Outfoxed

Outfoxed

By Laura Brady DePace

The castle stretched before me, warm gray stone basking in the sun, perfect blue sky arching over it, puffy white clouds floating above it for decoration. It waited, arms outstretched, to welcome its princess back home.

To be clear, I wasn’t the princess. I was the princess’s dog-walker.

The dog in question was, of course, as pure-bred as her owner: a gorgeous Pomeranian by the name of Princess Foxworth Aurora of the Sonoran Dawn. However, since the name was bigger than the dog, everyone just called her Foxy. She looked very much like a fox, with an elegant, soft, thick, fox-red coat that was utterly caressable. Her eyes were bright, shining buttons full of excitement and adventure. Her long, elegant muzzle was crowned with a constantly-busy nose and fringed with sparkling white teeth. She wore a joyful doggy-grin, her dainty pink tongue peeping out with her smile, and lived every day, in true dog-fashion, as the Best Day Ever.

Six inches tall at the shoulder and gracing the scale at six pounds, Foxy’s luxurious coat added a few inches on all around. Her fur was fox-red at the tips and pure white beneath, and was unbelievably soft and thick. One could bury one’s hands in Foxy’s soft plush, and they completely disappeared. Her tummy was white, as was her mane, and her tail curled gracefully over her back, an artful intermixing of fox-red and snow-white.

She had a disposition to match her attractiveness. She was quite simply the most appealing dog I had ever had the good fortune to meet. I was incredibly lucky to be entrusted with her grooming, feeding, exercising, and training, and couldn’t wait to serve as her fairy dog-mother and grant her every wish. Living in the castle was just the icing on the cake.

The princess was not quite as wonderful as her dog. After all, what human could compare to a perfect Pomeranian? But she was alright, as far as princesses go. I guess. Honestly, she was the only princess I had ever met, so who was I to judge? On the plus side - a very important plus - she treated Foxy well. She was quite fond of the little dog, and enjoyed lavishing attention on her when she wasn’t too busy being a princess. On the minus side, she really was often too busy being a princess to give Foxy the love and attention that I - and Foxy herself - believed she deserved. But the princess’s busy-ness was the reason for my dream job of dog-servant, so I selfishly hoped that she would continue to be busy. More opportunity for me to enjoy Foxy’s company.

Foxy had her own room at the castle, with everything a little dog could possibly desire. She had a marble fountain from which to drink, and silver dishes from which to eat. She had a dog-sized canopied bed to sleep on, should she so desire. She had a window-seat, furnished with velvet cushions, for gazing out over the estate, equipped with Pomeranian-sized steps to make the ascent easy for her if she didn’t feel like exerting herself to jump. Beneath the window-seat was a silk-lined doggy-den to which she could retire if she was feeling antisocial (which seldom happened) or frightened by a thunderstorm (which did happen fairly often. Poor baby, she hated thunderstorms.)

In her closet - yes, she had her own closet - hung her wardrobe: a Santa suit, complete with hat; Easter bunny ears; an Irish-green leprechaun get-up for St. Patrick’s Day; an angel suit, complete with wings and halo; various Halloween costumes, from a bumble bee to a hot dog in a bun; a bright-yellow slicker to keep her dry in the rain; a wool jacket for cold days. Her leashes, collars, and harnesses also hung there, sparkling with rhinestones.

She had several toy-baskets scattered around the room. A playful pup, she loved her toys. One basket was full of “stuffies” - stuffed toys of all shapes and sizes. Another contained her chew-toys, from tough pig’s ears that she could gnaw on for days, to Pomeranian-sized chew-bones and breath-freshening Greenies. Her most-favorite toys of all were balls: tennis balls, soccer balls, squeaky rubber balls, balls-on-a-rope for playing Fetch, inflatable beach-balls. Although I tried to keep her room neat, she pulled the balls out almost as fast as I could put them away.

