It is with personal regret but warm wishes that I announce the retirement of my service dog. He still comes in a few hours a week to do the books, steal his coworker’s snacks, and clean anyone’s teeth who’ll let him, which is what made it so difficult to acknowledge his retirement earlier. He has indicated repeatedly that it’s time I acknowledge that he doesn’t work here anymore, a point he emphasized just now by dragging his ass across the carpet.
His desire to emotionally support the business has grown as worn and creased as a letter from a therapist that says he can fly for free.
His leaving marks the end of an era. When he applied for the position by peeing on my arm in Key West, the company was young, drunk, and underperforming. I am pleased to announce after his 16 to 100 years of service (depending on who you ask) the company is now wiser, sober, and occasionally performing. A farewell reception was offered but he prefers to use that time to nap in the closet.
There’s been some noise about the passing on of his official duties to the cat, who you have been seeing more of lately on the company’s Instagram. Very photogenic but an unapologetic wrist biter who recently destroyed the couch in the break room.
Anyone who has ever met a cat knows they have no desire to be of service. Sure, occasionally, she’ll kill a bug and even remain in the area to restore democracy, which admittedly does provide some form of emotional relief, but essentially, she is uncooperative. This will be addressed in her year-end review.
A word on his accomplishments — he’s dazzled us in rabbi and rabbit costumes, charmed the rotating cast of investors who claimed to be his daddy, and doubled our revenues one spring by tagging along from comedy show to comedy show in Brooklyn until someone asked, “Service dog? You’re not blind?” and I replied, “I am blind emotionally.”
He has proven to be a valuable asset time and again. In just one fiscal year (2012), he exceeded expectations with three memorable and strategic shits. The first was on the small rug next to my mother’s bed, where she steps first thing in the morning; the second was on an investor’s pillow who couldn’t be trusted, and the third was in front of the cosmetics counter at Macy’s, which averted a budget crisis.
A few more notable contributions include tolerating being held like a stress ball while I get my lips filled and staying in his carrier on long drives (to get my lips filled) because my intrusive thoughts tell me that I’m going to throw one or both of us from the moving car.
Recently I ignored one of his paid time outside requests and he yelled in my face, which he never did when he was on the clock. “It’s not like you need me to confiscate your wallet between rehab and relapse anymore!” he announced before peeing on the bath mat while maintaining eye contact, then turning in a circle five times and falling asleep. A lack of boundaries is fundamental to the company culture.
He’s over it. His remaining days/months /years/ will be spent high on CBD, eating baby animals, and being pushed around.
