Chapter Six
A maid enters. She leaves a tray of food on a nearby armoire. I am famished. The maid knows it. The Queen knows it. Placed well within range of my olfactory glands is a pile of grandly prepared tidbits deliberately sectioned into morsels for the Queen’s amusement.
The food is tantalizing. But experience tells me not to futilely strain against my leash. When the Queen decides it is time for me to eat, it is only then that I will eat. After all, the nurse has directed that my diet requires one meal in the morning. All else is at the whim of the Queen, an occasional treat for proper behavior, as one would reward a pet.
So I calm myself knowing that the arrival of food signals the proximity of the Queen. I await patiently, as would a well-disciplined dog sitting about the dinin
