Cthulhu, Sometimes You’ve Just Got to Walk it Out

By Adam Quisnell
Contributing Writer

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any figures living or dead is purely coincidental.

Sure, sometimes it’s hard to keep up with them. It’s a crazy job but it’s not as dangerous as some people might think. Yeah, they tug and pull in all directions, they’re wet and wild and sometimes they don’t listen when I say no. Sometimes I wonder what got me into this business. I guess it was probably because of my dad and my brother. We would all get together in a big pile and just rub and roll. I would say that’s certainly where I got this deep-rooted hunger for that kind of a connection.

I’ve just always loved dogs, and ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be a professional dog walker. I’ve also loved walking ever since I was a little kid! Every time playing with the dogs would stop, and the yelling and crying would start, my mom would pull me away from my brother and my dad’s nightly “Screamings about Failure!” And she would say, “Just walk it out, Cthulhu, ” (my dad was very much a scholar of H.P. Lovecraft…and John Jameson). So, that’s what I do now, every morning noon and night with my little local furry bundles of jubilation. It’s a lonely life, one that doesn’t include much time for a girlfriend or any pets of my own.

Sure, it’s a long hard road to get into the profession. Some people just think you get the big multi-leash professional dog-walking tether hub, round up some local clients and get walking. This couldn’t be further from the truth.The Dog-Walkers were a noble clan of Scotts in the 10th century who took it upon themselves to feed and exercise all of the local dogs in the village. It turns out the Dog-Walkers were actually training an army of Scottish Fighting Dogs which would eventually be marched to a fiery death against invading Norsemen. However, the teachings of the monks of this clan survived in a dog-shaped steel coffin which was built into the corner stone of a great castle…Fortunately, they were building the castle as the Norsemen were simultaneously burning it down, so it wasn’t that difficult for historians to find the corner stone containing these sacred texts.

As a child I saved up every penny I earned as an undocumented steam shovel driver (the 80’s were a simpler time) to put toward my training. However, once a wannabe dog-walker has collected the 300,000 dollars in tuition that is when the real journey begins.

Anyone who wants to apply to the only dog-walking institute accredited by the ancient Scottish Scrolls must make a pilgrimage to one singular hallowed vestige of learning: the Ryan Tyson Memorial Dog-Walkers College and Computer Aided Drawing Institute (known as the RTDWCCADI, or RyTyCoCAD for short).

The pilgrimage consists of gathering your tuition in cash, and carrying it with you while you walk, from wherever you were when you submitted your application, to the RyTyCoCAD campus in Lower Branson Mo. Lower Branson doesn’t have the same touristy appeal of its more famous neighbor, so we were left alone to study Dog-Walking, or Computer Aided Drawing whichever the case may be. When I turned 18, I gathered my tuition in the required denominations (50,000 in 100 dollar bills, 100,000 in 50 dollar bills, 100,000 in 10 dollar bills, and 50,000 ones) and I hit the road.

The words of my mother really stuck with me as I fended off the broken bottles and rusty chains wielded by bands of drifters that wanted my several large leather sacks, and presumably, the money inside.  Every time I would kill another nameless homeless assailant, I would just tell myself, “Just walk it out, Cthulhu.” As I tried to put the fact that the encampment of boxcar vagrants I set ablaze in the night may have been home to several children, I told my self, “Just walk it out, Cthulhu.”

After two months and countless dead vagrants, I arrived at the RyTyCoCAD campus. Unassuming brown brick exterior and deteriorating signage serves as the only welcome to this most sacred and benevolent institution. When one enters the campus for the first time, one is stripped of their belongings, which, aside from the money, are burned in effigy to the ancient Gods of Ceramic Waterbowls. The applicant is then blasted with high volume jets of water; which are apparently imbued with some sort of coarse sand that pokes and cuts at the flesh. After toweling off, one is given their Dog-Walker’s robes and training leash and begins studying. Unfortunately, I have already said too much. The trainings of my order are deep and secret. The CAD students must have though we were crazy for the three weeks we cohabitated with them on the campus. After training is complete, graduates are given a certificate for completing a mysterious series of ancient rituals which are accredited by the Gods Men Have Forgotten, and then given their assignment of where they will work until they die a penniless hermit.

I was assigned to Fargo. I love it here. The people are friendly and they tip well (tips that are sent back to RyTyCoCAD weekly), and I love all of the dogs I walk. I walk 35 dogs at varying times of each day and I sleep in rent-by-the-week apartment above a bar on Broadway. I feel blessed everyday that I was chosen to walk this path with these furry (most of them, the ones that aren’t sick with a diseases that make them lose their fur) joy barrels. Sure, sometimes, in the winter, when the mornings get short, and night hangs over our little city for longer and longer, my mind will wander to the things I had to do to protect that 300,000 dollars on the road…the blood I shed in the name of becoming a noble Dog-Walker…when that darkness creeps into my mind I tell myself, “Just walk it out Cthulhu. Just walk it out.”

Adam Quesnell is a stand-up comedian and writer working out of Moorhead, MN. Send feedback to .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address), follow him on twitter at twitter.com/adamquesnell or visit http://www.adamquesnell.com