There are days in one’s professional life which announce themselves with quiet inevitability: a meeting rescheduled, a kettle failure or an email sent too widely. I have the lived experience of all three. And then there are days which arrive which are uninvited, unstructured and with a tail.
I noticed him first at 09:12. Not because I was looking, but because something – some subtle shift in the atmosphere suggested the presence of an observer not accounted for in the organisational chart. He was standing just beyond the glass doors. Still, composed and regarding us with what I can only describe as administrative curiosity.
A dog. Medium-sized, indeterminate breed although my grandmother might have referred to them as the Heinz 57 breed with eyes of unusual seriousness and the bearing of someone who had seen things and chosen not to comment. I assumed, initially, that he belonged to someone but this was my first mistake of the day.
At 09:17, the door opened – neither dramatically, nor symbolically but simply because Alex was bringing in a delivery and he brought the dog in with him. Or rather, the dog entered of his own volition and didn’t seem to be following orders with no hesitation, sniffing or uncertainty. In another world he might have been a viable contender for the doggy version of ‘Just a Minute’, the well-loved Radio 4 panel game but in this world, he walked in as though he had always worked here and as though we had been expecting him.
It was uncannily still. He didn’t bark, beg or steal. He just stood there in the centre of the office and looked at us, one by one. I felt, quite distinctly, and a touch unnervingly that I was being assessed. Not judged – that would be too crude – but evaluated, gently, assessing my room for improvement. It was just five minutes before the chain reaction washed through the office.
Alex: “Whose dog is that?”
Clare (from reception): “Not mine, but he’s very polite.”
Paul: (did not look up from sketching) “He’s been here before.”
Maja: (sipping coffee, observing) “He has chosen this place.”
I found this comment unexpectedly affecting and had to hold back a sob.
He walked – not wandered, but walked – to the corner near the radiator, turned once, lay down and exhaled. He had made the decision to stay. Within thirty minutes, we had without any formal agreement entered into a discussion of what to call him. Suggestions included:
- “Biscuit” (Clare)
- “Shadow” (Paul, without explanation)
- “Invoice” (Alex, I believe as a deterrent)
- “Novak” (someone, inevitably)
I suggested “Atticus”, on the grounds that he possessed moral gravity. This was not adopted and we were left in limbo with a thus so-far unnamed dog. It became increasingly clear that the dog belonged to no one in the NOP universe and this introduced a tension into the proceedings. Two schools of thought emerged:
The Adoption Faction (Clare, myself, increasingly Maja)
- “He’s clearly comfortable here.”
- “He chose us.”
- “Look at his cheeky face.”
The Sensible Faction (Alex, though not without softness)
- “He might be lost.”
- “We should call a shelter.”
- “This is not how employment works.”
Paul abstained, stating only: “he will decide.”
It wasn’t long (10.40 to be precise) before I summoned up the courage and approached him with care and respect. He opened one eye – just one – and in that moment I experienced something I can only describe as recognition. Not affection – not yet at least – but acknowledgement, as though he were saying: You are not entirely unsuitable.
By 11:05 he had become indispensable to us and us to him. By mid-morning, he had:
- declined two biscuits (Clare, affronted)
- repositioned himself closer to Maja’s desk
- ignored Julian (briefly devastating)
- accepted a cautious ear scratch from Alex
He had, in effect, begun to curate his own relationships.
By the end of the day, I had learned a lot and changed subtly, I thought, as a human being. We had not planned for him and we had not prepared for him. And yet, by 5pm, it felt impossible to imagine the office without him. There is, I think, a lesson in this, something about presence, choice and the quiet authority of simply arriving and remaining. Tomorrow, we will discuss what to do but tonight, however the dog has taken up position by the radiator, Maja has not asked him to leave, and Alex has not yet made the call to the vets, the PDSA or the waste disposal people of our managed office space. Which, in NOP terms, amounts to a form of acceptance.
