Maja writes: The Dog Who Walked In Like He Had a Job.

Today, a dog came into the office. No announcement. No explanation. No paperwork. Nothing. Just a dog.

The day began normally, which in this office means:

• Julian was speaking too loudly about something abstract
• Alex was already tired
• Paul was drawing people who look like they regret existing

So, nothing new then. At 09:15 however, the door opens, a dog walks in. Not running. Not lost-looking but just… walking, like someone who is late for a meeting but not worried about it. He does not look around nervously but like he is checking if standards have dropped. My first impressions were: medium size, mixed breed or Džukela as we say in Novi Sad. His colour: somewhere between “dust” and “history.” Eyes: very serious.  This is a good sign. Not sad. Just informed. This is not a dog who is confused. This is a dog who has made a decision.

Julian immediately enters what I can only describe as philosophical mode. He stands still, watching the dog like it has arrived to deliver a lecture.  Alex says: “Whose dog is that?” Correct question. Clare says: “He’s polite.” Not helpful, but also not wrong. Paul says: “He’s been here before.” This is not clarified.

The dog is not interested in most of us. He scans the room once, like a security assessment. Then he moves. Not randomly. Not exploring. Selecting. He walks past Julian who looks briefly wounded. He walks past Clare. She offers a biscuit. He declines. He pauses near Alex and considers him but then moves on and stops near my desk. He does not come to me. But chooses a spot near me. Close enough to acknowledge each other but far enough to maintain independence. This is good. I do not trust creatures that attach too quickly. (NB Julian, if you are reading this). He circles once, lies down and exhales. Decision complete.

People begin naming him immediately and this is always a mistake I have found in my experience of when it comes to naming stray dogs. Julian suggests something literary. Clare suggests something edible. Alex suggests something sarcastic. No one asks the dog. The dog does not respond. Correct.  I could have told them thar had they been listening. Julian approaches him like he is approaching meaning itself: careful, earnest and slightly overinvested. The dog opens one eye, looks at him and closes it again. This is clearly a sign of rejection but Julian does not interpret it this way surprise surprise.

Over the course of the day, the general behaviour of the dog is impeccable. He does not beg, bark or perform. He accepts attention when offered correctly (see my example, Julian, if you’re reading this)  but ignores it when it is not. (Julian). He has better boundaries than most people here (Julian).

The debate through the day focuses on whether we keep him or take him to a shelter. I do not say much but I move my chair slightly so he has more space. This is how these things begin. By the end of the day, he is still here. No one has called anyone or taken any action. The dog sleeps, occasionally opening one eye to check the situation is still acceptable. It is. Julian thinks the dog has chosen him. Julian is wrong. The dog has chosen the room. And possibly… one or two people within it. I will not write which ones.

Addendum (Private, Not to Be Re-read)

When I stood up to leave, he looked at me. Properly looked. Not evaluating. Not dismissing. Just… aware. I said nothing. He said nothing. This is, I think, the beginning of something. Not dramatic. Not loud. But real.