Take a Dog to Work

Rose took Binkie to work. This was a behavior Ben deemed self-destructive.

He asked, Why not just quit your job? Why court disaster?

Rose said, Nobody minds Binkie. Binkie is the perfect office mate.

What about your boss?

Rose yawned. He’s never said a word about it. Anyway, Kent just promoted me.

Poor Binkie. Hanging around a dull architecture office.

Are you kidding? Binkie loves it. One of the guys play frisbee with him.

Is that the frisbee golf nerd?

The frisbee golf champion. He’s very sweet.

Rose thought for a minute about how sweet the frisbee golf guy was. He had brought Rose flowers on her birthday. Ben had forgotten her birthday until nine o’clock when he rushed home from the office with a Home Depot gift card that she happened to know his mother had sent him last Christmas. What would it be like to be married to the frisbee golf guy?

She supposed she’d play a lot of frisbee.

Ben and Rose stared at each other, disgruntled, out-of-synch. Ben, dressed in a suit, prepared for a 10:00 meeting with a committee that controlled a grant he had applied for, was edgy and fractious . She knew he was nervous, but she hated his taking it out on her. Once he had found her eccentricities charming. Now he looked at her as coldly as though she were a bag lady on the street.

He would probably be nice to the bag lady.

Clothes make the man, Rose thought. He’s nice when he’s in his jeans.

Rose wasn’t in bag lady mode. She wore a cocoa-hued pantsuit with a camisole top under a long V-neck cardigan, lace-up riding boots, and a Minnesota Twins ball cap to break the look. Rose was mildly bored by the look. She was a fan of casual fashions.

On the days when Rose took Binkie to the office, Rose dressed to the nines. The whole professional look was such a yawn to her that she picked these outfits off mannequins in department stores. But if she came to work dressed in appropriate clothes, accompanied by an aging dog who slept most of the day, what was there to complain about? Kent didn’t dare complain. Her work was too good, her dog too well-behaved.

The frisbee guy’s face lit up when she walked in. Rose, you’re back. So you were sick? He stooped to pet the dog. Binkie, hey, wanna play frisbee later?

I was pretty sick, Rose said, smiling. Binkie’s my escort in case I get the vapors and pass out.

I hear you’re my new boss on the Glen project.

Rose laughed. Yeah. Have you planned our end-of-project No Nukes rally?

I figure we should chain ourselves to the fence outside the nuclear plant and sing old Dylan songs. Oh, and confess that we sold out.

That sounds entertaining. A bunch of anti-nuke architects whining and waving signs and getting arrested.

Let’s bring Binkie, too. Binkie can bring us brandy.

She laughed. He’s not a St. Bernard.

Kent wandered out of his office and smiled, deliberately ignoring the dog. If the dog didn’t exist, Kent didn’t have to mention it. Kent literally did not see Binkie. Dog? What dog?

Kent shook Rose’s hand. Congratulations on your promotion. We’ll have a meeting about it later. Elevenish?

Thank you. Sounds good.

Rose went into her office, followed by Binkie wagging his tail. She put on her iPod and turned on the computer.

Kent sighed. The dog was out of sight. Why on earth had she brought the dog to the office? He refilled his coffee and wondered if Rose was going to quit on him as Brenda had.

Better not mention the dog.