Von Bricklebrow House

Von Bricklebrow House

The dog stopped running when he got to the fountain in the middle of the park. By stopped running, it didn’t mean he stopped moving. Now, he was swimming in the fountain, his big, hairy, black, furry body leaving a muddy trail in the water.

“Radish! Radish Von Bricklebrow, stop! Get out of that fountain, right now.” A small woman shouted at the dog, clapping her hands. Her ponytail had come undone during the chase, releasing a frizz of curly, strawberry blond hair around her face. Her cheeks were flushed and she was sweating way more than she ought to be. Radish and the woman locked eyes, both dark brown in colour.

“Don’t you dare,” she scolded, finally catching up to him. His long leather leash dangled over the ledge of the fountain’s base, just out of reach. Radish took another lap.

“That there is a Newfoundland dog. Newfoundland dogs loves the water.” A random man on a park bench decided to add this to a non existent conversation he was having with the woman. She ignored him, focused instead on Radish and his leash. When she didn’t respond, the man went back to eating his apple, cutting off pieces with a Swiss Army knife into his palm.

The time had come, Radish’s Wednesday morning adventure was over. The woman readied herself. She stood with her feet planted firmly, shoulder width apart. She smoothed her hair and wiped her brow. She squatted down like a volleyball player, ready to return a spiked ball back across the net. Then, when the moment was right, she leapt upon the leash, securing it in both hands. She dug her heels in. Radish turned his head, releasing a grand “woof” before he took off.

He jumped out of the fountain, dragging the woman into the water behind him.

“Radish! No!” She screamed, struggling to hold onto the lead and keep her head above water. He dragged her, without mercy,toward an old apple tree, surrounded in nettles. When the woman re-emerged on the other side of the fountain, she managed to flip onto her back so she wouldn’t scrape her face on the ground. Radish stopped on the backside of the tree, where he’d chased a chipmunk up to a high branch. He barked as it chattered down at him. The woman came to rest, in the nettles.

With her skin smarting and a stinky, wet dog in tow, she opened the grand doors of the Von Bricklebrow house. Captain Von Bricklebrow’s mother was a chemist, his father, a botanist. Together, they developed a fertilizer that had changed the gardening game. Keeping up with the Jones’ landscaping became the popular pastime and the Von Bricklebrow’s benefited greatly. Though they had passed on many years ago, the Captain wanted to continue their legacy by following his passion: hybridizing radishes. Hence the dog’s name. The personification of the task the Captain pursued. So far, he and his team of gardeners had created a few interesting varieties, but not the one. What was the one going to be? Who knew? But the Captain could almost taste it. Literally.

“Theresa! You look a frightful mess dear,” the Captain announced as he strode through the foyer, stopping only to take in her deshevelled appearance. “Your skin is absolutely on fire.” He clicked his tongue and his thick moustache winkled.

“Nettles, sir.” Theresa said not daring to blame his sainted dog.

“Radish. You devil.” The captain scolded, not meaning a word. “Oh, those nettles are horrible aren’t they, but they make a fine soup, if treated correctly.” He clicked his tongue again. They stood there in silence, Theresa gripping the dog leash, Radish dripping on the marble floor tile, and the Captain, pondering soup, evidently. “A cool shower and some lotion are the only things for it. Then you have a rest. I’ll have Queenie call you for supper. Radish, you come with me. “ Theresa unhooked the dog from his lead. He bounded down the hall behind the Captain, who was already nearly to the greenhouses attached to the back of the mansion.

As she climbed the stairs, wincing a little when the fabric from her clothing touched her skin, Theresa wondered exactly how she’s ended up here. Or, in the nettles, or park fountain, or, in this life, really. She’d answered an ad for an assistant for an important fellow. Upon arriving for the interview, she discovered the fellow was actually Radish and that his owner the Captain, was an eccentric man. She wasn’t even sure if Captain might actually be his given first name, or if it was a moniker he aquired from being captain of his little league team, or something. When the Captain determined that Radish had taken a liking to her, she took the job, because it paid a non-sensible amount of money, came with her own suite, and food made by a wonderful cook. It turned out the Captain was a sweet man, if a bit of a challenge to get used to. He had no family left of his own, so he created one with his employees. Technically, Theresa’s job title was actually Assistant to Radish Von Bricklebrow. She was an official dog’s assistant.