My own room was next door to hers, with a connecting door between us that I usually left open. Not as elaborately furnished as Foxy’s room, it was still a very nice room. I had my own canopied bed and my own window-seat. There was a recliner and an overstuffed chair, big enough to comfortably share with my furry charge. I also had a closet and a dresser for my clothes, though mine were understated compared to Foxy’s.

A bathroom opened off of the bedroom, sporting a marble tub and sink with golden fixtures. Foxy and I shared this bathroom: beside the sink was a marble dog-tub, and the counter had plenty of room for completing Foxy’s grooming. She had her own set of brushes and combs, her own fluffy white towels, and her own hair - er - fur dryer.

It was probably the most elegant place I had ever lived. Foxy and I were both quite pleased with the arrangements.

Princess Diamony Amber Haversham of Lochsleah had just returned home from a multi-country meet-and-greet Tour that had lasted for the past three months. Naturally, she wanted her faithful dog at her side for these travels. However, royal politics being what it is, she spent much of the time attending various fancy dinners and balls to which Foxy was not invited. I was delighted to have Foxy all to myself, and we went on many adventures of our own. Foxy loved a Park - any Park - and if said Park contained entertaining creatures like other dogs and other adoring human fans, all the better. And if there were squirrels! Best Day Ever.

Even so, three months is a long time to be away from the castle. All the glamor and elegance was fun at the start, but as time dragged on, Foxy and I became heartily tired of hotels, grand as they were. We were both pleased to be home at last. (I imagine the Princess was equally glad.)

Opening Foxy’s wardrobe, I selected two leash choices. Offering them to her, I asked, “Which one do you want?” I respectfully waited while she looked from one to the other, then finally decided on the purple one, indicating her choice by a tap of her paw. She waited patiently while I slipped it on, then gave my nose a quick lick of approval. “Thank you for the kiss!” I laughed, taking the leash in hand while Foxy danced excitedly around my feet.

We headed out to re-acquaint ourselves with the castle grounds. We visited the duck pond, where Foxy startled several frogs into leaping into the water. She stared bemusedly at the ripples where they had disappeared, barking a confused “Hey! Where’d you go?!” The ducks, willing to cooperate in return for the food I always brought them, allowed Foxy to chase them, clucking away and returning over and over, to Foxy’s immense satisfaction. We moved on through the woods (squirrels!) and across the meadow (butterflies! birds!) then circled back past the gazebo and the greenhouse.

Suddenly, as we approached the greenhouse, Foxy yanked her leash out of my hand and rocketed into the glass structure, barking ferociously! I stood frozen in shock for a moment. She never behaved like this! What the - ?

“Foxy!” I shouted, racing for the greenhouse. “What is wrong with you? What are you doing?” The glass door was ajar. I anxiously followed her in. The greenhouse was crowded with plants of all shapes, sizes, and colors, a jungle that blocked my view of my little charge. She was still barking, though, so I pushed my way through the greenery in pursuit. Suddenly, her yaps ended mid-yap with a yip of pain. “Foxy!” I shouted, really alarmed now. “Hey! Is someone there? What’d you do to my dog?!” I heard the far door open and close, and the sound of running steps on the crushed shell path.

Before I could chase after the culprit, I found Foxy. She was lying on her side beneath a large pot, with shards of pottery all around her. “Oh, Baby!” I gasped, dropping to her side. She raised her head and gave my hand a weak lick. I carefully checked her over for injuries and found nothing. She wriggled out of my hands and crawled into my lap. She didn’t appear to be hurt, thank God, only scared. With my touch, her Pomeranian bounce came back, and she cuddled into my lap as if nothing had happened. I lifted her, hugging her close, and made my way to the end of the greenhouse. I looked out the door, checking the path and the meadow and what I could see of the estate from here. Nothing. No one was there. Whoever had heartlessly tossed Foxy aside in the greenhouse, slamming her into the pot hard enough to break it, had disappeared.

