Copenhagen Cozenage (3 page)

Leroy and I trudged back to the taxi. I grimaced as a text from my cousin Freja popped up on my phone.
Did your plane land? Can’t wait to meet you! This is so exciting!! Be sure to wear your scarf!!!

I stared down at Leroy and could feel the color drain from my face. I texted her back, trying to stay upbeat.
Just got here. Found a taxi. I’ll see you at 4:00 at the elephant table. Can’t wait!

I’d dreamed about this moment for years. I mean, Bret was awesome, but I still needed to know where I had come from. I wanted to see where my mom had grown up and meet someone who knew my history, knew a thing or two about my past.

This was not the way I wanted to meet my biological family. My navy dress was now a hair-infested monstrosity and my shoes had a smear of slobber across the toe.

What if Leroy had to go potty?

We were in the middle of the city without a pooper scooper.

I didn’t know a thing about dogs. I looked through my purse hoping for inspiration. Nail clippers, lip gloss that matched my first pair of shoes, and a brochure for the Rosenborg Castle featuring Denmark’s crown jewels. Hmmm…August’s grandpa was obsessed with that jewel thief. Hadn’t August said he was taking the tour and would search around the castle for more clues?

I yanked Leroy back toward the taxi, where I was forced to pay extra to squeeze him into the seat next to me. At least I had a direction. To the jewels! August might not find his famous villain, but by the pointy ears of Snarvich The Reticent, I was going to make sure he found his dog.

3

The Castle

Rosenborg Castle was not difficult to locate. It was, however, difficult to navigate with a full-sized pink suitcase, a rolling carry-on, and a one-hundred-fifty-pound dog. Leroy might have been well brushed, but his leash skills were quite unsightly. In fact, I wasn’t convinced that anyone had ever succeeded in making him walk politely on a lead.

August probably tied his leash to a tractor or small tank, and then took off for their walk confident that no amount of pulling from his pet would drag them off course.

I wore very tippy shoes and had neither a tractor nor a small tank.

Leroy and I were off course immediately. We plunged down lovingly tended paths and dashed through the exquisite gardens, with me losing luggage and having to retrieve it at every bend in the trail.

Long stretches of immaculate lawn put the delicious scent of freshly cut grass on the wind. Graceful willows bent and bowed, trailing their flowing skirts across the ground. Buttery tulips grew in great colorful swaths, rivaling the sun in all its brightness. An ancient dogwood tree crouched next to a wooden bench. I plopped onto it and attempted to fix my tattered hose. Its knobby limbs twisted toward the sky, blanketed in delicate blossoms and courted by a few gently buzzing bees.

The gardens were fantastic, but I was betting that August would have gone right in to see the jewels. I could glimpse the castle in the distance. It rose up out of the horticultural grandeur of the garden like an elegant matron. Over four hundred years old, the structure remained stately, beautiful, and strong. Rosenborg Castle was protected by a half moat around the front. A narrow little bridge spanned the water so onlookers could view the indoor splendors without laying siege.

If I could get Leroy and my suitcases across the bridge, I had a chance of finding August and reuniting him with his slobbery pet. I stood and lurched forward with my luggage. The little wheels were made for tile and concrete, not the rustic trails of Rosenborg’s gardens. Instead of rolling smartly behind me, my suitcases dug a swath through the dirt as I yanked them along. A small cloud of dust followed in my wake. I needed to get rid of this dog.

Leroy looked up at me and wagged.

I stared down at him. “Yes, you are a pretty boy. And I suppose you’re snuggly enough. But you need to understand that not everyone can handle all the hair and oozing drool.”

Leroy snuffled off toward a little bird that hopped and pecked in the grass on our left. Had I insulted the shaggy beast? What if he set his mind on revolt and yanked the leash from my hands? I patted his head in what I hoped was a conciliatory manner.

Leroy bounded toward my face and slobbered on me with great enthusiasm.

I sidestepped and wiped the moist trail off my cheek. Ugh, I was forgiven. But had it been worth it?

Leroy yanked me out of my shoes as he spotted a squirrel scolding passersby from a tall leafy oak.

I wrangled the fierce squirrel hunter away from the tree and crammed my feet back into my dusty heels. This dog was incredibly strong. Why should I fight him when I could put his power to good use? I took the Newfoundland’s leash and looped it through the handles of both my suitcase and carry-on. Then I put out a hand to steady them, and directed Leroy away from the squirrel and toward the bridge.

