Doggy Business

It wasn’t her fault.

“Hey there, doggie.”

The dog wagged its tail in front of me. Tongue out, eyes expecting. She’s sitting while I continue my smoke and her owner stands flabbergasted. This very dog has been plaguing our office with her droppings ever since I remember it the first time I came in for work.

”It’s a personal thing, really”, as said by the regular guys who hangs out around the place. It has something to do with a business deal gone awry, producing a sentiment well preserved until this very day, when both parties of the deal have aged well and prevailed. The result was passive-aggressive misconducts, sometimes silly when you think about it, like letting the dog bark at the employees of our office, taking the dog out to poo on our parking lots, and just being a pain in the ass most of the times. “Let him be, he’s just a bitter old man”.

He is.

One day, security comes into our office with their commander on full-intimidation mode. It ended up being a show off of power with a lack of responsibility, talking us down for having a full parking space and making it hard for other people to pass through the area, but refusing to take care of our “poo” problem, saying it was “a matter of the bosses”. A friend tried reciprocating, but quickly pacified with a common threat of this developing country,

“I’m from around here”.

The night following said incident, the certain old man walked his dog to belt out his droppings on our place once again. Looking at him, he said nothing. I produced a dog whistle and whistled quietly, her ears perked up and, ignoring her previous business, ran up to that source of high-pitched sound—yours truly.

“What now?”

It wasn’t her fault, so I prepared my best middle finger for the guy.

”Screw you, old man.”

But I didn’t. It’s silly enough as it is.

”Poor doggie.”