Who let the dogs out?

When becoming a professional dog walker enters earworm territory

Photo by Matt Nelson on Unsplash

In a recent episode of the long-running public radio show turned podcast “Sound Opinions,” hosts Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot discussed their favorite songs with titles in the form of a question.

It’s a rather broad topic as there are hundreds if not thousands of songs in the rock and pop canon that meet this criteria.

Jimi Hendrix’ “Are You Experienced?” was the first that came to mind. Greg chose the second song I thought of with The Pixies’ “Where Is My Mind?" The third song that popped in my overcrowded brain was Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to do With it?” which was not mentioned in the show. I would bet that even the less musically obsessive of you can come up with at least three more question songs without much trouble. (Tell me your favorites in the comments.)

What I did not expect to hear featured in this episode — which I just so happened to be listening to while walking my lovable pit-mix Bernie — was Mr. DeRogatis choosing the Y2K one-hit-wonder, “Who Let The Dogs Out?” by Baja Men.

Bernie posing in front of Bernie sign back in early 2020. I’m pretty sure if my dog Bernie was the candidate he’d be our president now. And yes, he has ears.

There are so many culturally relevant, worthy songs that could have been featured on this popular podcast — Culture Club’s “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?”, The Smiths’ “How Soon is Now?”, Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On?” just to name a few. My first reaction to this seemingly frivolous choice was indignation. Was the host just trying to get a rise out of righteous listeners like me?

When the show played a 30 second snippet of the song, I found myself less outraged. It wasn’t as bad as I had remembered.

But it was more than enough to make the iconic chorus stick like crazy glue, instantly becoming an earworm. I do remember this song being ever-present when it came out at the turn of the century. You couldn’t get away from it. Even if you tried. And I tried. I avoided the radio. I fast-forwarded through all TV commercials (this was pre-streaming of course). I stayed away from Tiki bars.

But attend any professional sporting event in a stadium or arena, and you were pretty much guaranteed to hear that unmistakable call (“Who let the dogs out?”) followed by a chorus of male voices chanting “Who, who who, who who!” that opens the song and repeats a dozen times, playing over the loudspeakers between innings, during time outs, and any time the home crowd needed to be stirred up into a frenzy.

While researching the history of this song, I got sucked into an internet vortex. Apparently WLTDO had garnered a lot of controversy. Baha Men were not the first band to record it, and the original artist, Anslem Douglas (who titled his song “Doggie”) was not adequately compensated once the cover version took off and became a world-wide phenomenon.

And then I learned that a white dude record producer (and there’s always some exploitative white dude at the center of these things) heard the original version of “Who Let the Dogs Out?” while on a vacation to the Bahamas and was convinced it could be enormously successful outside of the small island country. So he contacted Baha Men, a popular, charismatic trio known in the local junkanoo (street festival) scene, with an offer to produce and distribute their new record. He suggested they record “Who Let the Dogs Out.” Baha Men knew it wasn’t an original and didn’t want to do it, but with the promise of money and fame, they eventually agreed.

Anyway, I won’t go into the whole story here because THERE’S AN ENTIRE DOCUMENTARY on HULU dedicated to the history of this song (Just search for the smartly titled Who Let the Dogs Out). It’s more than just a story about a wronged artist who never received proper credit or proper compensation for their work. It’s about who really owns art, all the while trying to answer the eponymous existential question — who did let the dogs out?

The film is streamable right now, at least in the United States, and I viewed about half of it last night in preparation for this piece, but then it became clear that I was avoiding actually writing under the guise of “research.” Suffice it to say, it’s definitely worth watching if you are a fan of music documentaries. It did get a 100 tomatometer rating on Rotten Tomatoes after all. I’ll watch the rest soon and give my thoughts in the comments below.

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At the beginning of 2022, I entered the gig economy, attempting to make a marginal living as a dog walker for Wag! and Rover. Two startup companies set up in hundreds of cities across the country with modern, app-based systems to match pet parents with pet walkers, sitters and boarders.

In early 2021, I left my job as a video editor after twelve years with the same company and almost thirty in the industry. I was burned out, not just with that employer specifically, but with the career path I’d been following for most of my adult life.