Arriving in her room, Theresa carefully removed her clothing, examining the redness of her skin. Into a cool shower, she washed off the nettles as carefully as she could. She was pretty sure it hadn’t worked, but the cool water felt nice.

Slathering on cream was the next step. That felt nice too. Getting dressed in fresh clothing, Theresa decided to lie down for a bit. No sooner had she drifted off, did Radish appear, his face in her face.

“Hi Buddy,” she stroked his ears. He’d come in his doggy door that was installed in her larger bedroom door. Though he was wild on walks, Radish was a sweet dog who mostly listened when she asked him to do something. Yes, she was his assistant, but that didn’t mean she should cater to the dog’s every whim. Keeping him safe and healthy was what she considered her main job. As she gave home a scratch on his chest, she noticed a note pinned to his collar. It was from Queenie, announcing supper in about fifteen minutes.

Leaving her suite, more luxurious than a five star hotel room she’d only ever seen a brochure, Radish and Theresa took the stairs, made a right hand turn to a room painted all in red, with gold accents. The carpet was extra plush and if Theresa were ever to be in this mansion all alone, she might take a nap upon its cushioned surface. Down another short hallway, stood the dining room. Mahogany walls, brocade tapestries, and candelabras adorned the space. The Captain once told them he’d modeled the space after a French chateau. Theresa believed him.

The centre of the room held a round table. It made conversation easier, or at least that’s what the Captain had demanded from the decorator.

Already seated at the table was the plant team. Made up of a farmer, botonist, and expert hybridized, they were making the Captain’s grand ideas of radishes become a reality. Quite honestly, Theresa didn’t recall their names. Most nights they didn’t join in for dinner and when they did, she thought they looked so similar she didn’t know who was who was who. They were all kind gentlemen, however, so she did her best to be polite and cordial when she saw them.

“Hello,” she said, nodding to each in turn.

“Hello miss.”

“Fine weather we’re having.”

“Good day, good day.”

Radish made the rounds, getting pats from the men, then he wandered toward the kitchen to find his own supper.

“Oh, Radish, you big fuzz ball.” Queenie passed the dog in the hallway, where the Newfoundlander gave her a hip check, bouncing the woman off the wood paneled wall. Queenie was as tall as she was wide, with a happy looking face. She wore her black hair tied neatly in a bun at the back of her head. Her apron was ironed and rarely had a mark upon it. She wore it tied round front, about her waist, making the overall aesthetic of her look akin to two warm and friendly squat sausage links stacked one upon another.

“Gentlemen,” Queenie greeted the gardeners as she placed a basket of fresh rolls in the centre of the table. Next, the ranking papers and pens. “Hello Theresa,” Queenie said, handing her a form. As was tradition, every evening the group sampled a dish featuring one of the vegetable hybrids grown in the garden. Though most of the Captain’s interests originally only included hybridization of radish varieties, it had now expanded into combining radishes with other members of the Brassicaceae family of vegetables. This family included such things as broccoli, cabbage, bok Choi, and mustard greens. This evening, they’d be sampling a radish and cauliflower hybrid, tentatively named a cauldish or radflower— the name was still up for debate.

Queenie returned to the kitchen, placing a raw head of the veggie in question on the table. Smaller than a regular cauliflower and pinkish/ red in hue, it was compact and attractive looking. To even have more than one specimen to sample and examine was quite a feat. Theresa’s recent arrival meant that she’d missed all the trial and error of the hybrid’s development. She was excited to taste this vegetable, whatever it might be called.

The Captain joined the group at the table, spreading a napkin over his shirt and poking one corner into his collar.

