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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 23.
September 1937
Business Affairs
Gwladys:
I’m sure you’ve heard of the old wheeze about the immovable object and the irresistible force.
Monday, August 30th was the annual Bank Holiday, and Josslyn was spending the day at the house.
“Josslyn?”
“Hmm?” He barely looked up from his copy of the Financial Times.
“It’s high time we went on holiday.”
His paws tightened convulsively on the newspaper, and a baleful eye framed by a monocle glared at me.
“You’ve been working far too hard, and we haven’t had a vacation since we went to Reggie and Willow’s wedding.”
There was a deep whistling snort and my mate attempted to bury his muzzle in his paper again.
“It’s not as if you’ll be leaving the firm unattended while we’re away. I think you spend more time reading those boxes when you’re at home than you do when you’re in your office.”
The defendant sat mute, and a plea of nihil dicit was entered in the record.
“Besides, we’ll only be away for two weeks.”
Another rustle of paper. He’ll tear it in half at that rate.
“And it’s not like the company won’t be in good paws when you’re on vacation. Reggie will be – “
Another snort, and the paper gave up the struggle. He glared at me through the sundered halves. “Damnation, Woman! You want to leave the company in the - the paws of that little – “
“Say it, Joss. Our fawn.”
“Dammit, that little blot! He could wreck everything!”
I decided that enough was quite enough.
“How?”
“Eh?”
“How can Reggie destroy the company? Tell me that, Joss, right now. How can he ‘wreck everything?’”
“Well – “
“He can’t! He can’t do anything as Vice-Chairman without the Board’s backing, and you know that perfectly well.” I was standing up, my paws on my hips. “And you also know perfectly well that you’ve gone on holiday before and nothing bad’s happened.”
“Well – “
“Besides, Reggie’s doing quite well. You’ve even admitted it to me. Using his bonus down in Bournemouth caused them to increase production, didn’t they?”
He looked away, and I knew that he was wavering.
“He’s got the same touch with employees as your father did, and you see how well he did with the Jackson account.”
Josslyn started grumbling.
I smiled. When Joss starts doing that, the Immovable Object has shifted.
“Now, we’re going to go down to Monaco – “
“What – “
“Just for a week. We’ll make sure that you get all of the daily reports you usually get. And the change of scenery will do you good.”
***
Reggie:
Willow and I had taken advantage of the Bank Holiday weekend to visit the Lake District.
True to form, it rained the whole time were there, but it didn’t matter very much, really. We stayed at a little inn in Grasmere.
Very nice and snug.
We got home and Willow went upstairs to change while I brought in our bags. Nosey would be quite pleased that I brought the car back in one piece and in good working order.
Lodge appeared to help me and we were just setting the last one down when we heard it.
It was voices.
Two mustelid voices, and one equine, speaking Hungarian.
One cervine voice, Willow’s, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
But it was a definite Quality Assortment of indignation, surprise and disgust.
Lodge’s whiskers quivered at a long string of Hungarian, delivered at the top of Sophia’s equine voice.
I turned toward the front door.
“Sir?”
I paused, paw on the doorknob. “Yes, Lodge?”
“May I ask where you’re going?”
“I feel that I need to step out and get a packet of cigarettes, Lodge.”
I went to open the door again. “Sir?”
“Yes, Lodge?”
“I think it best if I accompany you.”
I thought about it, cocking an ear at the continued sounds of verbal mayhem coming from upstairs.
By this time I was able to make out what Willow was saying.
And I flagged, quite involuntarily.
“Hmm. You’re right, Lodge. At this juncture, our place is away. Far away.”
“Indeed, Sir.”
We stepped out, taking care to lock the front door. It hadn’t started raining yet, but we both had equipped ourselves with raincoats and brollies just in case.
"I am told, Sir, that there is an excellent tobacconist's shop a brisk fifteen minute walk away. Shall I show you where it is?"
“By all means, do."
We started walking.
From what I had managed to gather from the barracking I had heard, our cook, Mister Coney, had been caught upstairs.
In our bedroom.
Wearing, if you can believe it, one of Willow’s dresses.
Now, I am no stranger to the actor’s art of playing a feminine role from time to time, although normally it was my bosom chum from the groves of the University of Pennsylvania, Artie “Tons of Fun” Wisent, who was usually shoehorned into a dress.
In fact, I had done it myself, in an attempt to help Leslie duCleds and Inocenta de Ciervos get together.
That had cost me my favorite banjolele, as well as gaining me several stitches in my bonce.
I said as much to Lodge in my own defense, adding, “Mark you, Lodge, that was not for selfish reasons."
"I shall take your word for it, Sir. I gathered that Miss Lovassag was quite upset."
"Hang on! How do you know what she said, Lodge?"
"I am not unfamiliar with certain turns of phrase in Hungarian, Sir."
"Eh?"
