Zido, the Space Dog
Helloooo sweeeties!

Me again XXXXXX! 2 stories in one week! You LUCKY lot!

The biggest fantasist I ever knew was a chap called Len Dixon. Or it might have been Ken Dixon. Or Bob Dixon. Or Ron Micklethwaite. Something like that, anyway.

It was in my last (male) incarnation whilst I was working in a senior position for a large corporation, based in a lovely business park, all concrete and glass and coffee shops and the occasional tree.

I headed up a small team of professionals of all ages and background, all working on important projects for the company (can't go into any detail, trade secrets you know!!). Most of them were young thrusting smart keen chaps and chapesses, but there were a couple of older ones too. Len, or Ken, or Ron - let's say Len, it's easier - was one of these. Len was a quiet, unassuming little man in his early sixties, with a cherubic round face framed by frizzy grey hair. He had a little pot belly and a strange loping way of walking, other than that he was completely normal, until one day. I valued him for his experience (he'd been with the company all his life) and insight into our processes, and also socially; he could put away more whisky (or is it whiskey?) than anyone I had ever met. Whether this had anything to do with his - with what happened, I don't know. Probably.

Every week, I held a team meeting to hear updates on all the various projects under my radar and discuss team business. I usually held this on a Monday at 10am. It was a good way to start the week, to get everything in focus and kick off the week's work. I always supplied biscuits, and sometimes cakes, so these meetings were quite popular amongst staff.

One Monday I noticed that Len Dixon wasn't at the meeting. he hadn't phoned in sick and no-one had heard from him or knew where he was. I started the meeting anyway intending to deal with his unauthorised absence later. Ten minutes into the meeting, however, there was a commotion as a strange figure entered the boardroom. It took me a few seconds to realise that this bizarre figure was actually Len Dixon.

He was wearing a close-fitting bright red jumpsuit which accentuated his paunch grotesquely, bright yellow Wellington boots, and a bright yellow cape. On the chest of the jumpsuit was a stylised letter 'Z'. There were hushed mutters of exclamation as he calmly walked to the table and took his seat as though everything was normal.

But everything was not normal. Far from it. Now he was seated I could see that, on his head, he wore a brown cloth hat with long brown flaps dangling down over his ears that looked all the world like spaniel's ears (shut up). And over his nose he wore, secured by an elastic band, a toy plastic dog's nose complete with drooping whiskers.

Struggling somewhat to maintain my composure, I carried on with the meeting, asking for updates from each project lead - and wondering what the hell would happen when it was Len's turn to address the meeting.

That time soon came. 'Len, would you please update us on the URC project?'

Len didn't responded, merely continued staring down intently at the papers on the table before him.

'Len?' I repeated. Still no response. 'Len, can you hear me?'

Len raised his head and stared into space. 'Len Dixon doesn't exist any more. I am Zido, the Space Dog. Please therefore address me as such from now on.'

There were gasps, giggles, guffaws, even a few snorts of derision - I quelled them all with a raised hand. Len was clearly undergoing some sort of crisis but the time to deal with that was later. Smoothly, I said, 'Of course, Zido. Your report, please?'

Len gave his report in his usual calm professional manner, the only difference being that now, he was dressed as - and believed himself to be - Zido, the Space Dog.

After the meeting I took him into Meeting Room 2.2 for a little chat.

'Okay, Len, how's things generally?' I began.

'Zido,' Len corrected. 'Zido, the Space Dog.'

I gazed into his pale blue eyes above the plastic dog nose. I looked at the floppy ears, the red jumpsuit and yellow cape. 'Are you doing this for a bet?'

He blinked. 'Doing what for a bet?'

'Pretending to be this Space Dog thing.'

He frowned and shook his head. 'No. I am Zido the Space Dog. And I would kindly ask that you respect that.'

'Fine.' I exhaled. 'So is everything okay at home? Any health problems?'

'None,' he replied. 'I am feeling fine.'

'But you now want to be called Zido, the Space Dog, and wear that uniform?'

'No,' said Len, sounding irritated. 'I AM Zido the Space Dog, and this is what I wear. Do you have a problem with that?'

I considered. I highly valued Ken's input. Other than the costume, and the name, he seemed sane enough. 'As long as you can do your job, er, Zido, no, I don't have a problem.'

He stood up. 'Then if you will kindly permit me to get on with my work?'

I nodded, and he left.

I checked with HR and according to the rules of diversity, there was nothing that said Len couldn't dress up as and call himself Zido the Space Dog. We had to respect each individual's protected characteristics, and, as long as they displayed the appropriate expected behaviours, everything was okay.

And, indeed, everything was okay. Len continued to perform his duties as well as, if not better than, before; the only difference being that now, he dressed as - and believed himself to be - Zido, the Space Dog. I held a meeting with his immediate colleagues to brief them and ensure that everyone treated him with respect, as I would not stand for any bullying (unless, of course, it was me doing it).

