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"TAKE YOUR DOG to Work Day" could have gone one of two ways.
Taz, our 90-pound-plus chocolate Labrador retriever could lie by my desk in the demure pose the doggie day creators dream of. The one that tempts non-dog-owners to rush out and adopt such easygoing pets for themselves.
Or Taz could be Taz. He could bark, drool and chew his way right out of a job--my job.
The good news? I'm still employed--at least as of press time.
But I found a bit of both worlds during last Friday's fifth annual canine celebration, created by Pet Sitters International.
I knew it would be a cinch to rouse Taz for work in the morning. He's always up and wagging way before me.
Feeding him breakfast would be a snap, what with his knack for scarfing down a bowlful of kibbles in five seconds flat.
And getting him in the car is never a problem. Car rides are as alluring to our dogs as candy is to kids.
So, with Taz fed and dressed in the handsome "Take Your Dog to Work Day" bandana that came in the PSI press kit, and with my fingers (and everything else) crossed, we were off.
The moment we sauntered through the wide front doors of The Free Lance-Star, Taz the dog began transforming himself into another type of animal altogether. He was becoming a bona fide attention hog before my eyes, milking his adorability for all it was worth.
The ladies in the lobby, the newsroom receptionist, the folks across the hall in advertising--everyone wanted to give him a pat.
The woman at the paper's front desk fawned all over him, even wiping away the goo that dotted the corners of his eyes. You know a person is a true dog lover when they're not afraid to touch that gunk with their bare hands.
And did Taz ever make himself at home!
He lapped up a bowl of water a co-worker gave him, gobbled down a bag of doggie treats my editor brought in and climbed right up on my desk mate's lap as if he were as light as a French poodle.
Good thing she likes Labs.
Good thing my desk is in a corner.
Then the comments started pouring in. Turns out, Taz could have used a dab of doggie cologne, if you know what I mean.
I admit it was my fault for not insisting on a bath the night before his big workday debut. But the nightly jaunts to his favorite mud holes don't help, doggone it.
Reporter Laura Moyer tried to be polite.
"My dog smells just like that, except with Fritos," she said about her mixed-breed coonhound Dolly.
But we were at work, and I'd have to worry about Taz's hygiene later. I tried desperately to wade through the notes I'd taken at a concert the night before.
But watching me type apparently proved to be no fun at all for Taz. He scratched and wagged, scratched and wagged, his thick tail beating against the metal drawer of my desk.
"I was wondering who was hammering over there," said fellow Life writer Lucia Anderson, "and then it occurred to me it was probably the dog."
Shhhhh, Taz!! Shhhhh!!
Then something indescribably exciting happened.
My desk mate, Emily Gilmore, ripped into a chocolaty cereal bar she'd brought for a midmorning snack. Poor Emily was suddenly someone's best friend.
The chocolate looked so delicious that Taz simply couldn't pry his eyes off of it. Bite after tantalizing bite, drool slid farther and farther past the bottoms of his frothy jowls.
But Emily held strong, not giving up a single crumb. Then, the last bite disappeared, and that was that. Taz slunk to the floor, head between his paws, utterly defeated.
But just as all seemed lost, staff photographer Bob Martin came along to cheer him up with another treat--an all-Taz photo session.
With another staff photographer, Reza Marvashti, for a dad, Taz is no stranger to a camera lens pointed up his nose. He primped and posed like a pro.
And once everyone got used to a four-legged fur ball as part of the office decor, things calmed down. I actually held a few phone conversations and finished transcribing my notes.
"He is being so good," my editor said. "I forgot he was over there until just now when he shook."
In fact, the occasional clanking of the metal tags Taz wears around his neck was the biggest clue that he was curled up beside me for most of the day. I was proud of my boy.
But when it was time to leave, my lovable Labrador still must have been dreaming of that long-gone chocolate bar. He still must have harbored hope for a morsel to reinvent itself when we stopped to say goodbye to designer Tracy Montauk.
Everyone in the department wanted to show Taz some love, and I got lost in the confusion. By the time I heard Tracy trying to tell me something, it was too late.
"Uh, Lisa, uh, I think he just ate something he shouldn't have," she said, searching desperately beneath her desk for a missing earphone cover.
The foamy pad might not have been as tasty as the chocolate bar to you or me. But hey, if Taz was satisfied
And he was.
At home, he conked out for the rest of the day, lost in doggie dreamland. He was probably posing for pictures, feasting on chocolate and earphone pads, and reliving each adventure of his first--and last--day at work.
LISA CHINN is a reporter for the Life section. You can reach her at 540/374-5424, or by e-mail at lchinn@freelancestar.com.
