You've heard of job security? How about job irony?

You might recall my previous post about my general aversion to canines. If you don't remember, take a moment to read it one more time, just to get the full effect of what I'm about to divulge.

I have a job passed down to me from my brother, passed down to him from his wife. It's an easy job, one that requires minimal time for decent pay, and one that involves being outdoors, which I love. The irony? I get paid to walk and brush a dog several times a week. That's right: I--the one who is awkward and standoffish toward canines of all kinds--am a dog walker. Ironic, isn't it? Thankfully, the dog is calm, small, and likes me despite my lack of affection toward it. Phil is hoping that it softens my cold heart toward owning a dog one day, but so far, my will remains frozen. And I know it sounds like I don't care about this dog at all, but I'm actually quite nice to it: I talk to her in that ridiculous baby-voice that we all use when talking to small children or animals; I give her verbal affirmation when she poos, actually decides to walk in the direction I'm leading her, or drinks her water; I brush her thoroughly; I keep her from zapping herself on the electric fence; and (gasp) I even pet her throughout the dog walking ordeal. So I'm not inhumane. I'm just a little dog-numb, that's all. Although even I can't deny how cute the dog in the picture looks, which is pretty much the little furry face I see several times a week. Alanis Morisette can add this to her "ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife": "dog-walking girl who's aloof toward dogs". That's right. Go ahead and sing it. I am.