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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
__________________________________________________
Part 13.
Gwladys:
My daughter-in-law was looking radiant in the sunlight, and as we embraced I saw Reggie walking up. I ended up hugging both of them together and when we finally came up for air I kissed Reggie on the cheek. “Welcome home, Reggie.”
“Thank you, Mummy. Where’s Father?”
I snorted. Most unladylike, but the staff are used to it. Travis started dismissing them while I said, “Your father’s hiding – probably in the coat closet.”
I think I said it loudly enough.
A loud whistling snort told me I had, and a moment later Joss made his appearance.
He stood blinking in the sunlight for a moment, then looked Reggie up and down.
“Reginald.”
“Father.”
He then looked at Willow, and he started flagging. Finally he mumbled, “Willow.”
Willow smiled. “Hello, Lord Josslyn.”
And she hugged him.
I thought Joss would have a stroke; his flag went rigid and he went deathly pale. But he’s made of stronger materials than you might think, so he survived the ordeal.
I took Willow’s paw and we went up the steps, getting inside before Joss started bellowing at the staff. Most of them are used to it, and Travis was completely unflappable.
Four years on the Western Front and an additional year in Mesopotamia will do that.
“You must be tired from the trip up from London.”
“Not very, Gwladys. We had a very relaxing drive.”
“Good! I want to show you around the place a bit, and we have company for dinner.”
“We do?”
“Yes, the vicar and his wife are coming. Tomorrow’s the annual village fun fair – we always have it this time of year – and they always drop by the day before. Travis?”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“Reggie and Willow’s things go in their apartment on the south wing.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
I escorted Willow into the great hall and said, “You’ll like where you’re put up. Beautiful view of the gardens.” I leaned closer. “Promise me one thing, Agent Fawnsworthy.”
“What’s that, Agent Ritterherz?”
“Don’t eat the flowers. Jenkins is the head gardener and he gets quite cross.”
We both giggled.
I insisted that we have an apartment set aside for Reggie and his wife. Joss bellowed and snorted, but I did what I usually do; i.e., listen politely, then ignore him and do it anyway.
Besides, I’m sure they’ll both be coming up from their townhouse often.
Three rooms. Bedroom, sitting room, and bathroom, all on the ground floor. The sitting room and bedroom have a magnificent view of the gardens, the woods beyond, and you can just glimpse the river.
Surprisingly, we own the bit of the river that runs through our property, and I’m told the previous owners called it the Crimea River. An ancestor was apparently a veteran.
The great hall is dominated by two huge fireplaces, carpets almost deep enough to sink to your fetlocks in, and a life-sized portrait of Frederick Buckhorn. The founder of the family fortune is shown in full Union Army regalia with about an acre of gold braid (and never mind the fact he never got higher than sergeant).
And there’s what appear to be several whiskey bottles in the background as well.
“This is really a wonderful place,” Willow was saying.
“Well, my dear, you’d better get used to it.”
She gave me a look. “Are you and Josslyn going off to live in the south of France?”
“Good Lord, no. Josslyn can barely tolerate the French. What I mean is I’ll be expecting you both up here for Christmas or for weekends and holidays. After all, you and Reggie will get this place eventually.”
“Not for a very long time.”
I smiled. “Exactly.”
***
Reggie:
Mummy had picked out a spiffing set of rooms for me and Willow. After Lodge and two maids saw to our things, Willow decided to have a bit of a nap. I decided to see a bit of the old place and get reacquainted.
Before long I found myself on the second storey, face to face with my old room.
I ran a paw over the door frame. Yes, the scratches were still there where I used to mark off how tall I was getting. Good Lord, where does the time go?
Simple answer, Reggie. They went down a bottle.
I squared my shoulders and opened the door.
It’s been cleaned out, but there are still pictures in frames scattered about the dresser. Me and Artie Wisent, with Tons o’ Fun dressed as Carmen from Bizet’s opera.
I closed the door, and stood alone with my thoughts for a moment.
***
Willow:
I woke up refreshed from my nap, and got cleaned up and into a dress laid out for me by one of the maids, a slim mouse named Susie. While I got dressed I struck up a conversation with her, and found out that she and the other members of the staff live on the premises, in a series of apartments that used to be a carriage house and stables.
“Surely they’re not still stables,” I said.
