressed this, the other dog owners nearby bowed their heads or looked away. Scared to disagree. Afraid to engage.
I smiled then turned back to her:
“You’d like me to leave, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would. We all would.”
Still no answer or response from anyone else. I turned to Butter and said:
“Let’s go, girl.”
Thoughts on the rest of our walk: What. The. Hell?
When I got back, Butter was equally excited to return, wagging her tail, full- tilt boogie, and immediately grabbing toys to chew and shake in her jaws. I refilled her water bowl, topped off her food bowl, and begin to release the feelings of reactivity and anger and defensiveness. I slid down to the floor, petting Butter as she happily curled up, grateful to have a friend for that moment. She filled me with love and light and the power to forgive. She reminded me, without even talking, that we didn’t need to go to the park.
As I stood to leave, her happiness begin to wane. I grabbed the house keys. She lowered her head. I smiled.
“Thanks Butter. See you next time.”
