A Doggy Tale

She didn’t answer her door. A little boy dog did, an impossibly cute, impossibly tiny little boy dog. He was followed by a little girl dog. She was larger and more awkward, but still small and cute. "What do you want with the queen?", they said.

"There is a queen, but she never answers. Not the the door, not ever. And usually not her phone. Voicemail takes care of that, till it fills up. But We answer the door because she won’t. Not since the little princess died."

"The little princess’s name was Isabel", the little dogs continued, "Isabel was beautiful, she was a Pomeranian. She was 10 years old. She was the little princess and the queen's daughter, and when she died the queen shut herself away."

From her futon the queen added nothing. She said "no, no, no, no", one of just two things she'd said since the little princess died. The little dogs ignored it.

"I am the prince", her little boy dog announced.

"I am the duchess", her foster dog said. "She took me in when the little princess died. And I am like a daughter to her. It is not true she is trying to find me a home."

"Yes it is." the little prince said. "She brought you home from the shelter. She felt bad for you, and got you to give away. I am from Petfinder, she got me to keep." The little prince was a spoiled baby and arrogant. But so very cute, and in fact right.

But the queen hadn’t placed the dutchess yet. She’d retired to the futon, she was so sad. She lay frozen in imitation of the little dead princess. She lay inert as dead.

And listened to the phone, and the prince and the dutchess bickering. While she cried, "Isabel."

"Isabel was the little princess and beautiful", the little dogs said.