The Royal Pooch Needs a Royal Railcar

Blame it on Mum.  She read me an article about private railcars, and I’m all a dither.  Did you know anyone can own one?  And hitch it to an Amtrak train for trips?  Wouldn’t that be the perfect mode of transportation for a Royal Pooch?  Well, of course, it would.

I know Mum could tastefully decorate one pour moi.  Not for me the horsedrawn carriage my French ancestors had;  an iron horse will draw my carriage. When the Victorians came up with the term iron horse for a steam locomotive, I wonder whether they imagined a prancing black horse tossing its mane. That’s what I see, though, I, of course, know a modern locomotive will pull my railcar.

Picture my railcar bedecked in purple velvet as befits my royal status. Imagine a bit of ermine trim and gold braid and lots of polished brass.  I don’t require a throne, but I must have an elevated platform with a tufted cushion large enough for me to stretch out in the royal belly rub position. 

The windows will stretch to the floor so I can view the scenery as we ride.  Were we to travel west, I might see herds of deer and antelope.  Wasn’t there an old song about the deer and the antelope playing? Why I might see herds of wild horses and “amber waves of grain [and] purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain!”

I’ll build a comfy bedroom for the Royal Mum and Dad, as I will need attendants—um, I mean parents—to provide food and treats and to keep the riff-raff away.  I’m happy to entertain adoring fans, but I don’t want any hobos sneaking aboard when we stop for my promenades. 

Rut-ro, while my imagination is running wild, Mum is chuckling and saying my allowance won’t stretch that far. According to Mum, these special railcars are quite pricey, especially when fitted out for royalty. “Son,” she cautions in her best Mum tone, “You’ll have to make do with the Royal Red SUV I bought you.” Who is she kidding? I know she only traded in her fave red sportscar because Dad pressured her. That little car was twenty years old, and Dad worried it was no longer safe. Well, maybe he was also a tiny bit worried about my safety, but I know they didn’t buy it pour moi. I did love her little red car, but the new car is roomy, and I have a private compartment in the rear. It’s also lower to the ground than Dad’s SUV, and I can more easily jump in.

All that aside, my brain is brimming with reasons the shiny new SUV won’t do. It’s not as though Mum will drive it cross-country so I can see herds of wild animals, nor is it spacious enough for the Royal family’s lodging needs. Yes, it’s larger than her old car, but a railcar it isn’t.

I think if the Royal Parents would manage their pennies properly, they could swing a Royal Railcar. I can tell I need a business plan to convince Mum of the wisdom of my idea. Stopping in towns across America for book signings and parties hosted by my fans will offset the upfront costs, don’t you think?

Oh for goodness sake; Mum keeps coming up with more obstacles. “Now Banjo, you’re not listening. Not only is a railcar pricey, but Amtrak also charges mileage fees and exorbitant storage fees.” Heck, I can tell Mum is not thinking clearly. We can store it in our wooded backyard. Properly landscaped, it will be a huge hit. I can see it now--my private railcar as the Royal Guest House.  We can rent it out for soirees and charge for tours. I’m going to enlist Aunt Pam, the family accountant, to run the numbers for me.  With my creative brain and her numbers know-how, I’ll have a Royal Railcar in no time.

Find "Lord Banjo the Royal Pooch" and "The Ink Penn: Celebrating the Magic in the Everyday" on Amazon.  Contact Lord Banjo and the Royal Mum at inkpenn119@gmail.com and follow them on Facebook.