"My former employer had a Hungarian chauffeur."
“Ah, picked up a bit of barracks-room lingo, eh what?"
"Precisely, sir. And a few of those phrases have sprung to the lips of the Galor sisters and their superior."
"Oh, dear."
We walked on in silence for a few minutes.
“Expressive language, Hungarian."
"Quite, Sir. Unlike nearly every other European language."
"Lodge, you don't need to know a language, you just need to know intonation. Remember Samoa."
“Indeed, Sir.”
We approached the corner on which the tobacco shop resided. There was an alley separating the shop from the rest of the buildings and the blank wall was taken up by a painted advertisement.
The advert was a huge pair of eyes, wearing pince-nez glasses, doubtless for a nearby oculist’s shop.
I paused. “Lodge?”
“Sir?”
“Is it just me, or are those eyes following us around?”
“I’m sure it’s just a trick of the light, Sir.”
“Hmm. Hang on a moment, Lodge . . . “
"Sir?"
"Just checking what was written underneath."
"Oh?"
On the wall someone had scrawled, War is Peace. Slavery is Freedom. Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia.
"What does it mean, Sir?"
"Someone's having us on, Lodge. It looks like complete doubletalk."
"Perhaps it's a tribute, Sir."
"Well, I don't think it's an homage to Catalonia. Rather the kind of oddity you see on the road to Wigan Pier."
We walked around the corner to the door, with a neatly painted sign over the door proclaiming the shop of one A. Yalt, Tobacconist.
I purchased a packet of Woodbines, and as Lodge and I left a fellow in a tweed overcoat and a Homburg stepped up.
He leaned toward the proprietor and said, “I will not buy this – “
The door closed and we started to retrace our steps.
Funny how those eyes followed us around, though.
By the time Lodge and I turned our footpads and hooves home, Coney had vanished even faster than those chappies do in the Russian photographs. Not a trace was left.
I would have said “not a rack behind,” but fortunately the man was a rabbit and not a fellow deer.
Once I thought that things had settled down, I sought out my wife.
“Willow?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Um, er, that is, about Coney – “
She smiled. “Gone, Reggie.” Before I could ask she added, “I let him take what he was wearing with him.”
“Eh?”
“I had to. They were all stretched out. He's nowhere near my size." She laughed. “Even my current size.”
I laughed with her, and gave her a hug and a deep kiss. "I should dashed well say so, Willow! You're much prettier!"
<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 23.
September 1937
Business Affairs
Gwladys:
I’m sure you’ve heard of the old wheeze about the immovable object and the irresistible force.
Monday, August 30th was the annual Bank Holiday, and Josslyn was spending the day at the house.
“Josslyn?”
“Hmm?” He barely looked up from his copy of the Financial Times.
“It’s high time we went on holiday.”
His paws tightened convulsively on the newspaper, and a baleful eye framed by a monocle glared at me.
“You’ve been working far too hard, and we haven’t had a vacation since we went to Reggie and Willow’s wedding.”
There was a deep whistling snort and my mate attempted to bury his muzzle in his paper again.
“It’s not as if you’ll be leaving the firm unattended while we’re away. I think you spend more time reading those boxes when you’re at home than you do when you’re in your office.”
The defendant sat mute, and a plea of nihil dicit was entered in the record.
“Besides, we’ll only be away for two weeks.”
Another rustle of paper. He’ll tear it in half at that rate.
“And it’s not like the company won’t be in good paws when you’re on vacation. Reggie will be – “
Another snort, and the paper gave up the struggle. He glared at me through the sundered halves. “Damnation, Woman! You want to leave the company in the - the paws of that little – “
“Say it, Joss. Our fawn.”
“Dammit, that little blot! He could wreck everything!”
I decided that enough was quite enough.
“How?”
“Eh?”
“How can Reggie destroy the company? Tell me that, Joss, right now. How can he ‘wreck everything?’”
“Well – “
“He can’t! He can’t do anything as Vice-Chairman without the Board’s backing, and you know that perfectly well.” I was standing up, my paws on my hips. “And you also know perfectly well that you’ve gone on holiday before and nothing bad’s happened.”
“Well – “
“Besides, Reggie’s doing quite well. You’ve even admitted it to me. Using his bonus down in Bournemouth caused them to increase production, didn’t they?”
He looked away, and I knew that he was wavering.
“He’s got the same touch with employees as your father did, and you see how well he did with the Jackson account.”
Josslyn started grumbling.
I smiled. When Joss starts doing that, the Immovable Object has shifted.
“Now, we’re going to go down to Monaco – “
“What – “
“Just for a week. We’ll make sure that you get all of the daily reports you usually get. And the change of scenery will do you good.”
***
Reggie:
Willow and I had taken advantage of the Bank Holiday weekend to visit the Lake District.
