Fagan’s Den

I watched the little dog come off the bus in his owners arms.  The dog was little mutt about 15 pounds with black fur and a cute little face.  The owner – a scruffy looking guy about forty or so – put the dog down,  unhooked his leash, and called him to follow as he walked up the street.  But the little guy wouldn’t follow; he stood and stared at his owner. I was standing in an office in San Francisco looking out the window of the second floor almost on top of the dog and his owner.  I thought of Kali back home enjoying the afternoon sun or sleeping somewhere in the house.

In my professional life I’m a business operations consultant fortunate to work mostly from my home office periodically going to client sites for meetings and business reviews.  I have a new client in San Francisco so I’ve been at their offices from time t time over the past several weeks.  Yesterday, I stood up to stretch towards the end of a long meeting and looked out the window to see the owner and little dog disembark from the city bus.

What struck me as funny was my keen interest in the dog and my waning interest in the meeting.

My client’s offices are very eclectic and really something to see; a mix wood, open ceilings, surrounded by art, offices, open meeting space, and elevated conference rooms with glass walls and large concrete posts from the original structure,  Located South of Market in the thick of a growing software and high-tech hub like most parts of The City it’s crowded, filled with traffic, and bustling with an array of activity.

As the meeting went on behind me I continued to stare out the window looking down at the owner calling his little dog to follow and the little dog not moving.  My first thought was why in the world would the owner take off the dog’s leash on the curb of this incredibly busy intersection.  Was this the reason the dog wouldn’t follow?  Was he petrified of all the cars, people, and movement he was experiencing as his little paws hit the ground?  Probably not.  He seemed relaxed and seemed very used to the environment.  He was probably more comfortable on the street than this blogger, a suburban dweller,  would be while walking the two or three blocks back to the parking garage.

The scruffy owner, with packages in his arms, continued to call the dog to follow.  I watched him call, point up the street, and try to coax the little guy to come along. But the dog stayed put.  At one point the dog stretched pushing his front paws down and his butt up in the air as if to say, “You go on ahead, I’ll just hang back here for a while”.  This went on for a minute or so and I began to think that maybe this guy wasn’t the owner.  But he had the dog on a leash as they got off the bus.  Maybe this guy goes around the city rescuing little strays from an even busier section of San Francisco and brings them here to safety.  Maybe he was like Fagan of Oliver Twist and this little dog was The Artful Dodger loosening up to go pick some wallets and return later to Fagan’s Den.  Maybe I should get back to the meeting….

So as I stood there watching the owner finally relents, takes the few steps back to the dog, picks him up and continues walking up the street with the little guy safely in his arms.  I turned back to the meeting and laughed to myself because I realized I had a big smile on my face.  I was amused because I realized that at that moment in time I was far more interested in the little dog than the meeting and I was totally OK with that.  I like my work.  And being self-employed I like to have work.  Work is a good thing when the word “retirement” is not present in my vocabulary or anywhere in my near future.

So there I stood in this very cool conference room with glass walls suspended above the street level in the middle of the universe, surrounded by high-tech and a booming economy, with very smart people behind me talking in business-speak about the project we are working on.  Pretty cool place to be on a Wednesday afternoon and getting paid for it.  For that I am grateful.

But at that moment it was much more important to me that the little pup was in his owners arms and, at least for now as they walked out of my sight line, was safe.

Safe and on his way back home with Fagan’s to meet up with Oliver and the other pups in the den.


I hope I shall have the honor of your intimate acquaintance. – Fagan, from Oliver Twist


Wagging Tales


Nothing quite like having what I refer to as a ‘pupster moment’ to bring life into clear focus and a smile on our faces. Those precious few moments are absolute food for the soul and I found myself smiling at reading about your recollection. Have a pawsome weekend. 🙂

I think it simply proves that you are a human(e) being……… not to be confused with those others who ignore “less fortunate people” on the street …….. if they even see them. Some people see the world based on their preconceived expectations of it, while others are realistic.
It is so easy to look at life without actually seeing it, just as it is so easy to hear the sounds of the world without actually listening to it and understanding it.
In downtown Toronto, a long time ago, and amidst the hustle and bustle of a Saturday evening; streetcars; police cars; fire trucks and other emergency vehicles together all the usual private and commercial traffic all contributing to the sounds of the evening. Stores and restaurants were “piping” their music to the outside world. Amidst all that was a young girl who had been abandoned by her family and who found herself living on the streets. She was badly dressed, and was trying to earn money for food by selling roses. They were red. They were symbolic of love. You can imagine that, out of all the activities going on that Saturday evening, which one stuck in my mind.

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