Very Fawnedly Yours

© 2013 by Walter Reimer

(All characters courtesy of  EOCostello,  MercMarten and  Major Matt Mason. Any resemblance between characters depicted herein and any real person, living or dead, is too bad for them.)

The setting is Spontoon Island, in the story section Let's Doe It (Let's Fall In Love).

Art by  turnbolt

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Part 4

June 1937
Internal Affairs

Willow:

It later transpired that Andre had been charged with disorderly conduct, and was hauled off to jail.

Unfortunately, this required him to share the paddy wagon with Mrs. Mouffetsky, and someone had forgotten to take her purse away.

But that was that.

Two days after the court case was settled, I woke up that morning and stretched.

Followed by clapping a paw over my muzzle and racing for the bathroom.

Ulp.

Whitetail deer have more than one stomach, and I think I emptied them all.

(Ahem.)

(What, Grace? I'm a bit busy here.)

(Twin, you might want to go see the doctor.)

(?)

(Trust me on this.)

I had a mental image of Grace looking critically at a huge poster titled "The Visible Doe." (You think so?)

(Could be.)

She suspected Something, all right.

And I shared her suspicions. Reggie and I been having a lot of fun on the ‘carousel,’ as my beloved mate so nicely put it.

He certainly learned, thanks to me, a few uses for maple syrup that don’t get much play in the ads.

So I had a very light breakfast, and explained to Reggie that it was the stress of the past few days that had made me a bit whoopsy.

After all, I could be wrong, and so could Grace.

So I made a phone call, and was at Dr. Meffit’s office before lunch.

Afterwards, he told me that he would telephone me as soon as he got the results back, but added that he might be busy with Mrs. Mouffetsky. The poor old woman had suffered a relapse, it appeared.

Dr. Meffit didn’t call back until late the next afternoon. Lodge gave me the phone and I listened to the doctor’s voice.

About partway through, I almost stopped hearing it, as Grace was yelling.

Cheering, actually.

I hung up the phone and stepped out to the balcony. "Reggie?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I ... I, um, just got my, er, test results from Dr. Meffit."

"Oh?"

"Well . . . I'm late."

"How could you be late? You just said you already saw him."

"That's not what I meant. The rabbit died."

"Oh dear. Shall we send flowers?"

I could tell that I would have to spell it out for him. I led him back into the room and sat him down.

I looked for moral support, and found Lodge standing nearby.

Grace was where she usually was, this time dressed in a white lab coat, a pointer in paw. I didn’t know she’d had aspirations to be pre-med.

I gathered myself, and took the plunge.

“Reggie . . . you’re going to be a father.”

My beloved nodded, a pleasant smile on his muzzle, then froze as what I said sank in.

His eyes got about as wide as soup plates, and I could hear his flag trying to wear its way through the chair upholstery. Reggie started breathing (I wasn't sure when he'd stopped), but he started huffing and puffing as if he were trying to blow down St. Anthony's from where he was sitting.

Finally he started acting as if he was about to speak.

“Erk . . . “

Not exactly Julian Rafolski, but at least it showed that something was working inside his skull.

(Never heard of Rafolski? Too bad. He was the best orator in New Haven, way back in the Gay Nineties. I used to have a collection of his speeches on wax cylinders. Real stem-winder.)

Behind me, Lodge cleared his throat softly. “Congratulations, Sir, Madam.”

Lodge’s voice seemed to galvanize my husband. At least, he leaped out of his chair as if someone had stuck an electrical wire under his flag. He grabbed me by the wrist and practically dragged me to the chair he’d just vacated.

He sat me down and gibbered something. I didn’t catch all of it, but it sounded like “You shouldn’t be on your feet!”

Before I could say a word he was streaking around the room like a tornado, opening and closing windows and blinds. He maintained a running monologue throughout this operation, talking about it was too hot or too cold or too light or too dark.

After opening and closing every window and blind in our suite at least twice, he stood in the center of the drawing room with both paws gripping his antlers as if he were trying to yank them out of his head.

Lodge looked at him curiously. “Sir?”

“Eh?”

It was the most articulate thing I’d heard him say yet.

“Sir, if I may – “

That was all Lodge managed to get out, because Reggie pounced on him. He grabbed our beaver butler by the lapels and said, "She’spregnantLodgearen’tyouhappyforusI’mhappyforusweneedtodothingswhatIdon’tknowbutweneedtodothingsboiltowelscleanwaterIdon’tknowwhataren’tyouhappyforusLodge – “

Lodge looked past his employer to give me an entreating look.

I nodded.

Lodge faced Reggie again.

And slapped him.

Hard.

Straight across the muzzle.

Reggie spun from the force of the blow, and as he spluttered I took over. I got up and walked over to him, grabbed him by his antlers and said, “Reggie!”

He gave me a wild look, one shaking paw rubbing the cheek that Lodge had struck. “Yes, dear?”

“Reggie, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, listen closely: I am pregnant. I am NOT an invalid, darling. Nine months from now, THEN you can start panicking.” I released his antlers and smiled at him. “In the meantime, be happy.”

“Oh, I AM happy, Willow! I’m positively beside myself!”

“I can tell.”

He took a half-step back and stared at me. I basked in his undivided attention for a few moments before saying, “It’s too early yet, my beloved.”

“Oh.”

“Now, we need to tell people – “

“Oh, rather! We need to shout it from the rooftops!” He turned toward the balcony.

I grabbed his antlers again. “Reggie.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to sit down.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Jolly good.” I led him by his rack to his chair and he sat down.

“Now, Lodge is going to go downstairs and get some telegraph blanks. We have to let your mother and father know.”

He blinked up at me, fawn-like. “We do?”

“Yes, Reggie. We do.”

“Oh. Righto.”

A nod to Lodge, and he left. “I’m going to call Rosie now. And, I think, a gin and tonic is in order. For both of us.”

“I’ll get it.”

I bestowed a smooch on his nose, which turned into something more mutual and heartfelt. “Thank you, beloved.” He went to the liquor cabinet, and I picked up the phone.

“Luchow’s.”

The voice sounded a bit tinny, and not for the first time I had to wonder if the Spontoonies have all ‘Euro’ phones tapped.

“Rosie?”

“Hi, Willow! What’s up?”

I grinned. “Oh, nothing . . . Auntie.”

There was a Pregnant Pause.

Pregnant? It reared two whole litters before my cheetah chum finally reacted.

And when she did I held the phone away from my ear for nearly a minute until she stopped cheering.

“I thought you might want to hear the good news.”

“It’s not good news. It’s GREAT news! Has he panicked yet?”

I snickered. “I figure it’s out of his system for now.” Reggie walked up just then and gave me a small G&T. Heavy on the T, very light on the G.

Excellent.

I blew him a kiss and he sat down at the writing desk as Lodge came in with the blanks.

“You do realize, you know, that this calls for a party.”

I smiled. “Just a small one, Rosie. Reggie and I will be leaving soon, you know.”

“Yep. But the party’s here at the restaurant.”

“Um – “

“Don’t you worry. There won’t be any unfortunate encounters.”

“Phew. Thanks, Rosie.” We exchanged a bit of small talk for a moment, and when I hung up it was to find Reggie wracking his brains over a telegram.

Several ink-smeared attempts were already littering the desk.

“Dash it all, Willow. I know that we have to let them know, but I can’t get the right words.”

“Hmm. How about the direct approach?”


***


HI GRANDMA!




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