Agency

In Which, as Promised, There Is a Dog

Monday (again)

Berry stood outside his (used to be Niall's) office door. Behind the closed door, he could hear evidence that Allegra had ignored his fairly straightforward concerns about the dog: a sort of snorting, snuffling sound that didn't feel native to the office environment.

Fraser, Head of Accounts (except Pharma, which now belonged to Berry), was on his way to his own office next door. He saw Berry hesitating in the hallway and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Mondays, eh? Don't worry," said Fraser in an attempt at solidarity. "Nothing in there waiting to bite."

If only we could be sure, Berry muttered to himself, pushing through the door and closing it quickly to avoid another 'no hard feelings, we're brothers now' chat with Fraser who had taken the news of Berry's promotion to Head of Pharma Accounts with exceeding grace. Of course.

Berry looked around the interior of his office suspiciously. On the basis of every Hollywood dog movie he'd ever seen, he was expecting an apocalyptic scene; everything within reach chewed, scattered and slobbered all over. Strangely, his office appeared intact. It did smell weird, though.

The source of the snuffling Berry had heard from outside sat civilly in the middle of the floor, making frank eye contact with him. What struck Berry immediately, right after the smell, was that Allegra had lied on two counts:

This was no puppy.

It wasn't, by any measure he could imagine, gorgeous.

What it was, in fact, was an astonishingly muscular little barrel -- the size of a small beer keg -- on stumpy legs. Brown eyes peered out from what seemed to Berry to be an overabundance of face: folds and jowls hung everywhere like meaty curtains. Its flopped-over triangle ears pricked up when Berry cleared his throat and prepared to introduce himself.

"Hum..." he started, unsure exactly how animals liked to be approached, never having had one. "I'm Berry. Who are you, then?"

The beer barrel angled its massive head as if trying to translate Berry's question. Its right jowl hung slackly, and a solitary drip of saliva stretched downward (there it was -- the Hollywood drool).

Berry instinctively bent over and stuck his hand out. He thought maybe he'd seen people approach strange dogs like this in the park.

The rust coloured beer barrel shuffled toward the man's outstretched hand and gave it a sniff. Finding it treatless, the beefy animal shuffled away and heavily thudded down onto the Union Jack upholstered dog bed that had appeared beside the desk. It gave a long, heaving sigh as if it bore the weight of humanity on its broad shoulders.

Keeping one eye on the dog, Berry moved to the other side of the desk and stowed his messenger bag in a drawer rather than under the desk where he normally would. On the desktop, he found a note from Allegra.

Isn't he adorable? I've been calling him Henry, but your girls can think of something better. Tell them he's an English Bulldog though and deserves something regal.

Yours, A

As usual, Berry found her lack of concern for secrecy alarming. The tighter he tried to jam the lid on, the looser she seemed intent on making it. He needed to fix this, as his Dad had advised, before everyone found out.

Berry sat in his chair and sighed.

"What are we going to do about this situation we've got ourselves into, Henry?"

Recognizing his name, Henry raised his huge head. At the same time, he released a loud thwaaat of air from his rear end.

"Very regal, Henry," Berry observed wryly. "Really very kingly."