The Dog Walker's Destiny
"Brenda walks dogs in Harlem to stay active after retirement. When a new client's owner keeps finding reasons to chat, the walks lead to something more than exercise."
Paws & Purpose is my retirement plan.
After thirty years of nursing, I needed something active. Now I walk dogs for busy New Yorkers while their owners work.
I'm Brenda. Sixty-one. Still moving, still needed.
"I need someone for Duchess."
The man on the phone has a voice like warm coffee. His dog is a standard poodle. We arrange a meet-and-greet.
Marcus Webb is not what I expected.
Sixty-three, retired judge, distinguished in ways that make my stomach flutter. Duchess adores me immediately.
"She doesn't like most people," he says, watching her lean against my legs.
"Dogs know character."
"So do judges." His eyes meet mine. "You're hired."
The walks become routine.
Monday, Wednesday, Friday—Duchess and me through St. Nicholas Park. She's good company. Her owner is better.
"Running late?" Marcus calls from his window one morning.
"Traffic." I wave up. "We'll be back by noon."
"I'll have coffee waiting."
The coffee becomes routine too.
After each walk, I return Duchess and Marcus has coffee ready. We talk while she naps.
"You should charge for this," I joke.
"I should." He refills my cup. "But then I'd lose my excuse to keep you."
"Keep me?"
"I look forward to these conversations more than I should admit." He sets down the pot. "The walks are for Duchess. The coffee is for me."
"Marcus—"
"I know. Too forward. But I've been a judge my whole life. I know truth when I see it."
"What truth?"
"That I've been finding excuses to see you for two months."
The coffee becomes dinner.
Then breakfast. Then entire days spent walking, talking, building something neither of us expected.
"My children think I'm dating," he admits.
"Are you?"
"I'd like to be." He takes my hand. "If you're interested."
"I'm sixty-one."
"I'm sixty-three."
"I walk dogs for a living—"
"You bring joy to animals and their owners." He moves closer. "I've watched you light up my dog and my home."
"This is complicated."
"Only if we let it be."
He kisses me in his living room.
Duchess observes from her bed, unimpressed. Marcus doesn't care.
"I've wanted to do that since you first rang my bell," he admits.
"Just that?"
"No." His hands find my waist. "Much more."
His bedroom is elegant, warm, lived-in.
He undresses me like I'm a verdict he's been waiting for.
"Beautiful," he says.
"I'm old—"
"You're magnificent." He kisses my shoulder. "The defense rests."
His mouth explores me thoroughly.
Judicial precision applied to pleasure. He finds every point of interest, argues every case for my satisfaction.
"Marcus—"
"Overruled." He moves lower. "Let me continue."
When he finally enters me, we both exhale.
"Verdict?" he asks.
"Still deliberating." I pull him deeper. "More evidence required."
He provides more evidence.
Afterward, Duchess jumps on the bed and settles between us.
"She approves," Marcus says.
"She's biased. I have treats."
"I have treats too." He pulls me close. "Better ones."
The walks continue.
But now I return to our apartment, our coffee, our dog.
"Paws & Purpose is losing a worker," my assistant notes.
"Paws & Purpose is gaining a partner," I correct.
The wedding is in St. Nicholas Park.
Duchess serves as flower dog. The route is the same one we've walked together for months.
"To dogs who know character," Marcus toasts.
"To judges who take chances," I counter.
We kiss while Duchess barks approval.
Some retirements lead to rest.
Some lead to love.
And some dogs really do know destiny when they smell it.
Duchess knew.
And now I do too.