Read Online Keeping the Castle by Patrice Kindl - Free Book Online

carpet, testing out the new wheels and entirely oblivious to our embarrassment on his behalf. As His Lordship seemed not to want further thanks, I changed the subject.
    “The dog,” I ventured, looking down at the animal in my lap, “is affectionate. Remarkably so, in fact.”
    Indeed, the dog had proved to be faithful almost to a fault. He had taken up the attitude that he should accompany me at all times, even on the most private of occasions. When I sat, he was on my lap. When I walked, he was at my heels. If I made any effort to exclude him, he behaved as if I had struck him. His small face became a picture of woe: his soft lips wobbled and his enormous brown eyes bulged tragically at me.
    While my stepsisters shared a bed (mostly to keep warm—there were eighteen bedrooms in the castle, some even furnished with beds, so there was no need to share from lack of accommodation), I had been accustomed to sleeping alone since childhood. The dog refused to allow this arrangement to continue: the moment I lay down he would commence pawing at the side of the bed and whining, demanding to be lifted up to join me. Once his desire was achieved he would stretch out, managing (tho’ very small in his person) to take up most of the available space.
    Sometimes while I slept he was stricken by an overwhelming compulsion to express his devotion, an urge frustrated by the fact that nearly all of my anatomy was submerged in bedclothes. He would therefore drape himself over my head and sigh into my ear, causing me to dream of being engulfed by an infatuated fur-lined hat. Most mornings I found that I had been cuddled and cosseted right up to the edge of the bed and was on the brink of falling off.
    In addition, he snored.
    However, as irksome as this may have been, I will confess that on those few occasions when I awoke and did not feel his little body pressed up next to mine, I sat bolt upright feeling quite offended until I had located him on the bed.
    At my words Mr. Fredericks looked up from his repairs to my brother’s toy. “Oh, do you like him? He’s from an excellent stud. He ought to be a fine animal when he is grown.”
    This being by far the most amiable remark Mr. Fredericks had ever addressed to me, I took care to respond graciously. Apparently he had assisted Lord Boring in the procurement and choice of the puppy—to judge by his behavior one might think he alone was responsible—and when I asked a few questions about proper feeding and handling, he proved well equipped to answer them.
    “And what is the puppy’s name?” enquired Lord Boring.
    I blushed. I’d thought of calling him “Sidney,” but feared this would be too presuming. And should Lord Boring and I ever find ourselves on intimate enough terms to address one another by our first names it would be quite confusing, as well.
    “‘Dog’ is what I mostly call him,” I admitted.
    The assembled company began to propose names. Prudence and Charity favored such suggestions as Trouble and Nuisance. I will confess that he did leave a puddle in their room, but as I myself cleaned it up as soon as it was discovered I did not see why they should so dislike him.
    “Call him ‘Fido’—meaning faithful, you know—since he is so attached to you,” said Mr. Fredericks in the tone of voice which ends a discussion. “And now, Boring, we must go. Or I must, at any rate. You may wish to waste the entire rest of the afternoon, but I’ve business to attend to. Good-bye, Fido,” he said to the dog, which wagged its tail in reply.
    “But—Lord Boring!” I said. “I have not yet heard your suggestion for the dog’s name.”
    “Oh, I expect Fredericks is right and you ought to call the little fellow Fido.”
    Upon hearing the word Fido , the traitorous dog wagged its tail again.
    “There, you see?” said Mr. Fredericks, a sudden smile lighting up his narrow face.
    My mother added, “Fido is a lovely name. Good dog, Fido,” and the dog wriggled all over in a