THE BOSS IS A DOG: A workplace Comedy About Burnout, Leadership, and a Very Good Boy

This is not a book about dogs.

Well—technically it is. But it’s not about dogs.

It’s about work.

About exhaustion dressed up as professionalism.

About meetings that could have been emails, and emails that feel like judgment.

About the quiet anxiety of trying to do everything right and still feeling like it’s never enough.

If you’ve ever refreshed your inbox like it might bite you, this book is for you.

The story you’re about to hear began as a simple idea:

What if the boss was actually a dog?

Not metaphorically.

Not “dog-like.”

Not “golden retriever energy.”

An actual dog. With a tie.

At first, the idea is funny in the obvious way. Dogs don’t understand quarterly reports. Dogs don’t schedule meetings. Dogs don’t care about hierarchy or performance reviews.

And that’s when the uncomfortable question sneaks in:

What if that’s exactly why it works?

This book follows Jimmy, a well-meaning, over-prepared, permanently anxious employee who believes deeply in rules, systems, and doing things the “right” way. When his carefully ordered world collides with a manager who operates on trust, presence, and the occasional walk outside, Jimmy is forced to confront something far more frightening than corporate chaos.

Change.

What unfolds is a workplace comedy, yes—but also a quiet exploration of burnout, control, and what leadership looks like when fear is removed from the equation. There are road trips. There are meetings that go off the rails. There are moments of absurdity that feel suspiciously familiar.

And there is a dog who never raises his voice, never humiliates anyone, and somehow makes people want to do better.

This story isn’t here to tell you how to work.

It’s here to remind you how it feels when work doesn’t consume everything else.

You don’t need to love dogs to enjoy this book.

You don’t need to hate your job either.

You just need to recognize the feeling of holding your breath too long—and the relief of finally letting it go.

So take this as permission.

Permission to laugh at the ridiculous parts.

Permission to notice the quiet ones.

Permission to imagine that leadership could be kinder, simpler, and a little more human.

Or at the very least…

A little more dog.