GET out the red pen and circle Friday, June 26. One: because it’s Friday and therefore TGIF special. Two: because it might be a good day to turn into a POETS day. Three: it’s TYDTWD.
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You might not be familiar with the third reason: Take Your Dog To Work Day.
I won’t be. I might stay at home with the pooches, but there is no way on Dog’s Earth that any office would survive the rambunctious behaviour of the two Casa Bushwhacked corgis, Marley and Max.
(Sorry to the woman who wrote in suggesting the second pup should be called Bob so we could then just go out into the yard and scream out for Bob Marley. No, people think we’re weird enough already, so we went for Max … err, short for Maximus, You’d have to see him to know why that’s funny.)
Marly and Max are sister and brother, separated by one year, but seldom physically separated by as much as one centimetre.
When you look up the word “romp” in the dog dictionary there should be a picture of these two.
Well, truthfully, they actually have two speeds: romp and stop.
They start at 5.30am most days doing World Corgiship Wrestling up and down the kitchen and the only way to stop the swirling, crashing chaos is to put dog snacks into two bowls. Followed by some chicken, more snacks, dog food, cat food, more snacks and then booting them outside before the canine digestive system decides that two into one will not go.
But they are a riot in all senses of the world and we had no idea it would be easier to look after two corgis than one. Little (not so much these days) Max adores his big sister and copies her every move and mood. In turn, Marley acts like the archetypal big sister with maternal overtones.
But in the office? Nope.
Within seconds computer cords would be chewed, rubbish bins up-ended, filing cabinets emptied, doors barged and bashed about and there’d be a canine chorus in the tea room, or – worse – an assault on the office fridge which they know as the Big White Magic Box Which Makes Food.
We’d be on the phone trying to get to grips with some complicated issue and Max would be having his two-cents worth in the background.
Or, although they are both very well trained, the temptation to “decorate” the floor under the boss’ desk would be too much. (“Hmmm, Max, needs some more eau-de-canine over here, please.”)
They would confiscate a plastic water bottle for a round or two of doggie soccer. Marley’s brilliant at it and can run a soccer ball with extraordinary precision round and round the back yard for ages, deflecting it off the sheds, running it up and down fences and bouncing it on the end of her nose. All, while Max is hanging off her tail laughing his fat head off.
An office is no place for a young corgi.