I turned back to examine the greenhouse. There was a long table along one side, piled high with pots and plant saucers, clippers and hand-cultivators, and bags and bottles labeled with chemical compound names that I couldn’t make heads or tails of. In one section, a stack of pots had been tipped over, shattering on the table, and several bottles had been broken, their contents leaking onto the table and dripping down to the dirt floor beneath.

Foxy leaped out of my arms and suddenly began barking ferociously at something on the floor under the table. “What is it, girl?” I asked, squatting down to see what she was up to. “Did you find a mouse?” She continued growling and yapping at a black lump of some kind under the table, then turning to look at me. Her message was clear: “There’s a problem here! You need to take care of it!”

“Well, I’m not sticking my hands into the dark under this table to grab God-knows-what!” I told her firmly. “Come here, Munchkin,” I said, gently grasping her with both hands and pulling her struggling body out of the darkness under the table. The yapping and growling continued. “Okay, okay!” I told her, smoothing down her raised hackles. “Give me a sec.” She seemed to understand me, and settled down to a grumble while I looked around for a pair of gloves. “Stay!” I said firmly, placing her into an oversized pot. “I don’t need your help.” She whined in protest, but stayed put, peeking over the edge of her temporary prison.

I located a pair of gloves, pulled them on, and dropped to my hands and knees beside the table. Pulling out my cell phone, I turned on its flashlight. Its feeble glow showed me a black lump which, to my relief, did not appear to be alive. I took a quick cell phone pic before I disturbed it, then reached in with a gloved hand to retrieve it. Upon examination, it turned out to be a black rubber glove. “Look, it’s just a glove,” I reassured Foxy, showing it to her. Immediately her hackles rose again, and she launched into a surprisingly vicious-sounding growl. “Huh,” I muttered, examining the glove more closely. With vague thoughts of TV detective shows, I looked around the table until I found a box of plastic bags. Feeling a little overdramatic, I slipped my “evidence” into a bag and tucked it away in my jacket pocket.

I retrieved Foxy from the pot, checked her over one more time, and carried her back outside. Her scare forgotten, she was ready to trot again, so I put her down, holding tightly to the leash, and we made our way back to the castle.

The castle was bustling with activity. I’d forgotten, there was a “Welcome Home” party scheduled. Some of the higher-class neighbors had been invited, along with local dignitaries. I picked Foxy up, keeping her out from underfoot, and headed up to our rooms. She played with a few of her stuffies, then brought me a ball for a little fetch. Finally, the pooped pup settled down in her window seat, head on her paws, gazing out over her realm.

I left her there and went into my own room, leaving the connecting door open in case she should need me. Sitting at my little desk, I drew the bagged glove out of my pocket and laid it on the desktop, still in its protective bag. I drummed my fingers on the desk. What to do? The Princess would be busy with her guests for the evening. Even if I could talk to her, what would I say? That Foxy had run barking into the greenhouse? That some unknown, unseen person had flung her into the pots? Even to me, it sounded crazy. But still, doing nothing seemed like a poor choice. What if something happened, something that I could have prevented if I had handled this incident more efficiently?

But I didn’t really know many people at the castle. The Princess, of course, but she only saw me as the Foxy-bringer; it’s not like we were friends who sat down to chat over tea. Her parents, the King and Queen, didn’t know me from a hole in the wall, and, anyway, they were seldom at the castle. The servants were dedicated and faithful to “The Family,” not to minor help like me. Other than Foxy, I was pretty much on my own here.

Except…. Well, he might listen to me. At least I should try. Lifting the telephone from the corner of the desk, I rang Evan, the Butler. I knew my call would be answered, not by the Very Important Evan, but by one of the fleet of under-staff who did the real work here.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Anna,” the young female voice answered. Oh, good, Anna was one of the nicer maids. At least she knew my name.

“Oh, hello, Anna, it’s Emma. Could you please ask Brady to stop by my room? There was an … incident … on my walk with Foxy.”

