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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 15.
Reggie:
“Miss Haversham?”
My secretary looked up from her desk, then started to stand up. I waved her back to her chair.
I’m not the King, after all.
“Yes, Mr. Buckhorn?”
“I was wondering . . . the deadline for the Jackson account is this Friday.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Who’s waiting to sign it? Do the Jacksons have their lawyer chappies here?” I looked around, expecting to see them come out of a broom closet.
She chuckled. “Well, sir, Sir Avery does retain a legal firm here in the City, but his son is in town.”
“His son?”
“Yes, sir. Arthur Jackson. Sir Avery’s getting ready to retire, I suppose, and his son has authority to sign contracts on his behalf.”
“Really.” I thought for a moment. “Do we have his number?”
“I can get it, through his lawyers.”
“Would you, please?”
***
Willow:
My little passenger didn’t quite like the trip back to our house in London.
Tough. The little nipper will have to get used to it. I looked forward to having him or her . . .
Wait a minute.
(Grace?)
(Willow?)
(Is there any way you can see if we’re carrying a buck or a doe?)
(Give me a second.)
While I waited, I sipped a glass of milk while waiting for my bowl of oatmeal to cool slightly.
(Well?)
(Won’t tell us.)
(Won’t, or can’t?)
(Won’t.)
(Why, the cheeky little – it has to be a buck.)
(Agreed.)
Grace receded, and I started to eat my breakfast. As I ate my tummies settled down.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Lodge?”
“There is a Mister Buzzard on the telephone for you.”
“Thank you, Lodge.” I got up and went to the phone in the next room. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Buckhorn?”
“Yes, it’s me, Mr. Buzzard.”
“Mr. Bunn has referred your case to me, as he is somewhat indisposed. Could you come and see me this afternoon at one o’clock?”
“Why, of course, yes,” I said. “I’m very sorry to hear that Mr. Bunn is indisposed. I hope he feels better.”
“We all do, Mrs. Buckhorn, and thank you very much for the sentiments. I’ll see you at one, then.” The line went dead, leaving me looking at the pawset for a moment.
Buzzard had a very brusque manner, probably since I wasn’t on retainer yet. Chances were his speech would slow to a crawl when his time was billable.
One of the maids came in – Paczki, I think – and she immediately began dusting with great industry.
All the while giving Lodge the eye.
Very strange.
***
Nosey:
Missus Buckhorn, she ‘ad me go on inta Whitechapel an’ ‘ave a look about, see? Talks t’few people I know an’ see wot’s wot ‘bout these ‘ere guys wot givin’ ‘er trouble.
I talks ta Long Sally an’ Strangely Brown, an’ ol’ Strangely ‘e sez ‘e’s got a bit of a job fer me, if’n I’d ‘elp ‘im quoiet-like.
I tells ‘im I hain’t in th’ Bizness no more, an’ asks ‘im ‘gain, real polite-like.
“’Ere, Nosey ol’ son,” sez Strangely, “tyke yer paws off m’throat. I cain’t breathe.”
So I lets up off’n ‘im. “See ‘ere, I’m lookin’ fer a bit o’ th’ ol’ lowdown.”
“Orright, orright. Lemme t’ink.”
I waits a while. T’inkin’ hain’t Strangely’s lot in life.
‘E sends me ‘round ta see the Vicar, an’ ‘e sends me t’see Nine-fingered Artie. Artie, ‘e ‘az wot I’m lookin’ fer.
***
Reggie:
I must say, Arthur Jackson rather surprised me.
Since his father owned farms, I thought he might a brother herbivore. Imagine my feelings when Miss Haversham opened my office door and showed in a tall hound in a Savile Row suit. “Mr. Jackson,” I say with my best smile on. “Come on in and take a seat.”
Of course I was told he was coming up.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Buckhorn,” the canine chappie says as we shake paws and he sits down. He’s got a Canadian accent, which is almost American but I can understand it better.
I take my seat. “Reggie.”
