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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 26.
Josslyn:
Hmm.
Some sort of disturbance in the casino.
Probably some Spanish deadbeat being shown the door because he couldn’t pay. Dratted Spaniards, sponging off others’ goodwill just because they got run off their money by those blasted Anarchists.
It’s enough to put one off Spanish paprika.
Things die down, and I go back to the quite acceptable chocolate mousse.
SMACK!
***
Gwladys:
Oh, dear.
Paul didn’t wait around to introduce himself.
He just walked straight up to Josslyn and slapped him on the back.
Hard, from the look of it, and right between his shoulder blades.
My mate didn’t have anything in his mouth at the time, thank goodness, but the impact sent his fork flying across the table and clattering to the floor. Knocked over his water glass, as well.
It didn’t succeed in dislodging his monocle, though.
He gave a thunderous snort and turned to glare up at his attacker, who beamed at him and stuck out a paw. “Say there, Joss Buckhorn, you old menace! Paul duCleds! I heard my son was best man at your boy's wedding! That makes us practically related, haw!"
The restaurant staff knows my husband’s temper very well. There was a clatter in the background, and I think one of the waiters fainted.
Joss' ears went horizontal, and there was the ominous sound of grinding molars. I think that the notion of being any sort of relation to Paul duCleds was probably enough to make my mate's blood (related to duCleds or not) boil.
“What is the meaning of this, you confounded canine?” Joss finally managed to say.
Paul grinned cheerfully and pointed at the mousse. “Better be careful there - too many snacks and we'll be seeing the slow march of your trousers up to your neck. Haw!"
Joss’ nosepad went purple. “At least I HAVE a neck!!!!"
I'll bet you didn't know Monte Carlo had areas where you could raise an echo.
Eunice laughed and clapped her paws. "WONDERFUL! He's got you THERE, darling!"
For his part, Paul merely grinned at his mate. “Still, excellent to see you, old sport,” he said to the still-seething Josslyn. “Eunice and I are having a party aboard our yacht in a day or two. You and Gwladys are invited, of course – it won’t be the Henley Regatta, but you won’t mind; Harvard’s regatta beats that all hollow.”
He linked arms with his wife and started for the exit.
Perhaps I should point out here that my mate has no fond memories of his time spent in Oxford. Part of that has to do with his schoolmates teasing him unmercifully about his partly American heritage.
I suppose anyfur will get cross after being called ‘Natty Bumppo’ so many times.
But despite all that, Joss doesn’t take kindly to anyone, let alone an American (let alone a Harvard graduate) casting aspersions on his alma mater.
Before I could say or do anything, Joss was on his hooves with a glass-rattling whistling snort, and charged straight at the retreating duCledses, who by this time were outside and nearing the fountains out front.
I think Paul’s hearing is quite good. He heard Joss coming, at any rate. Although, to be strictly fair, they might have heard him across the Mediterranean.
He turned to face my charging mate, whisked out his silk pawkerchief and held it before him like a torero’s cape.
Joss put his head down.
Paul did a pass with his pawkerchief that would have made Ordonez take notice.
Joss rocketed straight past Paul and landed headfirst in the fountain with a thunderous splash.
“OLE!” Eunice cheered, clapping her paws and whistling as her husband tossed the pawkerchief aside and bowed to her. “Well DONE, Darling! I’m SURE you’d’ve been awarded both EARS and the TAIL for that!”
“Do you think so, Lovey?”
“Oh GAWD, yes!”
I turned to ask the maitre’d for a towel, only to find that he was already marshaling busboys.
The duCledses sailed off, and I ventured to the maitre’d, “I . . . apologize for the disturbance.”
“D’accord, Madame. Howevair, it is ze custom to toss ze coin in ze fountain, not ze mate.”
***
Reggie:
I must say, I’m starting to get the hang of this business.
I think.
At least I’m starting to get a bit more comfortable with these daily board meetings. No more of that ‘deer in the headlamps’ feeling that was making me freeze up. Willow’s noticed I’ve been a bit more confident, too.
Today’s meeting is going along pretty much the same, with some old business (prices for this and that) and new business (projections on prices for this and that, as well as spy reports on what the competition’s up to).
Most of the spy reports I can fob off with a “We’ll wait to see what the Sire has to say about it, what?”, while little things that need immediate tending-to get, er, tended to.
By 11:30 there wasn’t anything more to say, so I adjourned the meeting and sat back. Another few days of this, and I give it back to Father.
Good thing, too.
“I say, Reggie!”
“What ho, Nigel. Good meeting today, what?”
