Wet Dog

Rainy and forty-seven degrees is when I regret becoming a dogwalker. It's not cold enough to snow and not warm enough to ignore you're wet.  The aroma is a combination of wet dog and bacon treats mixed with a hint of soaked shit.  Last week a couple from New Zealand titled me enlightened for finding a way to be in the sun, walking in the park and spending my days with dogs. Today a homeless man told me to keep my head up because things always get better.