Guest blog: Dad writes about a day with Beale

The day began like most, with me waking up to the gentle sounds of a blaring alarm and Beale wailing from her kennel. Yay. I’m going to need coffee and/or quaaludes.

For those of you who might not know, we Californians wait in long lines to buy our coffee from shops because we cannot be bothered to prepare it for ourselves. These shops are all the same. They sell bags of the latest (see also: trendy, disgusting, tasteless, “Fair Trade”) whole-bean coffee harvested with loving care by the hardworking indigenous people of some third world country you’ve never heard of right next to shelves stacked with The New York Times, brightly colored commuter mugs and iTunes gift cards. Californians have also gotten pretty lax when it comes to standards of cleanliness. There are plenty off interesting things on the floor for Beale to salivate over. These stores also contain a never-ending stream of people willing to pet/scratch/whistle at/call her without asking. In this place, Beale is in heaven. This will be the highlight of her work day.

8:15 a.m. – We arrive at the office and Beale settles in. I immediately attack Powerpoint/Youtube simultaneously.

My desk. As you can see, Becka's claims about my maturity have been greatly exaggerated... and yes, that is a 55" inflatable marlin hiding behind the monitors, directly below the LEGOs.

10 a.m. – More Powerpoint for me.

Beale does what she does best.

Noon – Powerpoint and Web meeting for me.

working hard...

2 p.m. – Teleconference with a product manager.

...or hardly working?

4 p.m. – Powerpoint for me; Beale gets frustrated and decides to fix her boredom.

Beale gives up and starts watching Secret Life of the American Teenager on Hulu......

6 p.m. – E-mails to project manager; Beale finds more entertainment.

Beale moves on to Make It Or Break It on Hulu.

6:40 p.m. – Beale’s episode ends just in time for us to leave.

I force her to listen to NPR on the way home (she prefers Top 40) but the day is saved when we arrive home to find a present waiting for us. I’m sure Becka can (and probably will) tell you why exactly Beale is receiving registered mail, some kind of Twitter thing I think, but I’m fairly convinced its a pyramid scheme.

A Box.

"But Jack, I can't open it. I don't have opposable thumbs!"

A conflict immediately erupts over the package contents.

Beale taunts her opponent by taking the toy... and his bed.

Fin.

Love from Rancho Cordova, Sacramento and the road in between,

Jack

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