Alyssa
The first hour at Crawford’s headquarters felt like being on one of those game shows where you have to herd small children through an obstacle course, except the children weighed forty kilos and had fur and some of them needed to pee every three minutes.
Alyssa had never seen so many navy and grey pantsuits in one place. If you dropped her here with no warning, she’d think it was a mass wedding for accountants. But instead of confetti, there was dog hair.
At the front reception, Alyssa juggled a dog leash in each hand, a third looped around her thigh like a bandolier. The team had fanned out to distribute the remaining dogs, and the lobby—which looked like the waiting room for a Silicon Valley jury duty—was already filling with the sound of claws on tile and high-pitched “oh my God, look at his ears” commentary. It was absolute chaos, and Alyssa had organised it.
Technically, this was a success.
Three months of planning had led to this moment. Three months of spreadsheets, risk assessments, and late-night calls with Lil asking if Alyssa was absolutely certain about this partnership. “What if it goes wrong?” Lil had worried. “What if the dogs freak out? What if Crawford’s sues us?”
But Alyssa had pushed through the doubts. These dogs needed this—needed people, needed purpose, needed to remember the world wasn’t just kennels and concrete. And if Alyssa was honest with herself, the sanctuary needed it too. Needed to prove Four Paws was more than a holding pen for unwanted animals. It was a bridge. A second chance.
Looking at the chaos now—the laughter, the tail wags, the woman in legal cooing at a schnauzer—Alyssa felt something rare: pride.
Alyssa caught Joy, the Crawford’s staff liaison, hovering nearby with a clipboard. In the way of all good middle managers, Joy looked simultaneously busy and like she might cry at any second.
“Joy, hey,” Alyssa called out. “You got a minute?”
Joy beamed, which, given the state of her morning, was an act of raw optimism. “Always for you, Alyssa! How’s the intake going?”
“Pretty smooth,” Alyssa said. A golden retriever tried to jump on a glass coffee table behind her; the table, at least,survived. “Couple of teething issues, no pun intended, but the teams are adjusting.”
Joy’s eyebrows did a wave. “Do we need to add more signage about the potty area? The sign we put up says ‘Paws for a Break’—I thought it was clever, but maybe it’s not clear enough.”
“I think it’s great,” Alyssa said, because Joy looked like a woman who’d fought for that pun in a thirty-person committee meeting. “Give it a day and everyone will have the routine down.”
They walked together down a hall, past the security desk and through a row of glass-walled meeting rooms, each with a small pack of dogs and humans doing icebreakers. The idea was to pair each dog from Four Paws with a Crawford’s staff “buddy” for the day—socialisation for the dogs, and, if the internal memo was to be believed, “stress relief and improved productivity” for the humans.
Alyssa wasn’t sure about the productivity part. Every third person they passed was taking a selfie with their assigned mutt.
At the next junction, a woman in a smart pinstripe suit knelt beside a shivering whippet. “Don’t worry, Beryl, you’ll get the hang of these weirdos,” she cooed.
Alyssa stopped. “How’s Beryl settling in?”
The woman straightened up and shook Alyssa’s hand. “Oh, thank you for checking—she’s a little skittish, but she’s got a home office buddy already. We’re working up to the open-plan floor. I’m Claudia, by the way, legal team.”
“Glad to hear it. Whippets need a slow ramp up.” Alyssa squatted and offered Beryl a treat from the never-ending supply in her jacket pockets. “Take it slow, and if she looks overwhelmed, take her outside. Fresh air’s the best therapy.”
Claudia looked genuinely grateful, like someone had just paid off her mortgage. Alyssa left her with a packet of minibiscuits and a warning about the building’s glass doors—“more whippet injuries than you’d believe”—and moved on.
Making a slow circuit, Alyssa checked on each dog and human team. One by one, they fell into familiar categories: the lifers who’d had dogs growing up and immediately bonded, and the softies who were already plotting to smuggle their assigned rescue home, and the few who’d clearly signed up because they were thinking about getting a pet but were still nervous. They watched their dogs like they expected them to explode, and mostly, the dogs responded by laying directly across their shoes.
Alyssa loved this phase of the job. Even though it was temporary, even though most of these dogs would be heading back to the sanctuary in a few weeks, the impact was immediate. The animals relaxed. The people relaxed. The tension in her shoulders eased—almost.
The staff kitchen beckoned, and Alyssa slipped inside for coffee, only to discover she’d beaten the first wave of office workers by about fifteen seconds. The only other person there was a heavyset security guard in a black polo, dunking a tea bag in a mug the size of his head. His name tag said ‘Colin,’ and he gave Alyssa a curt nod as she poured herself a coffee.
“Didn’t expect to see so many dogs, ma’am,” Colin said.
The coffee was, against all odds, decent.
“Are they causing problems for your team?” Alyssa asked between small sips.
“Nah, not really. They’re better than the delivery guys.” Colin sipped his tea. “My little girl’s been bugging me to get a dog. I keep telling her, I sometimes work nights, nobody’s home for it, but she won’t let up.”
“How old is she?” Alyssa asked, leaning against the counter.
“Seven. Going on forty.” Colin’s smile carried the weight of single parenthood. “Her mum left when she was three. It’s just us now. I keep thinking a dog would be good for her, you know?Company when I’m at work. But I can’t afford doggy daycare, and I can’t leave an animal alone for twelve hours.”
