Jennifer Bauch, a 33-year-old, Brooklyn-based dog walker, used to work as a lawyer in a sleek high-rise overlooking midtown Manhattan. Now she spends her days in a three-acre dog run situated between the Brooklyn expressway and a Jehovah's Witness compound. On this drizzly June morning, Bauch, dressed for the weather in sweats and green rubber muck boots, leads a group of seven dogs, one of several multi-dog "crews" she walks during her 12-hour day. They're demanding clients, with "aggression issues," rollerblade issues, and, in the case of one sweet-looking pit bull, racial issues, but Bauch exudes so much authority, they barely even bark. "Handling dogs is no joke," says Bauch. "People think of dog walkers as nutty slackers, but I take this very seriously. This is my career." Indeed, Bauch earns far more money catering to her 35 dogs than she ever did as an in-house First-Amendment lawyer. Last year, Bauch says, she cleared "the low six figures," and that was only her first full year on the job.
Like a growing number of out-of-work professionals, Bauch turned to dog walking two and a half years ago after her dot-com employer went under. The job has undeniable appeal: You get paid up to $25 an hour to hang out with dogs, and there's little overhead -- just print up some signs and go. But dog walking is a brutal business. Each month in Bauch's Brooklyn Heights neighborhood, eager newcomers arrive armed with shiny pamphlets mapping out their rates, and each month they slouch home, done in by quirky owners or competitors that make Microsoft seem cuddly. "None of the skills I learned in law prepared me for this business," Bauch says.
Bauch is a natural den mother whose tough Brooklynese is belied by her habit of calling people she's just met "Honey" and "Sweetie." To grow her business, she mainly relies on word of mouth. At first, she accosted "anyone who even looked at a can of dog food in the supermarket," and those owners talked up Bauch to their friends. She also partnered with local pet stores and groomers, who give Bauch ringing endorsements in exchange for her support. Yet what truly separates her from her rivals is that, while they offer only walks, Bauch is what the IT industry calls a full-service provider. She regularly hauls pets to the vet or the groomer, for instance, and will even sing to them upon request.
Rounding up clients is one thing; holding on to them is quite another, especially when your competitors engage in the sort of dirty tricks other industries outlawed years ago. Early on Bauch caught other dog walkers tearing her signs off lampposts, and one particularly malicious competitor still tries to chip away at Bauch's reputation with fanciful tales of canine neglect. It sounds like high school stuff (and it largely is), but in a service industry where credibility is everything, such antics can be devastating. Bauch and three main allies watch one another's backs, while she tries to laugh off the more outrageous stunts, like the time one irate walker confronted her in public. "She screamed, "You stole Peaches from me!' in front of all these people," Bauch recalls. "It's so petty."
As Bauch drops off each of her charges on a leafy, brownstone-lined street, she pulls from her fanny pack a key chain that weighs nearly five pounds and holds about 350 apartment keys. Two things help her cover so much ground: First, she rarely does single walks, preferring instead to walk dogs in groups of seven or eight. At a pumped-up 5'3", Bauch is one of the few walkers in the area with the mettle to control packs of animals that often weigh in at more than 400 pounds. Second, she shrunk her territory. Early on her dogs were so spread out; she could barely manage ten a day. Now, with each of her crews neatly divided into six-block vectors, she handles 35 dogs, plus a bunch of cats. Even so, by the time Bauch finishes her last job today at around 11 p.m., she'll have walked nearly 20 miles. It's exhausting work.
It would help if Bauch could hire a few employees, not just for her stamina, but as an engine of growth for her business. But reliable walkers are scarce. "When I started I had a couple of people work for me, but it's a huge liability," she says. "Doors can slam on a dog's leg. Or they get bitten at the dog run." Given owners' propensity to howl over the slightest nick or cut on their animals, let alone a serious injury, dog walking is a business with little margin for risk. Earlier in the day, Bauch just about lost it when one of her dogs broke free of her leash and loped toward a busy intersection before Bauch tackled her from behind. "Can you imagine what would have happened?" Bauch said afterward. "Can you fucking imagine?"
Few walkers can maintain the grueling schedule for more than a few years. Burned-out professionals take up dog walking only to get burned out walking dogs. Although Bauch says she'd like to open a so-called doggie day care center, it's hard to imagine her abandoning it entirely. It's just too lucrative. Bauch charges anywhere between $10 and $20 per dog, depending on how long and how often they're walked, and she regularly pulls in more than $350 a day. During holidays like Christmas and Memorial Day weekend, that figure can reach nearly $500. And besides, the former lawyer thrives on the competition. "When I see another walker on the street with a new puppy, I get really jealous," says Bauch. "I'm like, ÔHow did they get that dog?’”