He gives a nod. “Arthur. So, what’s going on?”
“Well, I thought we might have a chat about your contract with us. I think there’s one or two sticky points that need to be cleared up.”
His smile shows some teeth now, and his eyes look like one of those Samoans I ran afoul of. “There’s an understatement, Reggie. My Pop thinks your father’s trying to undercut him. Now, I’m all for business, and Buckhorn’s is one of our best customers, but we’d like to make a little money too you know.”
My turn to smile. “I agree completely.”
His ears go up. “You do?”
“In fact, I’d like to discuss these points with you. Say, dinner at my club?”
“What club?”
“Blades.”
He looks impressed. Blades is one of those gentlemen’s clubs that cater to a younger set. I was given a membership while still in nappies.
“When?”
So far, things are going smoothly.
“Would tonight be all right? They have two chefs on staff, so I hear, for both types of diet.”
Arthur makes a bit of a face at this. “I’m afraid I have to refuse for tonight. I’m attending a show in the West End, with dinner at Claridge’s. When would be convenient?”
“Anytime you like.”
He took a moment to consider. “Tell you what, Reggie. The deadline for the contract’s Friday. We’ll have dinner at your club Thursday night. Agreed?”
I offer my paw. “Thursday night it is.”
***
Willow:
“Thursday night?” I asked, and when my beloved nodded I said, “That’s wonderful, Reggie. I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.”
“This’ll be the first time I’ve had to have dinner without you,” my buck said. He looked down at his plate.
“Don’t worry,” I said with a smile, and we ate a bit longer before I said, “I had a word with one of the solicitors, Mr. Buzzard.”
“I thought it was that Bunn fellow.”
“I was told he’s been put in the hospital.”
Reggie’s ears dipped. “I hope it’s not serious.”
“Well, I found out that he’s ninety.”
“Good Lord. You’d think he’d have retired by now.”
“Some people love what they do, Reggie.”
He smiled at me. “And speaking of that, how goes l’affaire Neatsfoot, et. al.?”
Now it was my turn to smile. “I have one or two irons in the fire. Mr. Buzzard looked over the mortgage agreement.” I took a sip of my tea.
(That’s right. I’m expecting, so no more booze for this little doe.)
(Good thinking.)
(Thank you, Grace.)
Reggie swallowed his latest mouthful and said, “I tried to read it, and it was like pushing my brains – what few I have - through oatmeal. If Buzzard could do it, then he missed his calling.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. He should have been one of those archeologist chaps, who read things right to left or up and down or diagonally.”
We both laughed at that.
“So, what did the intrepid explorer find?”
“He said that there so many sub-clauses hidden in it he’s not surprised we didn’t spot the trap the agents had put in for us. But, he does say that we can argue bad faith.” I sat back as Zenobia cleared away my plate. “Thank you. But that’s not the only iron in the fire.”
“Oh?”
I looked around at Paczki and Zenobia, and shook my head a little. Reggie, bless him, got the hint and dropped the subject.
“You know, we really should invite our neighbors over for dinner sometime,” Reggie said as our dessert was served. “They sound like nice people.”
“Well, I’ve only met Petunia so far,” I said, “but I think we can give them an invitation. Next week, say?”
“Yes, that would be fine,” my love said. “One way or the other, this Jackson thingie will be over by Friday.” He looked a bit down in the muzzle as he added, “If it goes bad, I’m not going to be going to the country with you this weekend.”
“Reggie – “
“In fact, I might come in Monday to find my office’s been moved.”
“Dear – “
“To the boiler room.”
“Love – “
“Inside the boiler.”
“Reggie,” I said firmly, and when he started paying attention I said, “things will work out. Besides, it’s your house too. He can’t turn you out.”
“You don’t know the Sire,” Reggie said pessimistically. “He might find a way.”
***
Josslyn:
The deadline’s Friday for the Jackson account.
I haven’t seen much sign of movement from that benighted clot of a son of mine.
This will prove to my mate that her indefinite fawn has no business sense at all.
