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Writing in the doghouse

January 31, 2012 | by Nancy Belusky

We have an open office environment. Usually it’s the hum of office white noise – copiers printing, people keyboarding, voices engaged in meetings and brainstorms, the occasional howl of laughter when a brainstorm slides into humor. But not today. Today I’m writing in the doghouse, because it’s unofficial Dog Day at StoneArch.

We have a daily office dog, Henry, who is a quiet sheltie. You never notice him unless you’re in a closed door meeting space. The doors are glass, so you can see Henry standing there, wanting to get in. So we let him in. He takes a tour of the room and then he wants out. And then he wants in again. But he never barks. He just looks at you with an intense “Am I part of the team or not?” attitude.

But when there are new dogs in town, the atmosphere changes. It’s the first hour that’s a chaotic cacophony. There’s barking—because if one makes a statement, the others have to have the last word. And then there’s the hierarchy of power. Oh yes, an office pecking order even among the canines. Only Henry is immune. He flat-out refuses to participate. The leader of the pack is Stella, a teacup yorkie, who tips the scale at just over four pounds. Stella is a doberman at heart, and she isn’t afraid to let the other dogs know it. She is mighty in her attitude. It’s like pitting Kristen Chenoweth against Shaquille O’Neal… and Shaq would back down.

So who are Stella’s minions today? We have Seamus, a yorkie poo who outweighs Stella by a good ten pounds. A nip to the nose has already let Seamus know who’s boss, and he gives Stella plenty of room. There’s also Charlie, a lhasa apso with a hand-knit green sweater, who also bows when Stella crosses his path. Whalen, the golden brown dachshund, is a favorite with the interactive team. And Henry’s two biological brothers are also in: Jackson, who is furry brown fun, and black and white Quincy, who tries to herd wayward staff people.
It’s after lunch and it’s much quieter now. Power has been established, and everyone knows his or her place. I know mine. Stella’s made it clear that I’m going nowhere until I hit my word count.