57
It was a lazy midsummer Sunday, and Victor was lying on the study floor with Catherine and Anne to either side of him, reading a book about dog breeds.
"The mastiff," Victor said, pointing to the chapter heading and accompanying photo. "Your turn, Catherine."
Smoothly and carefully Catherine read, "'Courageous, and not ferocious, docile and intelligent, thoroughly honest, fully conscious of the duties expected of him, and altogether trustworthy as a watch-dog and guardian. A remarkable and peculiar warmth of attachment is shown by this dog.'"
"That sounds a bit like your mother," Victor remarked without thinking. The children giggled. Victor grinned a bit sheepishly, glad Victoria hadn't been there to hear herself compared to a dog.
"It does! Mother is just like a mastiff," Catherine agreed, delighted. She looked up at him and asked eagerly, "What sort am I?"
One of the many surprising aspects of fatherhood for Victor had been discovering how much he enjoyed games and general silliness. Or rediscovering, perhaps. He'd never had any playmates aside from his dog, Scraps. Mother had never approved of foolishness or play, and Father was never very involved, so as a boy he'd mostly stuck to books and drawing and the piano. Mother would certainly not approve of such a ridiculous game of deciding what dog each member of the household most resembled.
Well. Victor was Father now, and silliness was encouraged on his watch. So he made a show of studying Catherine carefully, noting her sweet disposition, her easygoing nature, her lovely fair hair and pretty face.
"Oh, a spaniel, most definitely," Victor told her at last. He flipped back to a previous page. "A King Charles, I'd say. A wonderful pet, very affectionate and good-natured. An excellent companion."
Catherine beamed. "Now Anne, what sort is Anne?" she asked.
Anne, who was lying on her front with her chin propped in her hands, blinked at him expectantly. He grinned at her, thinking about how quiet and self-contained she was, gentle and a bit awkward when out of her comfortable sphere. But very talented and intelligent.
"Hm," Victor said with a grin. He flipped to another page. "A pointer. A bit timid and reserved but very smart and hardworking. Even-tempered. Also excellent at being quiet and finding birds."
"You are very good at sneaking up on birds, Anne," Catherine agreed. Anne ducked her head, her cheeks a bit pink, but she was smiling. Victor gave her an affectionate nudge with his elbow.
"Ooh, I know what Liddie is," Catherine said, reaching to turn a few pages. It took her a bit to find what she was looking for. She read a few words aloud, pointing to them as she did so. "A greyhound! Skinny and a very, very fast runner. Aloof, intelligent, loyal. Protective when she likes you."
Victor chuckled at that last one. "That does sound like Lydia," he said.
"Mary's some sort of wild dog," Catherine went on.
"Oh, now, don't be unkind to poor little Mary," Victor told her. Only because he thought he should. Honestly, he agreed with her.
"I wasn't," she replied, hurt in her voice. "I just meant...energetic. Clowns about. That kind of wild."
"Ah," said Victor. He reached and gently ruffled her hair to show no hard feelings. "I see. I cannot say you're wrong."
"A terrier," Anne suggested. She'd turned to the terrier section. "Mary's a terrier. Small, energetic, playful—"
"Barks constantly," Catherine added with a merry laugh. "Bites."
"Now, now, she's still just a puppy—er, baby," Victor said, making the girls laugh again. "She'll learn."
"What sort of dog are you, Father?" Catherine asked once her giggles had subsided.
"Oh, I don't know," he replied, suddenly embarrassed. How would he describe himself? Literally no traits came to mind when he tried. "Nothing leaps to mind."
"You must be something," said Catherine, "if the rest of us are."
"I'll be the kennel-keeper," Victor told her. He rose to his knees and stretched with his hands pressed to the small of his back. His spine and shoulders made alarming popping sounds. When he looked up he saw Victoria in the doorway.
"It sounds like a jolly time in here," she said, gazing at them fondly. "What have you been doing?"
"Talking about dogs!" said Catherine, holding up the book. "And what kind we are."
Excitedly Catherine rattled off each family member in turn and which dog they most resembled. Victoria listened, amused, shooting Victor little glances every now and then.
"But we don't know what kind Father is," Catherine finished. "We must think of something so that he isn't left out."
"I'm all right, really," Victor tried to say, but Victoria touched a finger to her chin in thought.
"A Saint Bernard, surely," Victoria pronounced. "Gentle, a sweet nature, incredibly dutiful and willing to save and to assist people. Heroic, even. Wonderful with children."
The girls laughed heartily and Victor felt his ears get warm. "Why, I'm flattered," he said.
"You don't slobber, though," Catherine assured him with a pat on the arm. "And you are not huge."
"I appreciate that, thank you," he replied.
"Now that that is settled, children, it is time for tea," Victoria said. "Let us go freshen up, shall we?"
The girls put the book back on the shelf and left the parlor still chatting about dogs. Victor stood the rest of the way up and dusted himself off. He felt a little wistful. He missed Scraps. Perhaps the children would like a dog. He thought he would. But what sort? They'd need a few more afternoons with the dog book.
"I'm surprised you think I am a mastiff," Victoria told him from the doorway.
"Oh?" he said. He joined her at the door and together they went down the hall toward the staircase. "I didn't mean any offense. It was all in fun."
"Of course!" she said. "No, I simply meant I rather think of myself as a shepherding dog. The sort that live in the mountains with only their flock. Protective and dutiful, a bit solitary. But very loving with those they look after."
Victor smiled at her affectionately. "That also sounds right," he agreed. Then, jokingly, he said, "And you'd absolutely savage any bears or wolves or anything that threatened your flock."
They'd just started up the stairs. Victoria turned and fixed him with such an unexpectedly intense look that he was slightly taken aback.
"Yes," she said. "I absolutely would. You may rest assured."
With that, she continued up the stairs. After a moment he followed, glad that he was a trustworthy Saint Bernard and not a bear.