“Of course, Miss Emma,” Anna replied. “I’ll find him and send him to you immediately.” She hung up before I could tell her it wasn’t an emergency. Oh, well, maybe it was.

Not ten minutes later, there was a knock on my door. “Emma? It’s Brady.”

I opened the door, inviting him in. Brady was a rather gorgeous young man who was on the Security team for Princess Diamony. Not the Head of Security, Brady was just far enough down the pecking order to be fairly friendly with me, the lowly dog-walker.

“Brady, come on in. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Anna said there was an incident? Are you all right?”

“Well, yes, I -”

“Is Foxy?” He half-turned to go through the connecting door into Foxy’s domain.

“Yes, I -”

He stopped and turned back to me a bit impatiently. “Well, what is it? A spider? A bat? Did a sparrow fly in the window again?”

I stood, tongue-tied, feeling foolish. How to tell him about the “incident” without sounding completely mental? Maybe this was a bad idea. He was probably pretty busy, what with the party and all. But, after dragging him up here, I’d better tell him something.

“I’m sorry, Brady. I don’t mean to waste your time. But I didn’t know who else to talk to…”

He smiled. “Come on, Em, you must have had a reason for asking for me. I don’t have all night. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a little busy tonight, with the Welcome Home Party. Spill.”

I told him, as quickly and completely as I could. About Foxy’s barking rush into the greenhouse; how I’d heard the sound of her being flung into the pottery; how I’d raced in there and found her, a little stunned, in the middle of the broken pottery; how I’d gathered Foxy up and gone through to look for the intruder, but he or she was already gone, and I’d seen no one.

To my relief, Brady didn’t laugh at me, or yell at me for wasting his time. He said, thoughtfully, “How odd. Who would be in the greenhouse, and why would they go there in secret? The way they flung poor Foxy, then ran off, they must not have wanted to be discovered. Was anything disturbed?”

“There was a bit of a mess on the table in there. Broken pots, some smashed bottles and jars. And I found this under the table,” I added, handing him the bagged glove. “Well, really, Foxy found it. She was quite upset, growling, with her hackles up.” I added wonderingly, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her growl before! She managed to sound quite ferocious!”

Brady examined the glove, carefully avoiding touching it with his bare hands. “Why would she growl at a glove?” he asked, bemused.

“I think it must have smelled like the person who hurt her. Like, he or she was wearing gloves and dropped one.”

“Huh,” he said, then carefully tucked the bagged glove into his pocket. “We might be able to get fingerprints off of it. Maybe even DNA.” He looked at me again. “Was anything missing in the greenhouse?”

“Not that I could tell,” I answered. “I’m not that familiar with the greenhouse, Foxy and I usually don’t go in there. That’s why I was so surprised when she pulled away from me and charged in there.”

“Very well,” he said decisively, “I’ll check it out when I get a chance. It seems more like a botched burglary than anything else, but I don’t know what would be worth stealing there. Still, it’s odd.” He squeezed my hand. “You did right to tell me,” he assured me. He nodded to me, then made his way out the door.

“Thanks, Brady,”

I closed the door, leaning on it. I felt better for having told someone. It was up to Brady now to decide if my “incident” was important or not.

The telephone rang, making me jump. Flustered, I picked it up before it could ring again. “Yes?”

“Miss Hastings?” a very proper voice asked. “Roderick here.” Roderick was one of Evan the Butler’s underlings, fairly high up the food chain.

“Yes?” I said again, unconsciously straightening to Attention.

“Princess Diamony would like Princess Foxworth Aurora to attend her.”

“Oh!” I gulped. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’ll bring her right down.”

I quickly washed my hands and face, and pulled my black dress uniform out of my wardrobe. I dressed quickly, making sure that the creases lined up correctly, then combed my hair and pulled it back into a rather severe ponytail.

I crossed into Foxy’s room. She looked up attentively and thumped her lovely fluffy tail.

“Hi, Baby!” I crooned at her. “Ready to socialize? Mommy wants to see you! Mommy wants to see her good girl!”