“Oh Lord bless you, Ma’am, they’re not,” Susie laughed. “Lord Josslyn he believes in looking out for the working furs, he does. Oh, he may bellow and take on a bit, but you get used to it after a while.”
There has to be something more to him, to get such loyalty from people you’d think he’d bully at every opportunity.
About five o’clock Reggie and I headed for the great hall to have drinks and await our guests. I was wearing a nice summer frock with a floral pattern, while Reggie was wearing a light tweed suit and tie.
Lord Josslyn was drinking martinis, it seemed, based on the martini glass in his paw and the ice-cold pitcher at the bar. Gwladys was having a small sherry, and greeted me and her son with polite kisses on our cheeks. “What would you like to drink, dear?” she asked me.
“It’s a rather warm day, so I’d like a glass of lemonade, please.”
“I’ll have the same,” Reggie said.
Lord Josslyn grumbled something about ‘Americans’ and I let the gibe pass. I was a guest in the house, you see.
(Humph.)
(Hush, Grace. We were brought up well.)
(That’s true.)
After a few minutes Gwladys asked how we were finding London.
“The house is very nice,” I replied, “and it’s within walking distance of Hyde Park. Perfect for taking the baby for a stroll after it’s born.”
Mention of the baby made Lord Josslyn’s ears go straight down.
“There’s plenty of room up here for taking long strolls. The wood and the grounds are perfect for that sort of thing. Isn’t that right, Joss?”
A deep growl and the clink of the martini pitcher as his glass was refilled was the only response coming from my father-in-law.
Gwladys rolled her eyes, and I sensed that the two would have words afterward.
Thankfully, Travis appeared at the door. “My Lord, the Reverend and Mrs. Bumble are here.”
“They are? Well don’t just stand there looking like a damaged cigar-store Indian! Send them in!”
Good to see he’s getting back on form.
Travis bowed slightly and withdrew, only to return with a pair of elderly badgers. One was wearing a chintz frock and the other a slightly rumpled but clean tweed suit. His clerical collar peeked out of his jacket as he blinked around through a pair of incredibly thick glasses.
“Reverend!” Gwladys said, rising to take his paw. “So good of you and Dottie to come. Reggie, Willow, may I present Alistair and Dottie Bumble. Reverend Bumble’s the local vicar in the parish. Reverend, you remember Reggie, don’t you?”
“Hunh? Oh, yes yes, I recall young Reginald quite well, oh, ah,” and the badger marched straight up to me.
I expected to shake paws with him.
Instead I stood there, gobsmacked, as he started poking me in my belly.
He chuckled as he said, “Oh my my my, Reggie, you have grown. Taking after your father, I see.”
Gwladys had both paws over her muzzle.
Josslyn looked like he was about to explode.
I was simply too shocked to react.
Reggie cleared his throat. “I say, Reverend. I’m over here.”
Bumble blinked and said, “Yes?”
“Yes. That’s my wife you’re poking.”
The badger peered hard at me. “I was wondering why you were wearing a dress, Reggie.”
His wife seized him by the sleeve and half-dragged him over to Reggie. “I knew you’d go wrong, Alistair.”
“Oh, nonsense, Dottie. I’ve never been wrong.”
“You’ve, mm, you’ve been wrong since 1913, Alistair. They’re still trying to, mm, figure the odds of that up in Oxford.”
Gwladys took a few deep breaths and asked, “Would you two like anything to drink?”
“What are you having, dear?” Mrs. Bumble asked me.
“Lemonade.”
“I’ll, mm, have a lemonade as well. Alistair? Alistair!” she snapped as she saw her husband was now poking Reggie in the stomach.
“Yes?”
“What do you, mm, want to drink?”
“A small sherry will be quite nice.”
***
Josslyn:
Confounded cleric. Parts of him may be excellent, but I’m hanged if I can find ‘em. Not that I’d look hard.
At least the sherry got him to shut up.
Finally Travis announces dinner. About blasted time, too.
The soup course was a tomato bisque. Not bad, made from produce grown here at the estate. Anything that won’t grow here is bought from company stocks. BOUGHT. I’m not going to pick my own pockets, even if I do pay wholesale. Something that affords endless amusement to my spouse.
That fool Bumble is regaling Reggie and Willow about the history of the place. I hope he won’t start going on about the ghost again.