I had contemplated quitting in early 2020, but then COVID hit and working from home happened and suddenly the job wasn’t as shitty as it had been. No, that’s inaccurate. It was never shitty. It just wasn’t fulfilling or even interesting to me anymore. I’d wanted a change, I just didn’t know what that change was.

Prior to working from home, I’d spend between 2-3 hours a day commuting to and from my home in Oakland, California to downtown San Francisco. Driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic to get to the train station (BART), only to then hurry to smash into a sardine-packed rail car. Then it was a twenty minute walk to the office, passing by homeless encampments and drug addicts shooting up on the sidewalk. In order to avoid amplifying my existing anxiety and depression, I had to shut myself off from the harsh realities of the city.

Suddenly, having almost three more hours a day and not needing to commute anymore was a huge relief. Of course there was a deadly pandemic spreading across the world, which was horrible and tragic for so many people. But for me, sheltering in place was manna from heaven. I’m an introvert (with some extrovert leanings) and have terrible social anxiety, so staying at home and not having to interact face-to-face with humans was my ideal work/life balance.

What had once been a stressful 45 minute walk with Bernie at 7am — constantly pulling on the leash, calling out a frustrated “Let’s go!” so that I didn’t arrive late to work — was now a 60 to 90 minute leisurely stroll through the neighborhood. I began to pay attention to the wide range of garden designs in the front yards of my neighbor’s homes. I stopped to watch hummingbirds pluck nectar from vibrant violet and scarlet sage flowers. With most of the populace sheltering in place, the constant roar of traffic on our nearby freeway had been replaced by the mellifluous voices of a dozen different area birds.

I was able to relax without medication for the first time in a long time.

Soon enough though, working from home, not having a standing desk or dual 30” monitors, began to wreck havoc on my body and severe carpal tunnel set in. I didn’t want to sit for eight hours a day in front of a computer, my forearms perpetually wrapped in wrist guards, a bottle of Advil next to my pot of coffee. As much as working from home fit my temperament and happiness factor, the type of work I was doing played a huge role in making that a reality. I had to do something where I wasn’t glued to a screen all day long.

And so I signed up for Wag! And soon after, Rover.

It took me a few months to learn the ropes (and the harnesses and leashes). And I’m still learning the ins and outs of the apps, but I’m finally getting 20-25 walks per week, with a half dozen repeat clients (pet parents they call them “in the biz”).

The one day I wore the swag. S-wag. Get it? I’ll shut up now.

Thankfully, the Bay Area has a lot of folks with dogs that need walks. During the pandemic, dog adoptions (and cat adoptions too) were at an all time high, which was fantastic. But now that a lot of these new dog owners have headed back to the office, the need for someone to take their six-month old golden-doodles and twelve-year old yappy chihuahuas out for a walk has only increased.

I’ve got my trusty gray fanny pack filled with poop bags and a variety of treats at the ready. I keep two extra leashes in my trunk for the pet parents who still think extendo-leashes are viable (they suck and I’ll argue this until the cows come home). I have sunscreen, two floppy hats, a jacket and three towels in a duffle bag.

I’m getting tons of exercise every day (between 15 and 20,000 steps on average). I don’t have to deal with humans in person (except on occasion when they are home when I take their pups out, but the pet parents are always nice and appreciative). And even though I’m on my phone more than I would like, at least I’m not sitting in a chair for 8 hours typing on a keyboard.

Photo by Maiar Shalaby on Unsplash

It’s a crapshoot, working a gig-economy job. Some weeks I might get 30 walks with the sweetest, most fun-loving dogs and get to stroll near beaches and in the hills with amazing views. Other weeks I’ll get ten walks at best and they will be in more dangerous neighborhoods where every house has a Cane Corso or Rottweiler in their front yard barking and lunging within feet of me and my much smaller temporary pup.

But the dogs are teaching me a great deal. They force me to stay present. They remind me of the joys of running as fast as possible for no reason at all. They help me tap into my inner child, where play and adventure are paramount.

In the film Who Let the Dogs Out, director Ben Sisto sets out to discover who did let the dogs out. But clearly he hadn’t thought to come to Oakland, California.

Because the answer is me.

I let the dogs out.

And I’ll keep letting them out for as long as I am able.