Foxy jumped to her feet and did three excited spins on her window seat, grinning, tongue lolling out attractively. She loved spending time with the Princess, being made much of, graciously accepting the adulation that she felt was her due. She really was an adorable dog, and she loved to flaunt it.

I chose her silver collar-and-leash set and lifted her onto the bathroom counter to give her a good combing. She had a few blades of grass between her fluffy toes, and had collected a few “hitchhiker” seeds in her plumy tail. Her face, as always, was immaculate. She was a tidy little thing.

We set out for the Reception Hall, my charge dancing excitedly by my side. Two guards stood ready at the double doors, nodding to me and sweeping the doors grandly open. The room was full of people: the gentlemen looking elegant in their tuxes, the ladies sparkling in their gowns and jewels, the staff circulating through the room. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before us as we strode down the red carpet and crossed the room to where Princess Diamony waited on her throne.

“There she is!” the Princess cooed, clapping her hands. “There’s my pretty girl!”

I unhooked Foxy’s leash, allowing her to complete the journey to the Princess on her own. She grinned a doggy grin for her mistress, and leaped gracefully into her lap. Wriggling with delight, she stood on her hind legs, reaching her dainty paws up to the Princess’s shoulders, to deliver a kiss to the tip of her nose. Princess Diamony laughed and planted a kiss on the top of Foxy’s head. The two of them gazed at each other adoringly. Finally, the Princess rose, cuddling Foxy to her heart, and began to circulate among her guests. I followed at a respectful distance, standing ready to meet any need.

Foxy graciously accepted the attention, comfortably nestled in Princess Diamony’s arms. Guests were allowed to caress the top of her head and fondle her fluffy ears, while Foxy grinned her doggy grin of pleasure. The Princess made her way around the room, spreading the wealth of Foxy’s adorableness.

Black-garbed servers circulated among the guests, carrying trays of champagne and canapes. One approached the Princess, offering her a tray full of stuffed mushrooms. She smiled graciously and reached for one.

And then, It Happened.

Suddenly, I could see the little dog tense. Her hackles rose, and I heard a very distinctive growl! The Princess froze mid-reach, gaping at her normally-docile fluff-ball. Foxy compounded her extraordinary behavior by lunging at the server, teeth shining in an unmistakable threat that was all the more startling for its being so out-of-character. The server leaped back in terror, then turned and stumbled towards the kitchen. Foxy let out one more murderous growl. Then, licking the saliva from her jaws, she settled back into her mistress’s cuddling arms. Princess Diamony stared down at her. Foxy looked up, doggy grin back in place, and licked the Princess’s nose.

Recovering from my shocked stupor, I immediately stepped forward to the Princess’s side. She shook her head daintily, smiled her gracious smile, and gave a little laugh. “Dogs will be dogs, I guess!” she pronounced indulgently. “And in front of guests! Really, Foxy!” Addressing the crowd, she continued, “Please, forgive my darling for her bad manners. Enjoy the party!”

The guests returned to their conversations as Princess Diamony oh-so-casually drew me aside to a quiet corner. “What was that?” the Princess whispered to me. “She growled! I’ve never heard her growl before! And she snarled at that poor man! I thought she was going to bite him!”

She looked up at me, concern showing in her lovely blue eyes.

“I don’t know, Your Highness,” I whispered back. “Today is the first time I’ve heard her growl in all the time I’ve known her.”

Two security guards discreetly approached, stopping protectively a few feet away. From the other side of the room, I could see Brady making his way in our direction.

“Perhaps she’s just tired, Your Highness,” I offered nervously. “We did just get back, after all, and traveling can put a dog off.”

“It never has before,” she pointed out. “You don’t think she could be sick, do you?” She looked up at me, worry for her furry friend creasing her lovely brow. She hugged the little dog closer.

“Oh, no,” I reassured her. “I’m sure she’s fine!” Foxy gave her a loving lick, which brought the smile back to the Princess’s face.

