Two dogs, two young boys, one week.

            I was 9 or 10, my brother, Terry, was 7 or 8 when we got hired for our very first job.  Our neighbor, Mr. Logelin, a teacher at the high school in town, had just finished a year of teaching English.  He was getting ready to go on vacation, and he needed someone to take care of his dogs while he was away.

            He lived across the alley from us in a four-unit apartment building. The four units were usually occupied by young teachers new to town with little money and a need for a home.

             Mr. Logelin had us come over before he left to introduce us to his two Dalmatian dogs.  I don’t remember the dogs’ names (we can call them Spot and Dot or Smokey and Lady if you like), but I had seen them running about on and off the leash, so I knew them to be friendly enough.

             He showed us where he kept the dog food, (a big bag leaning in the corner of the kitchen), what dish the food went in, and what dish the water went in.  He told us the dogs needed to be let out at least twice a day (once in the morning and once in the early evening).

             Mr. Logelin was to be gone for a week starting the very next day, the first day of our first job. He gave us a key to his apartment, and we walked home excited about our new responsibility.

             I don’t know for sure if Mom and Dad were aware of our job or if this was a private arrangement, because I don’t remember talking about it with my parents or being reminded to go over and take care of the dogs.  It’s hard to imagine they didn’t know, but what happened after a few days of dog-sitting doesn’t make sense any other way.

For the first few days things went very well. We would take the short walk over to the apartment and let the dogs out for a little exercise and their bathroom break.  While the dogs were outside we filled the food and water dishes. The dogs obediently came back inside when asked, a simple job for two young boys.

Like most of the summers of my youth, it was great.  We spent our days watching old movies on TV, riding our bikes up and down the streets and through the alleys; we built dams, ate breakfast, lunch and supper, and sometimes we successfully sneaked money out of the house to buy candy from the machine at the gas station in the next block. We played ball, caught bugs, spied on other kids, climbed trees, played hide-and- seek and chased dogs.

Dogs? All of a sudden one morning it dawned on us – we had forgot all about   Mr. Logelin’s dogs for two or three days. We grabbed the key and ran over to the apartment.  We were glad to see the dogs still alive, but we knew we were dead. The apartment looked like the dogs had invited ninety-nine friends over for a three-day party.

 With no one to feed them, the dogs had dragged the big bag from the corner and ripped it open spreading dog food everywhere.  At least they didn’t starve, and with the bathroom door open they were able to drink from the toilet – so at least they had water.

But as self-sufficient as these dogs appeared to be they lacked one necessary skill – they couldn’t let themselves outside. Unable to get outside, they had turned the three-room apartment into a three-room doghouse. 

Fortunately, the mess was confined to the one apartment as the dogs hadn’t yet chewed through the walls to spread the mess to the other three units. Terry and I cleaned it up as best we could, but we did tell Mr. Logelin of the minor mishap when he returned (it was pretty obvious anyway).

Naturally, he was pretty upset (smoke was coming out his ears), and he renegotiated our contract (I don’t think we got paid). I guess you could say our first job was strictly on a volunteer basis.