“Excellent meeting, rather.” He smiles and glances to his right as the Uncle Albert is helped out of the room. “I was wondering if you might want to sign this,” and he takes a sheaf of paper from his briefcase.
I take it from his paw and weigh it. Considerate of him to put the signature sheet at the very front, so I won’t have to read it all.
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s just a proposal, of a sort,” the ram says. “It’ll help small businesses who rely on Buckhorn’s for their stocks, you know.”
“Really! Then I’ll take a look at it. Thanks a lot, Nigel.”
Funny.
He looked a bit disappointed when I didn’t sign it immediately, but his smile came back and he closed his briefcase, then strolled out to lunch with a cheery wave.
I tossed it into my own briefcase and headed back to my office.
I figured I’d look at it later.
Lunch was a small get-together with Cousin Stanley over at Blades (whose staff seemed relieved that I wasn’t tearing the place down, or crafting medieval siege artillery to attack the Carlton), followed by a few sets of tennis.
Good grief, that tennis winded me a bit. Back at Spontoon I had always managed to get some exercise in, whether it was tennis or running from various levels of the old ranygazoo whenever running was strictly necessary. But several months of a more sedentary existence would soon be taking a toll on me if I didn’t take steps.
And long ones, at that.
A shower and brushup, and I was ready to face the afternoon in fine fettle. I’m not exactly sure what a fettle was, but I was in a fine one nevertheless.
And I need to make sure that I get more exercise. Having one Lord Josslyn Buckhorn around is enough without having his son ballooning right alongside him.
Later that afternoon I was going over a few things while thinking about Willow (naturally). Nigel poked his nose in. “Frightfully sorry to interrupt anything, old man,” he said, “but I had wondered if you’d signed that proposal yet.”
“Hmm?” I looked around and caught sight of Nigel’s proposal toward the bottom of the stack in the old IN box.
“Well,” I said, “it won’t hurt to glance at it. What’s the hurry with it?”
Nigel scratched the base of one of his horns. “Well, you see, Reg, that’s the problem. There’s a time limit on the proposal, and if it isn’t taken care of quickly it could be a problem for the businessfurs it’s meant to help,” and he looked a bit worried.
“Oh.” I didn’t want to disappoint, particularly if small businesses could benefit from whatever was in the stack of papers. I knew that times were still a bit hard. Not as hard as in America, but close.
“Don’t you worry, Nigel,” I said reassuringly. “I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Righto,” and he left. I finished what I had been doing and started reading Nigel’s proposal.
About ten pages in I gave up. And here I thought that the Jackson account had been hard to dig through.
I decided to set it aside and read it at home.
***
Gwladys:
The impromptu bath in the fountain did very little to cool my mate’s temper, especially when the invitation came the next day.
It was paw-written on very fine-quality cardstock: “Mr. Paul and Mrs. Eunice duCleds would appreciate the favor of your company aboard their yacht M/V Lovey II,” followed by such necessary information as the date, time, and the location of the yacht in Monaco’s main harbor.
I showed it to Josslyn.
He snorted and threw the card over his shoulder. “Where’s a bloody U-boat when you need one?”
“Oh come now, Joss, you know Paul’s just a bit – exuberant.”
“Barking mad, just like all the duCleds.”
“His son married a doe.”
That brought him up short. In fact, he almost his lost his monocle in surprise. “A doe?”
“Yes, a fine Spanish deer.”
“How do you know?”
“Honestly, Joss, you were at your son’s wedding. Leslie was best man, and his wife was in the audience. Of course, you were busy setting up that practical joke on your son. You might not have been paying attention.”
He smiled at that. “I did get him, didn’t I?”
I smiled. “You certainly did. Now, shall I let them know we’ll be there?”
His smile turned nasty. “Yes.”
<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 26.
Josslyn:
Hmm.
Some sort of disturbance in the casino.
Probably some Spanish deadbeat being shown the door because he couldn’t pay. Dratted Spaniards, sponging off others’ goodwill just because they got run off their money by those blasted Anarchists.
It’s enough to put one off Spanish paprika.
Things die down, and I go back to the quite acceptable chocolate mousse.
SMACK!
***
Gwladys:
Oh, dear.
Paul didn’t wait around to introduce himself.
He just walked straight up to Josslyn and slapped him on the back.
Hard, from the look of it, and right between his shoulder blades.
My mate didn’t have anything in his mouth at the time, thank goodness, but the impact sent his fork flying across the table and clattering to the floor. Knocked over his water glass, as well.
It didn’t succeed in dislodging his monocle, though.
