Dog Dais

Dog Dais

A Prince story by Stephen Brooke

“I am a Prince, after all. You’re lucky I didn’t ask for a throne.” Prince seemed pensive. Maybe he was considering doing just that.

Or maybe he was just joking. Dogs do have a sense of humor. Unlike cats.

“So,” I said, “you want some sort of, um, platform out here on the porch?”

His tail wagged with considerable enthusiasm. “I want to be up a way so I can keep an eye on things. Squirrels and mail men and other menaces.” I knew he was joking this time.

“Not to mention bicycles going by.”

“They’re the worst!”

I wouldn’t tell him I’d been thinking of getting one.

We were still in the process of moving into our new house. Yes, at last we had escaped the squalid apartment in the squalid neighborhood where poverty had placed us. Thanks to the secret bank account awarded Prince by a grateful jinn.

And, yes, of course that’s also how the beagle learned to talk.

“Wouldn’t a chair do?” I asked. “There will be chairs out here.”

“A chair on my platform would be okay. As long as you didn’t use it.”

I suspected there was more than just getting a good view involved here. Well, if Prince wanted a dais from which he could lord it over the neighborhood, there was no reason not to give it to him. “You’ll need stairs,” I commented, really to no one in particular. I was already envisioning it.

To be sure, I was thinking I’d probably be using it too, sooner or later. Prince would forget his objections or lose interest or just want me up there so he could sit in my lap while surveying his realm. I’d have to make sure it didn’t hurt resale, too. This house was to be the first of many, as I had it planned—a means to turn those offshore and quite secret funds into ready cash. Prince didn’t understand that but he was unlikely to complain. 

“So, a deck on a deck,” said the contractor.

As good a description as any. “Yep. And include some open shelving on the far side too.” If nothing else, I could have some plants out here. There hadn’t been much of a front porch on this place. People don’t do that anymore; they want their private decks or patios around back. But, like Prince, I liked the idea of sitting out front and watching the world go by.

Especially since it could keep on going without me these days. My attention turned to other parts of the house the next few days while my porch and dog dais were being constructed, complete with roof. The beagle and I didn’t have near enough furniture to fill the place and what we did have probably wasn’t worth bringing.

Not that Prince cared about any of that. His mind was on his new perch. First thing in the morning—even before breakfast—the proud pup bounded out the door to look things over from the dais. Suddenly—

“Rooo! Help! Raahrrrarrahrr! Rooooo! Help! Help!”

I hurried outside. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my Prince. Or his money.

“What’s wrong?”

“There are cats on my dais!”

So there were. I tried not to laugh and failed. Two reclined on the riser itself, another lay stretched on a shelf. It was a good thing I hadn’t put any potted plants there yet for it to knock over.

“You could ask them to get off,” I suggested.

“I can’t speak cat. And I would never want to be able to!”

“Probably wouldn’t work with cats anyway.” One gave us a lazy glance before going back to grooming itself. “You don’t seem to be making much of an impression on them. Maybe you should bark louder.”

He gave them another looking over. “They’re kind of big. And there are three of them.”

“I wonder where they come from.”

“Next door. I’ve smelled them.” He cocked his head at me. If dogs had facial expressions, his would have been accusatory. “Your fence isn’t working very well.”

That was to keep you in, boy. I wasn’t about to say that aloud to Prince. “Cats are good at getting over fences.” I surveyed the three felines again. “They seem to think this is a dandy place to hang out.”

“But I don’t like having them here.”

“I could shoo them but they’re likely to come back. Besides,” I told the beagle, “every prince needs attendants. Courtiers.”

Prince perked up at once. “Catiers!”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I suppose it was to be expected that if Prince learned how to speak he would also learn to make puns.

He jumped onto his dais. “Don’t bother to rise for  me,” he told the cats.

One of then opened its yellow eyes to look at him for a moment, stood and stretched, and then ambled over to lie down at Prince’s side. “Um, nice kitty, I mean, loyal subject. Hmm. That—feels—not so bad.” He gave a contented sigh. The beagle’s own eyes began to droop and shortly the two were asleep, pressed against each other.

I went back inside to get my breakfast. This dais thing was going to work pretty well, without Prince’s head getting too swelled. I should come back out and sit with him later, and maybe doze myself. Me and the catiers.