“Thrilling, absolutely thrilling, isn’t it?” The Captain asked, excitedly. He asked this question every time there was a new vegetable hybrid to taste.

Queenie returned with a trolly loaded with dishes. Radflowers in cheese sauce, served raw, roasted, and mashed, accompanied by roasted chicken. Everything was tasty, of course, as Queenie was known to be one of the best cooks around. The vegetable itself had a bright crunch when raw, with a spicy bite that snuck up on you the more you ate. When Theresa first arrived to assist Radish, she was uncertain if her digestive system would be up to eating new vegetables and radish tops, soups, salads, and casseroles. Soon, however, she felt the magic of the radish working upon her, as it had the gardeners, Queenie, and the Captain. She felt it’s nutrients doing their work, pumping through her veins, and giving her the strength to keep up with that hairy goof in her charge.

After eating, the group rated the meal, focusing on the flavour, texture, mouthfeel, and hunger satiety of this new vegetable development. All heads were down, pens gilding across the page. Radish entered the room in softened paws, carrying something in his mouth. To the keen observer, they would notice the gentle way with which he held the thing between his jaws, and the way drool flowed freely around said object. Radish trotted over time the Captain, sitting regally beside him. As he was a large dog, a tall, and handsome dog, Radish’s head reached easily to rest upon the dining table. Drool continued to flow, forming puddles.

“Oh, hello there,” the Captain cooed, patting the dog on the head, absentmindedly. With the tap from the pats, Radish released the thing from his mouth. A baby rabbit hopped once, looking wet and stunned. Everyone at the table looked up, startled.

“So much dog slobber,” Queenie cried, quite horrified.

Radish barked. The rabbit shot off at the noise, hopping onto plates, knocking over drinks, dropping cutlery, and spilling leftover cheese sauce. A true tragedy.

“The hutch!” A gardener yelled, clearly distraught. He took off at a run, sending his chair flying. Radish woofed repeatedly, each time louder and scarier to the poor rabbit, who frantically flew from one spot on the table to the next. Afraid of falling, it was just a blur of brown fur hopping in circles. The Gardner hurried out to the greenhouse, to find his rabbit hutch was ruined. Chicken wire pulled open, his rabbits hopped all over the rows of experimental vegetables, eating leaves, destroying years of work. The rabbits were meant to eat up the scraps of the vegetables, so no one would accidentally-on-purpose find any evidence of their work. Vegetable espionage was everywhere, if you knew where to look. “Horace, Doctor, hurry,” the gardener called his plant teammates. They arrived quickly, frantic to snatch up the rabbits before all their hard work was destroyed.

“Horace,” Theresa mumbled to herself, attempting to remember which garden team member he was. Radish continued to bark, Queenie shrieked in dismay, and the Captain laughed as if he were on his favourite ride at a theme park. Maintaining her cool, Theresa reprimanded Radish, ordering him to be silent and to lie down. When he was out of the rabbit’s sight, she scooped the frightened baby up with her napkin. It was trembling, and crusty from dog slobber. She wrapped it gently into her sweater so it would feel safe.

“Sir, Queenie, that’s enough.” Theresa spoke sternly to them, in the same tone as she used on the dog. When they stopped with their exaggerated emotional displays, she took the rabbit to the kitchen sink, rinsing it with lukewarm water, then drying it in a tea towel.

“This is the third time something like this happened,” Theresa spoke to the rabbit. “You would think guys smart enough to create many different kinds of new vegetables could make a rabbit hutch that would keep out a trouble making dog.” Theresa held the rabbit up to look at its little face. It had calmed down. She cradled it in her arms to keep it warm and wondered what would happen tomorrow at the Von Bricklebrow house.

Did you like this story? Should I write more about Von Bricklebrow house?

Check out my other pieces here on Vocal, or find my books online.

“Inn Love” - a sweet romance. If you love love and you love food, this story is for you!

“The Weight of Nectar”- poetry about mental health struggles

“Warrior Woman Wildflower” - poetry about life as a woman!

Find me on Instagram @WhitneySweet_Writes