I joked about becoming a dog walker when I arrived in Buenos Aires; then I discovered that dog walking is serious business. It’s not uncommon for a professional walker to walk 15 dogs or more.
I’m just not that strong…or brave.
I did, however, become a dog walker of some sort. A friend lets me walk her greyhound twice a week. He is insane. Although he is one of the fastest runners of the world–one of the most sporty dogs ever–he detests going outside. He would rather curl up in his propio dogbed or sun himself stretched out on the Indian rug than go outside with me. Some days he doesn’t make it for an half an hour outdoors without trying to drag me down the street to his home.
I’m never so popular as when I am walking this dog. Porteños are fanatics for dogs, but they are particularly drawn to his delicate and puppy-like appearance. “Es un GALGO?” (greyhound) they exclaim, and caress his muzzle and coo. Teenage girls come running after him like groupies.
His tiny ears feel like swatches of velvet. His eyes are golden. I have to admit that he is pretty precious.