My dog was a small, sweet animal that walked around the office, visiting my colleagues and getting lots of attention. She was almost always well-behaved and absolutely loved it when customers brought kids in—she was always drawn to youngsters.
One day I was working at my desk and she was the lone office dog. She was wandering and I saw her trot out of my boss’s office. He often brought his two large dogs in, so she enjoyed hanging out in his office and sniffing around. He always said she was welcome.
Not too long afterward, I needed to talk to him. He had an open door policy, so I walked in, but he wasn’t at his desk. It was odd, since I’d just seen him walk into his office.
I called his name and heard a muffled response come from under the desk.
Bending over and glancing underneath, I saw my intimidating and formidable boss in his slacks and button-down shirt and tie on his hands and knees scrubbing the carpet where my “well-behaved” dog had left her mark. He was laughing.
He still loved and welcomed my dog as long as I worked there—but needless to say, I kept her in eyesight from that point forward.