“And then, of course, there’s the legend of the ghost.”
Blast! More of this Wilkie Collins nonsense.
My daughter-in-law affects a look of deep interest when it suits her, apparently. My son just eats his stuffed mushrooms quietly and looks attentive.
“What was that about a ghost, Reverend?”
Oh, Lord, we’re off. There’ll be no stopping that ruddy badger, now.
“It’s said that the, ah, first Norman holder of the parish, a certain Jacques de Renart, took over the place and married the widow of the former Saxon earl.”
“Go on.”
“They had two sons when Sir Jacques’ wife came over from Rouen.”
“Oh my.”
“Local legend holds that he drowned her, not far from here, rather than have her accuse him of bigamy – oh, my, more mushrooms? Thank you, thank you.”
I’ll say this for the idiot. He’s a connoisseur of good mushrooms.
Appreciates a free meal, too. Underpaid by his Bishop.
“And it’s said that one can see her ghost – or at least a ghost, mm, yes – on moonless nights by the ford.”
Reggie’s doe then starts talking about their new neighbors, the Greenleaf-Hays. Sound like typical rabbits – raise up an ungodly number of kits and overrun the country. Well, I suppose that does mean more customers, but it’s the principle of the thing.
“She seemed a bit surprised that I was American.”
“Confounded cheek!”
She turns an eye on me. “I beg your pardon, Lord Josslyn?”
“The confounded cheek of people. Just like those busybodies in Whitehall telling the King who he could and couldn’t marry. Bloody government. Don’t see why a fellow can't marry a femme he wants to. Good job old Crowley put a stop to all that.”
A refined Fillydelphia voice pipes up. “So you don't see a problem with His Majesty marrying an American?”
I glare at my wife, not that it bothers her. “Damnit, woman, I know what you're up to, and stop using me as a stooge.”
“I’d never use you as a stooge, Josslyn. You're built like a music hall xylophonist.”
I think she does that deliberately.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
© 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__________________________________________________
Part 13.
Gwladys:
My daughter-in-law was looking radiant in the sunlight, and as we embraced I saw Reggie walking up. I ended up hugging both of them together and when we finally came up for air I kissed Reggie on the cheek. “Welcome home, Reggie.”
“Thank you, Mummy. Where’s Father?”
I snorted. Most unladylike, but the staff are used to it. Travis started dismissing them while I said, “Your father’s hiding – probably in the coat closet.”
I think I said it loudly enough.
A loud whistling snort told me I had, and a moment later Joss made his appearance.
He stood blinking in the sunlight for a moment, then looked Reggie up and down.
“Reginald.”
“Father.”
He then looked at Willow, and he started flagging. Finally he mumbled, “Willow.”
Willow smiled. “Hello, Lord Josslyn.”
And she hugged him.
I thought Joss would have a stroke; his flag went rigid and he went deathly pale. But he’s made of stronger materials than you might think, so he survived the ordeal.
I took Willow’s paw and we went up the steps, getting inside before Joss started bellowing at the staff. Most of them are used to it, and Travis was completely unflappable.
Four years on the Western Front and an additional year in Mesopotamia will do that.
“You must be tired from the trip up from London.”
“Not very, Gwladys. We had a very relaxing drive.”
“Good! I want to show you around the place a bit, and we have company for dinner.”
“We do?”
“Yes, the vicar and his wife are coming. Tomorrow’s the annual village fun fair – we always have it this time of year – and they always drop by the day before. Travis?”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“Reggie and Willow’s things go in their apartment on the south wing.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
I escorted Willow into the great hall and said, “You’ll like where you’re put up. Beautiful view of the gardens.” I leaned closer. “Promise me one thing, Agent Fawnsworthy.”
“What’s that, Agent Ritterherz?”
“Don’t eat the flowers. Jenkins is the head gardener and he gets quite cross.”
We both giggled.
I insisted that we have an apartment set aside for Reggie and his wife. Joss bellowed and snorted, but I did what I usually do; i.e., listen politely, then ignore him and do it anyway.
Besides, I’m sure they’ll both be coming up from their townhouse often.
Three rooms. Bedroom, sitting room, and bathroom, all on the ground floor. The sitting room and bedroom have a magnificent view of the gardens, the woods beyond, and you can just glimpse the river.