<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 15.
Reggie:
“Miss Haversham?”
My secretary looked up from her desk, then started to stand up. I waved her back to her chair.
I’m not the King, after all.
“Yes, Mr. Buckhorn?”
“I was wondering . . . the deadline for the Jackson account is this Friday.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Who’s waiting to sign it? Do the Jacksons have their lawyer chappies here?” I looked around, expecting to see them come out of a broom closet.
She chuckled. “Well, sir, Sir Avery does retain a legal firm here in the City, but his son is in town.”
“His son?”
“Yes, sir. Arthur Jackson. Sir Avery’s getting ready to retire, I suppose, and his son has authority to sign contracts on his behalf.”
“Really.” I thought for a moment. “Do we have his number?”
“I can get it, through his lawyers.”
“Would you, please?”
***
Willow:
My little passenger didn’t quite like the trip back to our house in London.
Tough. The little nipper will have to get used to it. I looked forward to having him or her . . .
Wait a minute.
(Grace?)
(Willow?)
(Is there any way you can see if we’re carrying a buck or a doe?)
(Give me a second.)
While I waited, I sipped a glass of milk while waiting for my bowl of oatmeal to cool slightly.
(Well?)
(Won’t tell us.)
(Won’t, or can’t?)
(Won’t.)
(Why, the cheeky little – it has to be a buck.)
(Agreed.)
Grace receded, and I started to eat my breakfast. As I ate my tummies settled down.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Lodge?”
“There is a Mister Buzzard on the telephone for you.”
“Thank you, Lodge.” I got up and went to the phone in the next room. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Buckhorn?”
“Yes, it’s me, Mr. Buzzard.”
“Mr. Bunn has referred your case to me, as he is somewhat indisposed. Could you come and see me this afternoon at one o’clock?”
“Why, of course, yes,” I said. “I’m very sorry to hear that Mr. Bunn is indisposed. I hope he feels better.”
“We all do, Mrs. Buckhorn, and thank you very much for the sentiments. I’ll see you at one, then.” The line went dead, leaving me looking at the pawset for a moment.
Buzzard had a very brusque manner, probably since I wasn’t on retainer yet. Chances were his speech would slow to a crawl when his time was billable.
One of the maids came in – Paczki, I think – and she immediately began dusting with great industry.
All the while giving Lodge the eye.
Very strange.
***
Nosey:
Missus Buckhorn, she ‘ad me go on inta Whitechapel an’ ‘ave a look about, see? Talks t’few people I know an’ see wot’s wot ‘bout these ‘ere guys wot givin’ ‘er trouble.
I talks ta Long Sally an’ Strangely Brown, an’ ol’ Strangely ‘e sez ‘e’s got a bit of a job fer me, if’n I’d ‘elp ‘im quoiet-like.
I tells ‘im I hain’t in th’ Bizness no more, an’ asks ‘im ‘gain, real polite-like.
“’Ere, Nosey ol’ son,” sez Strangely, “tyke yer paws off m’throat. I cain’t breathe.”
So I lets up off’n ‘im. “See ‘ere, I’m lookin’ fer a bit o’ th’ ol’ lowdown.”
“Orright, orright. Lemme t’ink.”
I waits a while. T’inkin’ hain’t Strangely’s lot in life.
‘E sends me ‘round ta see the Vicar, an’ ‘e sends me t’see Nine-fingered Artie. Artie, ‘e ‘az wot I’m lookin’ fer.
***
Reggie:
I must say, Arthur Jackson rather surprised me.
Since his father owned farms, I thought he might a brother herbivore. Imagine my feelings when Miss Haversham opened my office door and showed in a tall hound in a Savile Row suit. “Mr. Jackson,” I say with my best smile on. “Come on in and take a seat.”
Of course I was told he was coming up.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Buckhorn,” the canine chappie says as we shake paws and he sits down. He’s got a Canadian accent, which is almost American but I can understand it better.
I take my seat. “Reggie.”
He gives a nod. “Arthur. So, what’s going on?”
