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Some of you may be surprised to learn that I’m a dog owner now. It’s a pretty dramatic turn of events, but one that I’m embracing with an open heart and open mind. Much like golf, baseball, and business, dog owning is a sport, and there are no off days. So while my day-to-day may be a mix of talking into a microphone, running a website, and reviewing very important contractual documents, I have an obligation to Randy to guide him through this life as best I can.
In case you’re new here, give him a look…
I’m lucky enough to work in a dog-friendly environment here at Grandex Media, and I try to bring him in as much as I can without making it weird. So yeah, I’m a dog-at-work guy now. One who’s feeling the pressure of not being the employee to finally get the dog-friendly workplace policy axed.
Is he too big of a distraction?
Distractions can ruin teams. See any number of Dallas Cowboy teams from the last twenty years, with a particular focus on the 9-7 2017 team. At the office, a dog is a distraction. A distraction can be positive for your team. Like, maybe, scheduling a happy hour during a financial collapse in 2009 to get everyone so disgustingly hammered they forget that a third of them will be gone in a month. But what if Randy is so dope that all productivity ceases to exist because my coworkers are handing out pets like a no-kill shelter. That’s a lot of pets, folks!
What if he lays a steamer inside of the office?
Randy is an absolute unit. He’s a shade over five months old and he’s already pushing 60 lbs. It’s great, but as the old saying goes, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the dump that will eventually come out of the dog. These logs are a sight to be seen. Every time I take him outside to do his business, he does his thing and hits me with this:
If he lets one slip in the office, we’re shutting it down for the day. Maybe even the week. I won’t be able to show my face around these parts again, and neither will he.
Dammit, what’s he chewing on?
Me: Is that a ping pong ball? Dude, don’t let him eat that!
Coworker: Nah, he’s just eating part of that toy he ripped to shreds earlier.
Me: Oh, thank god.
It’s early in the game, but the Rand Man has yet to show any inclination that he’s a chewer. Occasionally you’ll catch him with a sock in his mouth, but I feel like that’s more about him sending a message that he wants to play and less about his desire to feast upon my Nike ankle socks. I still have a fear that he’ll chew up some important documents that are laying around for some reason.
Where’d Randy go?
This pup has turned into gotdam Magellan over the last two weeks. When I first started bringing him around, he’d rarely leave my side. But now? The boy has spread his wings. I introduced him to the stairway leading to the mezzanine, and now I’ll look up and see him posted up there looking down at me like he has something negative to say about my work product. It’s a whole new world for him. I’m going to create a # Randy Slack channel just so people can give real time updates for where he was last spotted.
How many times can one man say, “Is he bothering you?”
No one has ever said, “Hey, I’m really busy can you get this dog the fuck away from me?” Unfair or not, you’d forever be the person who doesn’t like dogs. I’m not saying it’s right, but that’s just the way it is. That doesn’t stop me from being overly cautious when someone’s workspace is being invaded by Randy Savage. I fully expect someone to turn to me and say, “Hey, calm down asshole. He’s not bothering me.”
Am I trash for asking someone to keep an eye on him while I hop on a phone call or something?
I’ve had no less than ten offers from people, some complete strangers, who are willing to dog sit the big guy. Our old friend Intern Killshot even hit me up offering to take him down to Zilker Park one day. We get it dude, you wanna pick up babes. But part of me feels like a deadbeat dad when I ask someone to watch him for a few minutes. Is that trash? Am I not cut out for this? I’m not pawning him off so I can hit the club or something, but I still hate asking.
Can I bring him to happy hour?
You don’t want to be Mike..