“Perhaps you should take her back to her room,” Princess Diamony suggested reluctantly. “If she is overtired, that’s the best place for her.” With another kiss to the top of the little dog’s head, she tucked Foxy into my waiting arms.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m sure a good night’s sleep will put her right.” With a bright, confident smile of reassurance, I carried Foxy out of the room. Brady followed us at a discreet distance.

“A moment,” Brady said softly once we were in the hall. He stepped to my side as we headed in the direction of the grand staircase, taking my elbow as he leaned in close. “What just happened?” he asked.

I took a quick look around. The hall was deserted apart from us.

“She growled!” I hissed. “And she went for that man!”

He chuckled. “Well, she’s a dog!” he pointed out. “Dogs do that!”

“Not Foxy,” I protested fiercely. “She has never growled before! In all the time that I’ve been with her. Not once. Until today.” I gazed up into his deep brown eyes, allowing my worry to show. “Just now. And earlier, in the greenhouse.” I waited for the significance to sink in.

“You don’t think -” Brady began.

“I think that there’s something up with that server! You should track him down and check him out. I’ll bet he’s the one who was in the greenhouse, the one that hurt poor Foxy! And he got far too close to the Princess!”

Brady nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have a quick word with Security Head Warrington, and make sure he puts extra men on her detail for the rest of the evening. And I’ll track down that server. He must have been caught on camera, and the other servers may have noticed something off about him. Let me walk you and Fluffy here to your room,” he added with a smile.

“Foxy,” I corrected him frostily. When we reached our suite, he preceded me through the door and made sure it was safe. Then, with a pat on the head for Foxy and a smile for me, he was gone.

I took Foxy into my room for a good cuddle. I was tired, but I couldn’t possibly sleep yet. Foxy settled down quickly enough, melting into a warm, trusting puddle in my lap. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

I was stiff when I woke up the next morning. And alone. Foxy had returned to her own bed sometime in the night. I yawned, stretched, and dressed quickly for Foxy’s morning walk. We had both slept late; it was nearly 9:00. She greeted me enthusiastically and bounced down from her bed, ready for her walk. I chose her pink collar and leash, slipped them on her, and we headed out the door.

The house was quiet, with that post-party sense of exhausted abandonment. The staff were undoubtedly still dealing with the clean-up from the party. Foxy and I slipped out unnoticed.

We avoided the greenhouse today, and stuck to the wide open spaces of the lawn, the duck pond, and the formal gardens. Foxy chased grasshoppers and butterflies in the gardens and stayed by my side even when I took her off her leash.

Suddenly, she yipped her “Hello” yip. I looked up from my study of a perfect pink rose to see Brady striding towards us, a confident smile on his handsome face.

“Good morning,” I greeted him. “You look pleased with yourself.”

“And a very good morning to you! And to you, Princess Foxy.” He bent to caress her head, and she smiled her doggy grin at him, button eyes shining. He straightened, meeting my gaze. “You and your little dog have done the Princess a great service,” he said gravely.

“We were right?” I gasped.

“You were right,” he agreed. “I tracked down that server, using the security camera footage in the Reception Hall and in the kitchens. He was definitely up to no good! He had sprinkled slug poison onto those mushrooms that he offered the Princess. Probably got the poison from the greenhouse, and you and the fluff-ball here surprised him at it. I turned the glove that you found over to the police, and they’re working on testing it. I’d bet a week’s pay that it’s his, and it probably has traces of the poison on it. They took him away last night. He’ll be gone a long time.”

I bent to pick Foxy up, giving her a big hug, and a kiss on top of her adorable head. She gave me a lick in return, looking very pleased with herself. “You did it!” I congratulated her. “You knew that man was a bad man! You saved your Momma’s life!”

“Well, you and I had something to do with it,” Brady added. “Sometimes it helps, being human,” he laughed.

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “But Foxy is the real hero!”