two hundred

Celebrating my two hundreth post, a year and a half of stories, travels and emotion. And here is my topic: keys.

I have been doing this dog walking job for a couple of months now and would say it is the best therapy there is. I can talk away to these pooches and they don't judge me, they don't care that I pour my affection out on them (in fact, I think they love it). Walking in the city with a dog is so great that I have often looked at George to see if she would take part in this walking business. Part of the job, of course, is going to pick up the dogs from their apartment and take them out and about. Well considering that every apartment building has a key and every door has at least two locks, I walk around with a gaggle of keys. The extra weight and feeling like a janitor is not what the issue is, my issue is getting the damn door open. I have never seen locks like these before, some you have to push and turn others you have to hold the key a certain way then turn the knob the other way. Sometimes the damn knob has nothing to do with the door opening. It seems that the keys also can sense my frustration because between me feeling like an idiot and the dog crying for me to come in, I experience mini breakdowns. I myself carry three keys to get into my apartment and find ir funny to even lock the door because a burgler would have to be a genius to know how all the different, damn doors in New York worked.