Henry, upon realizing the cupboard is bare.
Today, for the first time, I present two stories about Henry, my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. That’s two for the price of one! Unusual, I know.
I, Cook, wrote Story #2. Then, just as I was getting ready to post it, one of my readers, Robert, wrote his own story about Henry, on account that I’ve been sick (as everyone knows–thanks to my Sicko in Seattle post), and he decided that a little tale about the little king might be the thing to draw me out of my cold-ridden misery. And, he was right. So, thank you, Robert!
Herewith, two tales about a dog who descends from royalty.
1. Henry Fends for Himself, as told by Robert
Henry sat in his royal basket looking and feeling quite dejected. What am I to do, he thought to himself. Cook is ill and cook is not cooking. What will I do for lunch? The cupboard is bare, not a bone or a royal treat to be found.
Just then, a loud sneeze and a series of sniffles could be heard from Cook’s bed chamber.
There is nothing for it, thought Henry. I will have to mix with the working classes and do this thing they call shopping.
Getting out of the basket, he put his crown on its stand by his basket and made for the door. He opened his special doggie flap in the door and climbed through, muttering to himself. Humph!! Still no crown above the flap. Any cat or dog could use it, not realising it’s just for royalty.
Outside, he debated whether to head left or right, and decided right, as the sun would then shine on his good side. Trotting down the sidewalk, he came to a grocery store. He walked through the door and was promptly picked up and put outside again. After this happened three times, he sat and barked. How dare they not let him in! He was royalty, after all. Then, he spotted the notice on the door that said,
“NO DOGS EXCEPT BLIND GUIDE DOGS ALLOWED.”
Stupid sign, Henry muttered to himself, wondering, how can blind dogs read?
Dejected, he made his way home, and climbing through the dog flap, he smelt something nice. He smelt cooking!!!
Cook looked down at Henry, lying in his basket. “Henry, lunch is ready.”
Henry barked in joy and made his way to his bowl. He must have been imagining it. He must be cracking up!!!
2. Henry’s Thanksgiving in the Country, as told by me, Cook
This morning, I told Henry that it’s time to pack up his bags. For, I’m heading to Chicago to visit my daughter, my brother and his family. It’s Thanksgiving soon and, while I’m away, Henry’s going to spend the holiday in the country. And, by country I mean he’s going to my friend, Trisha’s house, which isn’t in the country at all.
But, Henry thinks it is, as Trisha–or the scullery maid, as he calls her–has an ample backyard, with lots of room to roam and wonder. She also has a horse in a stable somewhere, which Henry has visited before. So, as I tell him about his impending trip, it’s clear he’s mulling it over in his head.
“Cook, will I be going to the horse stable?” he asks quizzically. Henry calls me Cook, because I’m the one who serves him his meals.
“No doubt about it, Henry. Will that be a problem?”
“I don’t fancy stables. Horses can neigh rather loudly, you know. Practically burst my eardrums last time. Got my paws all muddied while there, too. Bloody mess! Took forever to get them properly cleaned.”
“The scullery maid told me she drew you a bath after that visit, and you were just fine.”
“True, but how I suffered for it.”
“The point is, Henry, you got over it.”
“Did I?” He pauses, then inquires, “What about the Thanksgiving feast? Does the scullery maid know I only eat the white meat?”
“Yes, she knows, and she already said no.”
“Are you sure, Cook? Exactly what did she say?”
“Something about, over her dead—.”
“Never mind,” Henry replies, sulkily. “Noblesse oblige, I suppose. ‘Tis my duty to let her little wards have the good bits. “
“Oh, you mean her kids? So, you’re okay with going?”
“I don’t seem to have a choice, do I? Though, tell me, will the ranch hand be there?”
“Ranch hand? Oh, you mean Cowboy, the scullery maid’s cat. Yes, I suppose he will, seeing as that’s his home.”
“Dash it all! It wouldn’t be so horrid if the ranch hand remembered to bow in my presence. Oh well, what can you expect from the feline purr-suasion?”
“And Henry, word has it there’s a new member in the family. Seems as though the scullery maid has taken in a dog, too.”
“A horse, a cat and now a dog?? Should make for a rather chaotic visit, if you ask me,” muses Henry, adding, “So, when exactly are you returning?”
Sigh. Summing up every ounce of patience, I glibly reply,
“Henry, I’ll be returning soon enough and that’s all you need to know.”
“Fine,” he snorts. “Abandon me to the country if you need to, but please, whatever you do, don’t put this in your blog. I have a reputation to maintain. No one need know that you’ve put me in a mood or that I’m pulling a face. Especially not the scullery maid. Don’t want to start off on the wrong paw, you know.”
Henry prepares for his journey to “the country.”
“Yikes. Too late,” I say. “Already posted.”
“Is that so? Then, make sure they also know how utterly delighted I am, too. In fact, I’m going to don my purple fascinator to show my joy. I’m going to the country! Maybe I’ll blog about it, too!”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Henry.”
And just like that, Henry leaves the room to fetch his petite chapeau.
Happy Thanksgiving from Henry and me!
Now tell me. Whether or not you celebrate, what are your plans this coming week?