Surprisingly, we own the bit of the river that runs through our property, and I’m told the previous owners called it the Crimea River. An ancestor was apparently a veteran.
The great hall is dominated by two huge fireplaces, carpets almost deep enough to sink to your fetlocks in, and a life-sized portrait of Frederick Buckhorn. The founder of the family fortune is shown in full Union Army regalia with about an acre of gold braid (and never mind the fact he never got higher than sergeant).
And there’s what appear to be several whiskey bottles in the background as well.
“This is really a wonderful place,” Willow was saying.
“Well, my dear, you’d better get used to it.”
She gave me a look. “Are you and Josslyn going off to live in the south of France?”
“Good Lord, no. Josslyn can barely tolerate the French. What I mean is I’ll be expecting you both up here for Christmas or for weekends and holidays. After all, you and Reggie will get this place eventually.”
“Not for a very long time.”
I smiled. “Exactly.”
***
Reggie:
Mummy had picked out a spiffing set of rooms for me and Willow. After Lodge and two maids saw to our things, Willow decided to have a bit of a nap. I decided to see a bit of the old place and get reacquainted.
Before long I found myself on the second storey, face to face with my old room.
I ran a paw over the door frame. Yes, the scratches were still there where I used to mark off how tall I was getting. Good Lord, where does the time go?
Simple answer, Reggie. They went down a bottle.
I squared my shoulders and opened the door.
It’s been cleaned out, but there are still pictures in frames scattered about the dresser. Me and Artie Wisent, with Tons o’ Fun dressed as Carmen from Bizet’s opera.
I closed the door, and stood alone with my thoughts for a moment.
***
Willow:
I woke up refreshed from my nap, and got cleaned up and into a dress laid out for me by one of the maids, a slim mouse named Susie. While I got dressed I struck up a conversation with her, and found out that she and the other members of the staff live on the premises, in a series of apartments that used to be a carriage house and stables.
“Surely they’re not still stables,” I said.
“Oh Lord bless you, Ma’am, they’re not,” Susie laughed. “Lord Josslyn he believes in looking out for the working furs, he does. Oh, he may bellow and take on a bit, but you get used to it after a while.”
There has to be something more to him, to get such loyalty from people you’d think he’d bully at every opportunity.
About five o’clock Reggie and I headed for the great hall to have drinks and await our guests. I was wearing a nice summer frock with a floral pattern, while Reggie was wearing a light tweed suit and tie.
Lord Josslyn was drinking martinis, it seemed, based on the martini glass in his paw and the ice-cold pitcher at the bar. Gwladys was having a small sherry, and greeted me and her son with polite kisses on our cheeks. “What would you like to drink, dear?” she asked me.
“It’s a rather warm day, so I’d like a glass of lemonade, please.”
“I’ll have the same,” Reggie said.
Lord Josslyn grumbled something about ‘Americans’ and I let the gibe pass. I was a guest in the house, you see.
(Humph.)
(Hush, Grace. We were brought up well.)
(That’s true.)
After a few minutes Gwladys asked how we were finding London.
“The house is very nice,” I replied, “and it’s within walking distance of Hyde Park. Perfect for taking the baby for a stroll after it’s born.”
Mention of the baby made Lord Josslyn’s ears go straight down.
“There’s plenty of room up here for taking long strolls. The wood and the grounds are perfect for that sort of thing. Isn’t that right, Joss?”
A deep growl and the clink of the martini pitcher as his glass was refilled was the only response coming from my father-in-law.
Gwladys rolled her eyes, and I sensed that the two would have words afterward.
Thankfully, Travis appeared at the door. “My Lord, the Reverend and Mrs. Bumble are here.”
“They are? Well don’t just stand there looking like a damaged cigar-store Indian! Send them in!”
Good to see he’s getting back on form.
Travis bowed slightly and withdrew, only to return with a pair of elderly badgers. One was wearing a chintz frock and the other a slightly rumpled but clean tweed suit. His clerical collar peeked out of his jacket as he blinked around through a pair of incredibly thick glasses.
“Reverend!” Gwladys said, rising to take his paw. “So good of you and Dottie to come. Reggie, Willow, may I present Alistair and Dottie Bumble. Reverend Bumble’s the local vicar in the parish. Reverend, you remember Reggie, don’t you?”
