It’s great having an office where I can bring my super cute dachshund, Libby, every day.
With a choice of three beds to relax in, you’d be forgiven for thinking she’s spoiled. And the constant stream of treats and toys clients bring in for her leaves the office looking like a small branch of Pets R Us.
Our daily walk through the park on the way home is disrupted today when an older gentleman calls and starts screaming down the phone at me, saying no one has called him back, despite him ringing about a trip to Jersey almost a week ago.
While he’s shouting, Libby’s secret admirer, Freddie – a handsome dapple dachshund – comes bounding towards her.
As two extendable dog leads intertwine to resemble Spaghetti Junction, I’m informed by Mr Angry that he’d spoken to my ‘wife’, and she had promised to return the call – but he hadn’t heard back.
As he only has a landline my ‘wife’ has effectively forced him to return to shielding at home while he awaits her call.
I don’t quite know how to tell tell him that I only work with my husband of 32 years and, as hubby is a strapping French man with a black belt and a hairy back, I don’t think he would appreciate being called the ‘wife’.
Further investigation reveals Mr Angry had called the wrong number and he blames his missus for the confusion.
I only hope she is a little less hirsute than mine.
Read previous Tales from the Secret Agent here.