True to form, it rained the whole time were there, but it didn’t matter very much, really. We stayed at a little inn in Grasmere.
Very nice and snug.
We got home and Willow went upstairs to change while I brought in our bags. Nosey would be quite pleased that I brought the car back in one piece and in good working order.
Lodge appeared to help me and we were just setting the last one down when we heard it.
It was voices.
Two mustelid voices, and one equine, speaking Hungarian.
One cervine voice, Willow’s, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
But it was a definite Quality Assortment of indignation, surprise and disgust.
Lodge’s whiskers quivered at a long string of Hungarian, delivered at the top of Sophia’s equine voice.
I turned toward the front door.
“Sir?”
I paused, paw on the doorknob. “Yes, Lodge?”
“May I ask where you’re going?”
“I feel that I need to step out and get a packet of cigarettes, Lodge.”
I went to open the door again. “Sir?”
“Yes, Lodge?”
“I think it best if I accompany you.”
I thought about it, cocking an ear at the continued sounds of verbal mayhem coming from upstairs.
By this time I was able to make out what Willow was saying.
And I flagged, quite involuntarily.
“Hmm. You’re right, Lodge. At this juncture, our place is away. Far away.”
“Indeed, Sir.”
We stepped out, taking care to lock the front door. It hadn’t started raining yet, but we both had equipped ourselves with raincoats and brollies just in case.
"I am told, Sir, that there is an excellent tobacconist's shop a brisk fifteen minute walk away. Shall I show you where it is?"
“By all means, do."
We started walking.
From what I had managed to gather from the barracking I had heard, our cook, Mister Coney, had been caught upstairs.
In our bedroom.
Wearing, if you can believe it, one of Willow’s dresses.
Now, I am no stranger to the actor’s art of playing a feminine role from time to time, although normally it was my bosom chum from the groves of the University of Pennsylvania, Artie “Tons of Fun” Wisent, who was usually shoehorned into a dress.
In fact, I had done it myself, in an attempt to help Leslie duCleds and Inocenta de Ciervos get together.
That had cost me my favorite banjolele, as well as gaining me several stitches in my bonce.
I said as much to Lodge in my own defense, adding, “Mark you, Lodge, that was not for selfish reasons."
"I shall take your word for it, Sir. I gathered that Miss Lovassag was quite upset."
"Hang on! How do you know what she said, Lodge?"
"I am not unfamiliar with certain turns of phrase in Hungarian, Sir."
"Eh?"
"My former employer had a Hungarian chauffeur."
“Ah, picked up a bit of barracks-room lingo, eh what?"
"Precisely, sir. And a few of those phrases have sprung to the lips of the Galor sisters and their superior."
"Oh, dear."
We walked on in silence for a few minutes.
“Expressive language, Hungarian."
"Quite, Sir. Unlike nearly every other European language."
"Lodge, you don't need to know a language, you just need to know intonation. Remember Samoa."
“Indeed, Sir.”
We approached the corner on which the tobacco shop resided. There was an alley separating the shop from the rest of the buildings and the blank wall was taken up by a painted advertisement.
The advert was a huge pair of eyes, wearing pince-nez glasses, doubtless for a nearby oculist’s shop.
I paused. “Lodge?”
“Sir?”
“Is it just me, or are those eyes following us around?”
“I’m sure it’s just a trick of the light, Sir.”
“Hmm. Hang on a moment, Lodge . . . “
"Sir?"
"Just checking what was written underneath."
"Oh?"
On the wall someone had scrawled, War is Peace. Slavery is Freedom. Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia.
"What does it mean, Sir?"
"Someone's having us on, Lodge. It looks like complete doubletalk."
"Perhaps it's a tribute, Sir."
"Well, I don't think it's an homage to Catalonia. Rather the kind of oddity you see on the road to Wigan Pier."
We walked around the corner to the door, with a neatly painted sign over the door proclaiming the shop of one A. Yalt, Tobacconist.
I purchased a packet of Woodbines, and as Lodge and I left a fellow in a tweed overcoat and a Homburg stepped up.
He leaned toward the proprietor and said, “I will not buy this – “
The door closed and we started to retrace our steps.
Funny how those eyes followed us around, though.
By the time Lodge and I turned our footpads and hooves home, Coney had vanished even faster than those chappies do in the Russian photographs. Not a trace was left.
I would have said “not a rack behind,” but fortunately the man was a rabbit and not a fellow deer.
Once I thought that things had settled down, I sought out my wife.
“Willow?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Um, er, that is, about Coney – “
She smiled. “Gone, Reggie.” Before I could ask she added, “I let him take what he was wearing with him.”
“Eh?”
“I had to. They were all stretched out. He's nowhere near my size." She laughed. “Even my current size.”
I laughed with her, and gave her a hug and a deep kiss. "I should dashed well say so, Willow! You're much prettier!"
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
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