Leroy snuffled at a strip of red tulips and nibbled a few strands of grass.

I nudged his shoulder with my hip and pointed at the bridge.

Leroy’s head came up and his tail thumped against the suitcases.

“The bridge Leroy, we need to cross that bridge.” I pointed again. “It’s right there, by the water.” At the word “water” his ears pricked slightly.

Leroy stared at the bridge. His body trembled and his gaze became deeply intent.

The velvety lawn curled down toward the moat where a few stones set into the bank kept the soil from sloughing into the murky water. Our little path cut across the lawn and meandered through a few lazy turns before reaching the bridge.

“Let’s go, boy, to the bridge,” I urged.

Leroy launched himself toward the bridge. He did not meander with the path.

I was left standing alone in the path, clutching a few silky black hairs in one fist.

My luggage bounced along behind the dog like cans tied to a newlywed’s car. I suppose the simile only works if those newlyweds had been speeding and swerving and intent on ending their lives before they even made it to the honeymoon.

Leroy thundered past the regal forms of twin bronze lions lying on pedestals of stone, smashed by a guy with sunglasses and a cane taking pictures of the garden, and then barreled through an iron gate and onto the bridge itself. But Leroy did not cross the bridge. Oh, no, he made right for the railing, his gaze set upon the moat.

Everything slowed down into agonizing snapshots of horror. Leroy was leaping toward the rail, my suitcases bounding along behind.

The camera guy snapped a picture of me, and then spun to take photos of the crazed animal’s demise. He kept clicking even as he twisted an ankle and fell to the path.

Leroy, hair flying, launched off the railing, his front paws stretched over nothing but open air. The suitcases slammed against the railing bars and got wedged. Leroy plunged down toward the dark gray water. Then, snap, the leash caught tight.

Suddenly, the world whipped by at full speed again.

Leroy hung from the bridge by his leash and one back leg that was wedged into the iron bars. He swung and struggled and howled in terror.

Oh, my goodness! I’d just killed August’s dog. I raced to the bridge.

The camera guy leaned over the edge, his burgundy sweater a mess of gravel and dust. He slid his hands carefully over Leroy’s trapped leg. “It’s OK, boy. Stop fighting, we’ll get ya.” His tone was soothing, but I noticed a gleam of sweat on his forehead.

I pushed past. I hung over the rail and tried to reach the struggling animal. He would choke if I didn’t get him free. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken his neck. But I couldn’t reach. “Give me your cane!” I shouted over my shoulder.

The camera guy was there in an instant, cane in hand. It wasn’t quite long enough.

Leroy was barely whimpering now.

I didn’t have much time. I grabbed the camera guy by the shoulder. His eyes were brown, a dimple dented one cheek, and his dark hair was stiff even in the breeze. He seemed familiar, but I had no time to wonder why. “Hang onto me, I can’t reach him.”

I draped myself over the rail and the camera guy grabbed me around the waist. Both of us leaned out over the water toward the crying dog. I snagged the collar once, but the buckle held. If I could just get it to loosen I figured the whole thing would fall off. The loose end was wedged under a small red strap. I hooked the collar with the cane, once, twice. I twisted and shoved at the little strap, slipping farther over the rail. My shoe fell past my face, making a small splash in the quiet water below. The camera guy jolted forward and grabbed my legs. This was mortifying. He’d better not be looking up my dress. But the slip made me jostle Leroy’s back leg.

With a twist, Leroy swung free of the bridge and the collar slipped over his shaggy head. The heavy Newfoundland yelped and plunged into the moat below. The subsequent splash was impressive, but Leroy swam to shore without incident. Water didn’t seem to cause him any trauma, only bridges.

The camera guy was surprisingly strong for an older man. He hauled me back over the rail without losing my other shoe.

I pressed my forehead against the cold metal railing and sobbed. I felt foolish. My limbs pulsed with adrenaline and there was nothing left to fight. Although, flight seemed like a plausible option, especially when the camera guy put his arm around my shoulder and offered me a clean white hanky for my dripping face.