Things came to a rather abrupt head one Friday a month after Len had 'come out' as Zido, the Space Dog.

I was on my way out of the office and saw Len slipping out the fire escape door. Curious, I followed him and was alarmed to see him trotting up the staircase, yellow cape billowing in the wind, towards the roof. I followed, wondering what the hell he was up to. I had a bad feeling about what was about to transpire.

When I got up to the roof, Len - Zido - was standing right at the edge, staring out over the concrete and glass expanse of the business park. I approached cautiously.

'Zido?' - I'd got so used to calling him that, that it never even crossed my mind to use his real name - 'Zido, what are you doing?'

He gave no sign that he'd heard me, just kept standing there, cape and ears fluttering in the strong breeze.

'Zido!' I shouted, stepping closer. 'Come back inside! Now!'

Zido muttered something but the words were carried away by the wind.

'What did you say?'

Still he didn't turn to face me. 'I'm going home.'

'To your home planet?' Zido had not told us anything about his (obviously fictional) homeworld or background - yet. Was this about to change?

This time he did turn, to frown at me. 'No, to 9 Berrymead Gardens. This Earth is my home planet.'

So saying he turned away and took a step closer to the edge.

'Zido!' I cried. 'Don't! Get the bus like you normally do!'

He turned to face me once more, and I gazed into his watery blue eyes either side of the toy plastic dog's nose. Were those tears? The brown spaniel ears flapped forlornly in the breeze. He looked infinitely lost, and profoundly sad. 'Zido, the Space Dog, can fly,' he said so softly, so calmly. 'I am Zido, the Space Dog, therefore I can fly.'

So saying he turned and stepped off the edge.

We were on the top floor of a twelve storey building.

I heard him say 'Oh!' in a surprised voice just as he disappeared from view, and then, 'YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGH!' as he obviously realised that, although in his mind he was Zido, the Space Dog, in reality, he wasn't; and, therefore, he could not fly.

There was a distant, heavy, squelching, splintering thump, followed by screams. I winced and peered over the edge. There, far below, lay the broken body of Zido - of Len, Len Dixon, one of my best project managers, in a spreading pool of blood. Slowly a crowd of onlookers gathered round and I turned away, disgusted.

What a waste. What a waste of talent. What a waste of a good life. How could someone be so completely, so fatally deluded?

See you next week, Sweeties!! Off to try to mend my TARDIS now!!!

MMMMWAAAH!!!!!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 17:47, 15 replies)

it had words but very, very, very little meaning. Soz, Mrs. Dr. Skagra.

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 20:29, closed)

I liked it.
A mixture of Falling Down, Apocalypse Now and Woof! Off of CITV.
(Andrew Avetoom, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 20:39, closed)

You know I like her ouvre but this leaves me cold.
Woof! - you is well gay innit
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 21:06, closed)

If liking Woof! Is gay then lube me right up.

(Andrew Avetoom, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 21:16, closed)

you like young boys who then shape shift to obedient dogs - just saying

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 23:03, closed)

I concede every point you make except for the 'obedient dog' bit.
That dog was always up to no good!

If it wasn't hi-jinx it was shenanigans or just old fashioned pissing about.
(Andrew Avetoom, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 23:50, closed)

aw thanks Brady
Hugs!

(((((((((((()))))))))))))))

XXXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 22:38, closed)

That's all right Mr Quinch
I still luv u

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 22:39, closed)

u2 dr.skagra

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 6 Jun 2014, 23:04, closed)

Oh, the irony...
...and it gets a click.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 15:29, closed)

Don't know WHAT you mean...!
XXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 16:46, closed)

Exactly...
X
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 0:40, closed)

no I really don't
he heee!
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 18:59, closed)

Not enough description of his costume. Did he adopt the pants outside suit mainstay of costumed crazies? Utility belt? Gadgets? Unique, dog-like aroma?

Details, Skaggy, details, that way it could've been 4 times longer than necessary.

I would also have to ask, are you implying he landed on your Tardis at the end?

HHHHHHHHHAAAAAWM! That's the sound of me swallowing your 'MWAAAHH'. Yeah. Deal with THAT.
(RebelWithoutApplause My underestimation will almost be the death of me, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 11:44, closed)

Thanks sweetie
I honestly can't remember in that much detail. I thinbk there was an utility belt, and a tail.

No he did not land on my TARDIS - as if I would keep it out in the open! Silly

As uou well know my TARDIS is up on blocks and I have been tryung to fix it for ages, thought this new incarnation would have the ne3cessary but no such luck. Sttill, I do have breasts, nice small (but pert) breasts.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 18:59, closed)