On GERMAN SHEPHERD

March 25th
On GERMAN SHEPHERD

Fred Wallace had a headache. He accessed his email, and there were five emails, all with a list of things to do, which he added to his list of things to do, which he put on top of his physical inbox, which was stacked with papers. He knew that at the bottom of this inbox was a letter from a starving child overseas, named Alejandro, whom he had to write to to support his financial support, but he had never gotten that deep in the inbox in seven years. God knew what project was down there with Alejandro, hopefully no one had died because of a project he had neglected.
Fred was in a grey cubicle in an 18th floor office in a major city. He turned to look out the window, but it was blocked by a cannonade of filing cabinets. He turned back to his computer terminal, and three more emails popped up. For the first time in seven years, he was really starting to panic.
“Fred drop what you’re doing and take a look at this!” yelled Fred’s boss, Harv.
“Aaaah!” yelled Fred, and then a big dog jumped up on Fred’s lap and licked Fred’s face. It was a German Shepherd. Fred knew what German Shepherds were from cop shows, but he’d never seen one up close.
“He’s so friendly!” smiled Harv.
“I thought… you were… coming… to give me… work to do…” said Fred, between licks.
“Ah, you needed a break,” said Harv. Harv was a tall man with a mustache, good looking.
Fred couldn’t believe such a noble creature, that he thought would be so vicious, or at least reserved, was so willing to openly display his affection for Fred.
“He’s wonderful!” said Fred, choking back a sob.
“You know what?” said Harv, “You keep him. I’ll get another one.”
“Really?” said Fred, lifting up his saliva-covered face towards his employer.
“Yeah, I got lots of money,” said Harv casually, “And the kids don’t like this one, they want a dog with a smushed-in face. Fair enough, who doesn’t, those things are cute.”
“Apparently you have to wash out all the folds in their face,” said Susan, while rushing past, not pausing for a response.
“That’s true,” conceded Harv, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. His name’s Gladiator,” he said, pointing to the German Shepherd, “after that movie with Russell Crowe.”
“Thanks, Harv,” said Fred, “I won’t forget this.”
“Take a lunch, and take Gladiator here out to the qudrangle,” said Harv, “I’ll get Susan here to tak over your desk for a bit.”
It was the greatest day of Fred’s life. He went outside into the quadrangle with Gladiator, who he nicknamed Glad, and they played fetch with a ball for three hours. When he came back into the office, his face was red and blotchy from dog tongue.
“What happened to your face,” asked Susan, who was wearing a pantsuit and had a deep voice for a woman.
“Nothing,” said Fred.
“I finished all your work for you,” said Susan, “Remember this later.”
“All right,” said Fred. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“You better get that guy tested for worms,” said Susan, walking back to her desk.
“That’s good advice,” said Fred softly, rubbing Glad under the chin, “I don’t want anything to happen to you!”