My law firm does not have a real office, but if it did it, I imagine it would be quite nice to have an office pet. Something to help settle the clients. A waiting-room stress ball, with fur.

Seeking such a pet for my firm, I went to Sydney University’s Veterinary School pet fair. Following (and sometimes holding) my nose, I stopped at a white rabbit settled in a big man’s stroking hands.

“I’m looking for a pet for my law firm,” I said. “Would this make a good office pet?”

“A ‘Rex’ rabbit might work,” he said. “It’s a very intelligent breed. Sort of cat-like.”

“Why not just get a cat?”

“I think you’ll understand if you feel the soft fur of a Rex.”

“Wow, that is soft. Sic ‘em Rex, eh?”

“Actually, that could be a problem. A rabbit will chew your electrical cables. Think Bugs Bunny meets 240 volts.”

“And ‘that’s all folks!’ for Rex.”

I went outside to watch a dog trick competition. I approached a woman leading around something poodle-like, in a tutu, on its hind legs.

“I’m looking for an office pet,” I said.

“Do you think your cross poodle could work?”

“Oh yes,” said the woman. “You could go for a spoodle, or schnoodle, or even a labradoodle, but the best one of all is a cute little cavoodle.”

“Very cute,” I said. “Hi there, kanoodle.”

“It’s cavoodle.”

“As in ‘kit and kaboodle’?”

“No not ‘kab’, its ‘cav’. As in cavalier. Cavalry. Cavort!”

“It seems they might be a little high-strung.”

“Sometimes, this is true,” sighed the woman.

I walked on past snakes, ferrets and cats, and stopped at a guinea-pig chap.

“I’m looking for an office pet,” I said.

“I’ve heard recordings of guinea pigs. Do they really squeal like that?”

“I have one that squeals every time I open the fridge.”

“Maybe I could train one to squeal whenever a client walks in,” I said.

“It could double as a receptionist.”

“I guess you could train it to squeal when a client rings a bell.”

“But if I could hear the bell, the guinea pig would be redundant and I’d have to let it go.”

“You could get a small bell, and place it next to the guinea pig.”

“Then my clients might think its the guinea pig’s bell … Hey, maybe when a client walks in the guinea pig could ring the bell, and then when it heard the bell it would know it should squeal.”

“No, it won’t be able to ring a bell. It can only squeal.”

“But that puts me right back where I started. If it can’t make itself squeal by ringing a bell, I’m not sure a guinea pig makes a very sensible pet.”

I spotted a man with a six-inch stick-insect crawling up his arm.

“I’m looking for a pet for my law firm.”

“This would be perfect,” he said, waving the insect in my face.

“Really? It’s not very cuddly.”

“No, feel here, underneath. Feel its soft underbelly.”

“That is soft,” I said. “But I’m not sure that’s quite the message I want to give to my clients – a lawyer with a soft underbelly?”

“Your clients need never know. You keep it in an aquarium where no-one can touch it. You buy the aquarium, I’ll install it and I’ll even throw in an insect for free.”

“What a great idea for a promo. Maybe I could give away a free stick-insect with every pre-nup!”

“I’m not sure that makes sense.”

“True. I might have to make it two stick-insects.”

Next I saw a padded policeman attacked by his dog. He said police sometimes sell their old dogs for pets.

“Well, I need a pet for my law firm. Maybe I could get one of your dogs?”

“It’ll eat your computers and desks and everything.”

“What about my clients?”

“It might eat some of them too. But it might help you get paid.”

Of course! Easier to operate than a trust account, hungrier than any mercantile agent, familiar to all the best clients, an ex-police dog is what every firm needs. Sic ‘em, ex-Inspector Rex!