We were just at the end of our ride to work this morning when we were stopped by the police. They were letting everyone else through the main intersection of town but us. So I stuck my head out of the window to give the young officer a talking to. He was being polite, so I’d be polite, too, but I would be firm. I had a job to do. Let us get to work, please.
The officer came over. “I’m sorry,” he said to my chauffeur. “You are going to be stopped for a while. The Prime Minister is coming through.”
My chauffeur agreed to wait.
I, on the other hand, gave the officer my best look of regal offence from the back seat. I willed him to understand, but it appeared he was not fluent in dog looks. I rumbled, We’re late for work. No one takes precedence over the Queen of the Boreal Forest. We must be allowed through!
Elizabeth understood me. “We have to wait, Stella. Sorry. Just wait and see, though. Maybe he’ll be riding his moose.”
Oh. I see.
We remain disappointed.