Once my emotional display had run its course, I mumbled a quiet “thank you” to my rescuer. Fleeing the quiet concern that shadowed his eyes, I trudged off the bridge to find August’s dog. My luggage was all tangled up in the leash, but I had ceased to concern myself with the soft pink leather and attractive brass zippers. I simply dragged the whole lot behind me in the dirt. I found my shoe half buried in a sludgy heap of water grass below the bridge.

Finding Leroy was a bit more difficult. I located him snuffling through a drooping sea of purple and white crocuses. Although their glory was nearly spent, the crocus lawn was immense and still impressive. Large stone spheres stood sentinel along the edges, lest some enthusiastic tourist inadvertently trample the garden’s magnificence. They were no match for Leroy.

I grabbed his collar and peeked around. Hopefully, we could avoid the vigilant gaze of the gardeners. I hung my head in mortification and hauled the great, soggy creature away from the flowers and up the cobbled path toward Rosenborg Castle.

All I got was a raised eyebrow when I marched past the elaborate lamp posts that were scattered throughout the walkway and tried to purchase admittance for myself and Leroy. Newfoundland dogs were descended from the Viking Bear Dogs that arrived in the New World via Leif Erickson’s sea-going vessel. Copenhagen used to be a small Viking village. But did this bit of fascinating history mean that the descendants of Leif’s fuzzy passenger were welcome to view the crown jewels? No, not so much.

A soldier dressed in green and wearing a black beret stood guard near a maze of scaffolding that encased part of the walls. Apparently, they were being refurbished.

I did not push for Leroy’s admittance and instead sent messages into the castle for August via three different well-tipped individuals.

Never argue with a man holding a gun. Was he guarding the crown jewels?

Perhaps August’s theory about the jewel thief was less farfetched than it had appeared.

I plopped down on a short brick wall to wait.

Two statues of fat cherubic children topped the gate near its center. The castle rose above me in all the beauty of the renaissance age. Its base and towers were of brick and warm brown stone, roofed in something green. Green slate perhaps? Row after row of leaded windows gazed out across the gardens, many of them had little pointy roofs of their own. Curves and curls in the stone decorated the central spire, along with a robed statue standing within an arch four stories above the ground. The towers had tiered roofs, rising like wedding cakes on green pillars, getting smaller and smaller until they ended in delicate needles thrust up against the clouds. It was all majestic and lovely, but not the kind of sight I had dreamed of gazing upon, in the company of a massive and sopping dog.

August did not come.

None of my messengers could find him.

His phone went straight to voice mail.

Leroy started to whine. He sniffed around my feet, whimpering and turning in circles. I tugged him back, but he became more and more desperate. I had untangled the leash from my luggage and clipped it to his collar once more, but it provided me with little control over my hairy charge. After yanking him back four or five times, Leroy put his head down and simply dragged me back toward the gardens. He sniffed to and fro, here and there, down the paths. Leroy paused when he found a secluded patch of rose bushes. The dog turned around and hunched over a particularly delicate white bloom.

“No, bad dog. No poop!”

But it was too late. A massive pile of dog doo sat heaped upon the unfortunate rose bush.

Every tourist within a mile radius glowered at me as though they were just one breath away from gathering their pitchforks and torches. I rushed about looking for a baggy, or a bucket, or a flat shovel-like stick. In the end, I scooped up the poop with an old newspaper, under the stern glare of the head gardener, and dumped the whole thing in the trash. He then escorted me to the road.

“You may flag a taxi from here, Ma’am. Please do not return.”

Not only did the gardener ban me from viewing a most noteworthy sight in Copenhagen, he had the gall to stand ten feet behind us and make sure that we actually left as directed. I almost wished we were back at the bridge, so I could dive into the moat and hide.

This was the end. I didn’t care about August and his grandfather and their dumb jewel thief. And I most certainly did not care about his ill-mannered dog.

Leroy was going to the pound.

4

The Pound

Once more, I hailed a taxi and was forced to pay for Leroy’s half of the seat. It cost double this time, although the journey to the pound was shorter than our trek to the castle. I can only imagine that the increased fare was because of Leroy’s inescapable wetness. Wet dog odors wafted through the taxi, and the vinyl squeaked as Leroy stretched and squirmed against the seat. I scooted against the door and sent August a text in all caps. TAKING YOUR DOG TO POUND!!!