“Hunh? Oh, yes yes, I recall young Reginald quite well, oh, ah,” and the badger marched straight up to me.
I expected to shake paws with him.
Instead I stood there, gobsmacked, as he started poking me in my belly.
He chuckled as he said, “Oh my my my, Reggie, you have grown. Taking after your father, I see.”
Gwladys had both paws over her muzzle.
Josslyn looked like he was about to explode.
I was simply too shocked to react.
Reggie cleared his throat. “I say, Reverend. I’m over here.”
Bumble blinked and said, “Yes?”
“Yes. That’s my wife you’re poking.”
The badger peered hard at me. “I was wondering why you were wearing a dress, Reggie.”
His wife seized him by the sleeve and half-dragged him over to Reggie. “I knew you’d go wrong, Alistair.”
“Oh, nonsense, Dottie. I’ve never been wrong.”
“You’ve, mm, you’ve been wrong since 1913, Alistair. They’re still trying to, mm, figure the odds of that up in Oxford.”
Gwladys took a few deep breaths and asked, “Would you two like anything to drink?”
“What are you having, dear?” Mrs. Bumble asked me.
“Lemonade.”
“I’ll, mm, have a lemonade as well. Alistair? Alistair!” she snapped as she saw her husband was now poking Reggie in the stomach.
“Yes?”
“What do you, mm, want to drink?”
“A small sherry will be quite nice.”
***
Josslyn:
Confounded cleric. Parts of him may be excellent, but I’m hanged if I can find ‘em. Not that I’d look hard.
At least the sherry got him to shut up.
Finally Travis announces dinner. About blasted time, too.
The soup course was a tomato bisque. Not bad, made from produce grown here at the estate. Anything that won’t grow here is bought from company stocks. BOUGHT. I’m not going to pick my own pockets, even if I do pay wholesale. Something that affords endless amusement to my spouse.
That fool Bumble is regaling Reggie and Willow about the history of the place. I hope he won’t start going on about the ghost again.
“And then, of course, there’s the legend of the ghost.”
Blast! More of this Wilkie Collins nonsense.
My daughter-in-law affects a look of deep interest when it suits her, apparently. My son just eats his stuffed mushrooms quietly and looks attentive.
“What was that about a ghost, Reverend?”
Oh, Lord, we’re off. There’ll be no stopping that ruddy badger, now.
“It’s said that the, ah, first Norman holder of the parish, a certain Jacques de Renart, took over the place and married the widow of the former Saxon earl.”
“Go on.”
“They had two sons when Sir Jacques’ wife came over from Rouen.”
“Oh my.”
“Local legend holds that he drowned her, not far from here, rather than have her accuse him of bigamy – oh, my, more mushrooms? Thank you, thank you.”
I’ll say this for the idiot. He’s a connoisseur of good mushrooms.
Appreciates a free meal, too. Underpaid by his Bishop.
“And it’s said that one can see her ghost – or at least a ghost, mm, yes – on moonless nights by the ford.”
Reggie’s doe then starts talking about their new neighbors, the Greenleaf-Hays. Sound like typical rabbits – raise up an ungodly number of kits and overrun the country. Well, I suppose that does mean more customers, but it’s the principle of the thing.
“She seemed a bit surprised that I was American.”
“Confounded cheek!”
She turns an eye on me. “I beg your pardon, Lord Josslyn?”
“The confounded cheek of people. Just like those busybodies in Whitehall telling the King who he could and couldn’t marry. Bloody government. Don’t see why a fellow can't marry a femme he wants to. Good job old Crowley put a stop to all that.”
A refined Fillydelphia voice pipes up. “So you don't see a problem with His Majesty marrying an American?”
I glare at my wife, not that it bothers her. “Damnit, woman, I know what you're up to, and stop using me as a stooge.”
“I’d never use you as a stooge, Josslyn. You're built like a music hall xylophonist.”
I think she does that deliberately.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
Listed in Folders
For those curious about music hall xylophonists...
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teddy_Brown
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLRERzHM8uA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIxp4om8hzw
The comparison, of course, to Josslyn Buckhorn's physique is readily apparent.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teddy_Brown
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLRERzHM8uA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIxp4om8hzw
The comparison, of course, to Josslyn Buckhorn's physique is readily apparent.
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