Another one of the hats Steve wore around the house was dog walker. Unfortunately the dog being walked was my dog Molly. After Steve's dog got tragically killed, I gave him more leeway with Molly than I ordinarily would have. I was afraid that Steve would let something happen to Molly in his highly inebriated state or maybe even fall on her doing one of his "face plants." I did make it clear that if something happened to Molly under his watch I would shove a Jack Daniel's bottle right up his ass without the benefit of getting to drink it first.
Steve staggered all over the neighborhood with Molly in tow. He took her to the neighbor's house, down to the mailbox, down to the creek, and they pretty much staggered all over the neighborhood. For whatever reason, Molly liked the booze hound Steve. Every once in a while she had to snap at him as a means of telling him he stepped over a line. As Charlie Murphy once said, "He was a habitual line stepper." I think she felt a compassion for him. When he moved out about three months ago, Molly went into a deep depression for a couple of weeks. She even started sleeping in Steve's closet. I can only imagine what their walks were like but at the end of the day, Molly was always waiting at home for me and that is all I could hope for. It was probably more of a scenario where Molly helped Steve find his way home or when Steve was really sauced, she acted as his seeing eye dog.
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