Dog Walking and Periods.

I was twelve when I started menstruating. My relationship with my mother wasn't particularly good. We certainly weren't close enough for me to proudly announce the beginning of my periods and receive a warm welcome to womanhood with a hot water bottle and a hug. This new turn of events coincided with my parents divorce and my mother was pulling her hair out trying to make ends meet and so I didn't want to be bumping up the weekly shopping bill with tampons and sanitary pads. When the effort of rolling up wads of toilet paper and using those as make shift pads became too great I decided I needed to get my hands on the real deal. If I now had the body of an adult I had to behave like one. In order to fund the acquisition of Tampax I needed to find myself a job. When I was younger it was fairly easy to make a few pounds in pocket money. There was less fuss about health and safety and child labour back then. So when I strolled up to the newsagents window to take a look at the adverts I had the choice of becoming a dog-walker or undertaking a newspaper round. Thinking the less strenuous task would be to meander around with some old mutt for half an hour, I copied down the contact number into my homework diary and beetled home to make the call. When I rang the number an old man answered the phone and told me to come for an interview that afternoon to meet his dog. I thought I looked quite smart in my school uniform (I can tell you now that I did not look smart at all. I wore my scruffy, thread pulled school tie over a crumpled, biro stained shirt) and so I set off to meet my potential new employer. Mr Morris lived in a house three roads up from my street. As I sat in his front room the overpowering stench of wet, dirty dog was making it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. I understood his instructions were to pick up the dog every day after school and walk it for half an hour and in return I would get a pound per day to be paid in the form of a crisp five pound note on Fridays. I must have conveyed myself as competent as I was given the job and told to start on Monday. I was happy and as I waked down Mr Morris's garden path and out of the gate away from the dog smell I imagined the packets of shiny Bodyform which were now accessible. This month when I came on I wouldn't need the balled up toilet tissue in my drawers and I'd be able to walk normally at school without waddling like a cowboy.
After school on Monday I was punctual and arrived for my dog walking duties eager and on time. I knocked on Mr Morris's front door. The door opened and out shot a wrinkly hand with the dogs lead and the ancient spaniel, Gemini, attached at the end. Along with the dog being shoved out the door there came a rotund old lady encased in a mucky red coat. The door shut. I stood there a little bewildered. 'Hello', I said to the lady who was looking at me with big, brown watery eyes. 'My name is Joy', said Joy. 'Where are we going?', she asked. I told her I was there to walk the dog and she seemed pleased with this and we set off on the walk together each as confused as the other. The first fifteen minutes of the walk involved Joy repeatedly telling me that her Daddy was at work and he would be home soon so we should turn around and get back before she got a spanking. After I ruled out any sexual connotation in her suggestion due to the fact Joy must have been in her eighties and her father long since passed, I ascertained that Joy probably had Alzheimer's. This was confirmed in the last half of the walk when she started talking about what she had done at school that day and how she was looking forward to eating the dinner her mother had cooked whilst she was out with me. To class it as a walk would have been a falsehood. To be quite frank what with the ancient dog and older woman dragging along beside me we didn't manage to cover much ground. I returned the dog and Joy back to Mr Morris who opened the front door to let the pair in, and then promptly shut it in my face. With no explanation or enquiries as to how the first walk had gone, I wandered home slightly perplexed.
The next day the same thing happened. I was handed the dog and the lady and we all set off on a painfully slow shuffle. We spoke about how school was going for the both of us and we also had long silences where we plodded along each in our own muddled thoughts. So it continued in this way until Friday (pay day!). After the afternoon walk I knocked expectantly on the front door to return Joy and Gemini back to Mr Morris and receive my five pounds. The door opened and Joy was bustled in to the house with the dog. 'How was your first week?', asked Mr Morris suspiciously. I thought about telling him how on Wednesdays stroll Joy was wearing three pairs of huge knickers and they all fell down around her ankles whilst we waited for the green man to show at the traffic lights. I could have told him about Joy leaning on a small car park wall on Thursdays walk and how she refused to go any further until I had promised to buy her a bar of chocolate from the corner shop on the way back home. I also could have told him how she had cried because she didn't know where she was earlier and how I held her hand all the way back until she had forgotten what it was she was upset about. But I didn't. I could see the five pound note in the little old mans wrinkly hand and I badly wanted it in my pocket. So I told him I had enjoyed taking the dog out and as he handed over the money with a relieved look on his face I thanked him and told him I would see him on Monday. I stuffed the note into my coat (much like I had discreetly tucked Joys knickers into her big red coat pocket) and went home feeling quite pleased with myself. When my time of the month came around I was in absolute personal hygiene heaven. I discovered that real sanitary towels did not slip out at inappropriate times nor did they chaff or make sitting down uncomfortable.
Taking the dog and Joy out every day after school was hard work. Bearing in mind I was only twelve and had no qualifications in caring or nursing I think it was a big risk for Mr Morris to take. On reflection I wonder how desperate he must have been to give a child such huge responsibility. His life must have been tough but he truly loved Joy and this was evident in the efforts he took to keep her at home with him instead of taking an easier option. I could see why he loved her so much. On rare occasions during our walks she would look at me and give me a smile. A smile that reached her eyes and I could tell that the mental fog had lifted for a moment and she was happy. She was a good person.
I continued walking Joy and Gemini for a good few years until Joy gradually deteriorated so much she was sent to a nursing home. She didn't like living there and she died within three months of moving. Mr Morris passed away soon after his wife.
There is a bench by the river with a brass plaque which is dedicated to the couple. I often take my son in his pushchair and sit there whilst we feed the ducks. I took the job to help make growing up easier for myself at a time when my home life was unsettled. Not only did it help by allowing me to buy what I needed, it also taught me that not every couple split up and it is possible for people to stay together if they are resilient and loyal and, most of all, loved.