We went down the hall together. There were a few students around, of various ages, but not many. Presumably, classes were in session. The walls were painted two unpleasant shades of institutional green, darker below and lighter above. Some areas had been defaced with graffiti and posters, and near the corner someone had started a nice painting of a seashore, right on the wall.
Then we turned a corner and we were in a classroom, looking at an unusual sight. There were about six or seven very small children, and a woman who was apparently the teacher. And a dog, so to speak.
The "dog" was a woman, with short blonde hair, dressed in a black sweatshirt and jeans. She was trotting across the room on all fours, with a very small child on her back. The child appeared to be delighted as the woman turned and went across the room the other way, back toward the teacher.
Then, when she saw Pete, she veered off in his direction, barking happily.
I had seen Daphne before a couple of times, at various events, but we had never been formally introduced. Pete squatted and rubbed her head, and then he carefully lifted the little girl down off her back.
"I'm not sure how to take this," he said to us, "but apparently my dog has more to contribute to the cause of education than I do."
Daphne barked and came over to me. "Hold out your hand," Pete advised. "Let her smell you." I extended my hand. She sniffed it, then she barked with what seemed to be approval. The process was repeated with my employer.
Once the formalities were over, Jan said, "Enjoyable as this is, I think we're overdue for the class I'm supposed to be addressing. Pete, I'm sure rock and roll music will be added to the curriculum at some point."
We said our farewells, and stepped into the hall.
"Ah, Miss Sleet," called a woman who was coming down the hall toward us. "I was just looking for you."
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