“Well, I thought we might have a chat about your contract with us. I think there’s one or two sticky points that need to be cleared up.”
His smile shows some teeth now, and his eyes look like one of those Samoans I ran afoul of. “There’s an understatement, Reggie. My Pop thinks your father’s trying to undercut him. Now, I’m all for business, and Buckhorn’s is one of our best customers, but we’d like to make a little money too you know.”
My turn to smile. “I agree completely.”
His ears go up. “You do?”
“In fact, I’d like to discuss these points with you. Say, dinner at my club?”
“What club?”
“Blades.”
He looks impressed. Blades is one of those gentlemen’s clubs that cater to a younger set. I was given a membership while still in nappies.
“When?”
So far, things are going smoothly.
“Would tonight be all right? They have two chefs on staff, so I hear, for both types of diet.”
Arthur makes a bit of a face at this. “I’m afraid I have to refuse for tonight. I’m attending a show in the West End, with dinner at Claridge’s. When would be convenient?”
“Anytime you like.”
He took a moment to consider. “Tell you what, Reggie. The deadline for the contract’s Friday. We’ll have dinner at your club Thursday night. Agreed?”
I offer my paw. “Thursday night it is.”
***
Willow:
“Thursday night?” I asked, and when my beloved nodded I said, “That’s wonderful, Reggie. I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.”
“This’ll be the first time I’ve had to have dinner without you,” my buck said. He looked down at his plate.
“Don’t worry,” I said with a smile, and we ate a bit longer before I said, “I had a word with one of the solicitors, Mr. Buzzard.”
“I thought it was that Bunn fellow.”
“I was told he’s been put in the hospital.”
Reggie’s ears dipped. “I hope it’s not serious.”
“Well, I found out that he’s ninety.”
“Good Lord. You’d think he’d have retired by now.”
“Some people love what they do, Reggie.”
He smiled at me. “And speaking of that, how goes l’affaire Neatsfoot, et. al.?”
Now it was my turn to smile. “I have one or two irons in the fire. Mr. Buzzard looked over the mortgage agreement.” I took a sip of my tea.
(That’s right. I’m expecting, so no more booze for this little doe.)
(Good thinking.)
(Thank you, Grace.)
Reggie swallowed his latest mouthful and said, “I tried to read it, and it was like pushing my brains – what few I have - through oatmeal. If Buzzard could do it, then he missed his calling.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. He should have been one of those archeologist chaps, who read things right to left or up and down or diagonally.”
We both laughed at that.
“So, what did the intrepid explorer find?”
“He said that there so many sub-clauses hidden in it he’s not surprised we didn’t spot the trap the agents had put in for us. But, he does say that we can argue bad faith.” I sat back as Zenobia cleared away my plate. “Thank you. But that’s not the only iron in the fire.”
“Oh?”
I looked around at Paczki and Zenobia, and shook my head a little. Reggie, bless him, got the hint and dropped the subject.
“You know, we really should invite our neighbors over for dinner sometime,” Reggie said as our dessert was served. “They sound like nice people.”
“Well, I’ve only met Petunia so far,” I said, “but I think we can give them an invitation. Next week, say?”
“Yes, that would be fine,” my love said. “One way or the other, this Jackson thingie will be over by Friday.” He looked a bit down in the muzzle as he added, “If it goes bad, I’m not going to be going to the country with you this weekend.”
“Reggie – “
“In fact, I might come in Monday to find my office’s been moved.”
“Dear – “
“To the boiler room.”
“Love – “
“Inside the boiler.”
“Reggie,” I said firmly, and when he started paying attention I said, “things will work out. Besides, it’s your house too. He can’t turn you out.”
“You don’t know the Sire,” Reggie said pessimistically. “He might find a way.”
***
Josslyn:
The deadline’s Friday for the Jackson account.
I haven’t seen much sign of movement from that benighted clot of a son of mine.
This will prove to my mate that her indefinite fawn has no business sense at all.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
Comments