Thursday, January 8, 2009

Bring Your Dog to Work Day

My office allows you to bring your dog in to work with you. I thought this was a great idea, and decided to spice up office life a little by bringing in one of my little idiots.

I have two little idiots to choose from:
A 14 year old Jack Russell Terrier with bad teeth, inclassifiable old man lumps, a genetically defective hip, and a bad knee. He loves people, and would probably lick a robber to death, but because of his traumatic puppyhood, he hates all dogs. That is, all dogs except...

A 2 year old Rat Terrier with limitless energy, the ears of a fruit bat, and a mildly sensitive stomach. She is the product of Jess's sister's unspayed dog's one night stand with a stray of indeterminate breed. She's shy around new people and dogs and sometimes hides behind me or Jess, like a four year old would hide behind their father as he talks to strangers in the hardware store.

It was a hard decision. On one hand, I shouldn't bring Emma because she hates riding in the car. On the other, Sparki shouldn't come because he would attack the other dogs there, and there was a big boxer down the hall. The latter could be more trouble, so I decided to bring Emma.

Luckily, there was no vomit during the car ride. That was a huge plus. When we arrived, she was eager to get out of the car. In the building, however, she was extremely cautious. She slowed down before turning every corner, and if anyone was walking in the hallway, she barked at them as if to say, "Where am I and who the hell are you?!" Already, it was going well.

We got to the office and I set up her bed, food, and water. I let her explore a little, figuring she would settle down in her bed after a thorough sniff. After all, she usually sleeps all morning. But no, she did not settle down. I didn't want her roaming around the office and getting into trouble, so I used a giant white board that had yet to be nailed to the wall to gate off my office. That was when she started to whine...

...and also when my boss came in.

"Where's your dog, I don't see him," he said, looking right at her. Clearly, he's one of those people that a) assumes all dogs are male, and b) thinks that dogs under 45lbs are not real dogs.

"Her name is Emma - she's in her bed," I said, already peeved.

"Ohhh," he said with a look of snarky bemusement. He followed it up with, "You know, if you moved out here, you could have the space for a real dog." Awesome. I didn't even know how to respond to that, so I kind of just rolled my eyes as if to say, "oh you, you kidder you!" He left my office doorway, mumbling something like "small dogs are ridiculous" and I imagined Emma's stuffed anteater hitting him square in the ass with a "honk." (I don't know why the stuffed anteater honks. I don't even know what noise, if any, an anteater makes, but I'm pretty sure it's not "honk").

After my boss left, Emma desperately wanted to play. I hadn't even started my work day yet, so unfortunately, playing with honking anteaters were not on my list of things to do. I gave her a rawhide bone so she'd have something to keep her busy, but the poor thing just looked at me like "why are were here, mom? This place sucks!" I returned her gaze in complete agreement and sighed.

The day continued, and Emma was bored out of her mind. She behaved - there was no more whining - but I could tell she was...well...troubled by her temporary location. What did we learn today? I will not bring either dog to work again because:
  1. My boss is a douche.
  2. Flutopia is deathly boring to most living things. Furthermore, I should find another job.

No comments:

Post a Comment