Tag: confessions of an ageing cyclist

Name the NOP Dog!

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You may have noticed recently that the NOP team have been joined by a stray dog. It seems to have settled down comfortably into our office, and no amount of cajoling or encouragement is shifting it from its favourite resting place by the radiator. (or by Julian’s desk, or Maja’s chair, depending on what day of the week it is). We’ve called the PDSA, the vets and the local shelter but no-one is inclined to come and pick him up – and we’re definitely NOT going to take him to The Dogs House. So, we’ve decided collectively (i.e. Maja decided) to keep him and look after him and treat him like a regular member of the NOP family.

Problem is: we can’t agree on what to call him! Everyone has their own preferred option and we’ve narrowed it down to the following selection:

Chiappo

Heinz

Indy

Jala 

Kelly

Lemmy

Mickey

Nomad

So, can you help name our dog for us? You can vote for your favourite name below and on 1st June we will figure out what the most popular name is and name him accordingly. We will also pick at random one person’s name who successfully named our dog and send them a free copy of our next publication, Confessions of an Ageing Cyclist out on 4 July! You can vote for your favourite name here:

https://forms.gle/PfQ2XH9FDy6665yo9

What we know so far, from office gossip and the word on the street and in the cycle lanes is that he seems to have had nine lives so far…

1. The Yard Dog
Born among oil drums, old pallets and the smell of rain on concrete, he learned early that the world was loud, busy, and full of dropped food. His first kingdom was a yard where nobody owned much but everyone knew his name.

2. The Escapologist
As a young dog, he discovered gaps in fences the way poets discover metaphors. He could squeeze through anything: gates, hedges, half-open doors, human attention. This was the life in which he first learned the intoxicating pleasure of being chased.

3. The Pub Regular
For a while, he attached himself to a pub, The Cyclist’s Biceps. He slept beneath tables, accepted crisps from strangers and became expert at judging character by footwear. He liked builders, distrusted men in shiny shoes and knew exactly when Sunday lunch was served.

4. The Dog of the Road
There was a wandering period. He followed vans, walkers, cyclists, and one unfortunate postman. He learned the map by scent: fox trail, chip shop, damp leaves, diesel, hot brakes, river mud. He was briefly everyone’s dog and no one’s.

5. The Nearly-Lost Dog
Then came the hard chapter: a winter, a storm, a road too busy, or a night when nobody came looking. He survived by being clever, stubborn, and lucky. This is the life that put the old-soul look in his eyes.

6. The Rescue Dog
Eventually someone caught him – or, more likely, he allowed himself to be caught. There were forms, blankets, bowls, disinfectant smells, and people saying, “He’s a character.” He decided not to correct them.

7. The Trial Adoption
He moved into a home and tested it thoroughly. Sofa? Tested. Bin? Tested. Slippers? Tested. Human patience? Extensively tested. The arrangement became permanent when he realised that leaving was no longer necessary.

8. The Cycling Companion
At some point he became linked with the rhythm of wheels: waiting at the door, trotting beside lanes, occupying café stops, guarding bicycles badly but enthusiastically. He learned that cyclists carry snacks and return smelling of effort, weather, and triumph.

9. The Elder Statesdog
Now he’s reached his ninth life: part dog, part legend, part household philosopher. He sleeps more, judges silently, accepts tribute, and carries his past without complaint. He has become the kind of dog who makes a room feel inhabited simply by being in it.

Julian Writes: The Day the Dog Arrived

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.