He gave a thunderous snort and turned to glare up at his attacker, who beamed at him and stuck out a paw. “Say there, Joss Buckhorn, you old menace! Paul duCleds! I heard my son was best man at your boy's wedding! That makes us practically related, haw!"
The restaurant staff knows my husband’s temper very well. There was a clatter in the background, and I think one of the waiters fainted.
Joss' ears went horizontal, and there was the ominous sound of grinding molars. I think that the notion of being any sort of relation to Paul duCleds was probably enough to make my mate's blood (related to duCleds or not) boil.
“What is the meaning of this, you confounded canine?” Joss finally managed to say.
Paul grinned cheerfully and pointed at the mousse. “Better be careful there - too many snacks and we'll be seeing the slow march of your trousers up to your neck. Haw!"
Joss’ nosepad went purple. “At least I HAVE a neck!!!!"
I'll bet you didn't know Monte Carlo had areas where you could raise an echo.
Eunice laughed and clapped her paws. "WONDERFUL! He's got you THERE, darling!"
For his part, Paul merely grinned at his mate. “Still, excellent to see you, old sport,” he said to the still-seething Josslyn. “Eunice and I are having a party aboard our yacht in a day or two. You and Gwladys are invited, of course – it won’t be the Henley Regatta, but you won’t mind; Harvard’s regatta beats that all hollow.”
He linked arms with his wife and started for the exit.
Perhaps I should point out here that my mate has no fond memories of his time spent in Oxford. Part of that has to do with his schoolmates teasing him unmercifully about his partly American heritage.
I suppose anyfur will get cross after being called ‘Natty Bumppo’ so many times.
But despite all that, Joss doesn’t take kindly to anyone, let alone an American (let alone a Harvard graduate) casting aspersions on his alma mater.
Before I could say or do anything, Joss was on his hooves with a glass-rattling whistling snort, and charged straight at the retreating duCledses, who by this time were outside and nearing the fountains out front.
I think Paul’s hearing is quite good. He heard Joss coming, at any rate. Although, to be strictly fair, they might have heard him across the Mediterranean.
He turned to face my charging mate, whisked out his silk pawkerchief and held it before him like a torero’s cape.
Joss put his head down.
Paul did a pass with his pawkerchief that would have made Ordonez take notice.
Joss rocketed straight past Paul and landed headfirst in the fountain with a thunderous splash.
“OLE!” Eunice cheered, clapping her paws and whistling as her husband tossed the pawkerchief aside and bowed to her. “Well DONE, Darling! I’m SURE you’d’ve been awarded both EARS and the TAIL for that!”
“Do you think so, Lovey?”
“Oh GAWD, yes!”
I turned to ask the maitre’d for a towel, only to find that he was already marshaling busboys.
The duCledses sailed off, and I ventured to the maitre’d, “I . . . apologize for the disturbance.”
“D’accord, Madame. Howevair, it is ze custom to toss ze coin in ze fountain, not ze mate.”
***
Reggie:
I must say, I’m starting to get the hang of this business.
I think.
At least I’m starting to get a bit more comfortable with these daily board meetings. No more of that ‘deer in the headlamps’ feeling that was making me freeze up. Willow’s noticed I’ve been a bit more confident, too.
Today’s meeting is going along pretty much the same, with some old business (prices for this and that) and new business (projections on prices for this and that, as well as spy reports on what the competition’s up to).
Most of the spy reports I can fob off with a “We’ll wait to see what the Sire has to say about it, what?”, while little things that need immediate tending-to get, er, tended to.
By 11:30 there wasn’t anything more to say, so I adjourned the meeting and sat back. Another few days of this, and I give it back to Father.
Good thing, too.
“I say, Reggie!”
“What ho, Nigel. Good meeting today, what?”
“Excellent meeting, rather.” He smiles and glances to his right as the Uncle Albert is helped out of the room. “I was wondering if you might want to sign this,” and he takes a sheaf of paper from his briefcase.
I take it from his paw and weigh it. Considerate of him to put the signature sheet at the very front, so I won’t have to read it all.
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s just a proposal, of a sort,” the ram says. “It’ll help small businesses who rely on Buckhorn’s for their stocks, you know.”
“Really! Then I’ll take a look at it. Thanks a lot, Nigel.”
Funny.
He looked a bit disappointed when I didn’t sign it immediately, but his smile came back and he closed his briefcase, then strolled out to lunch with a cheery wave.
I tossed it into my own briefcase and headed back to my office.
I figured I’d look at it later.
Lunch was a small get-together with Cousin Stanley over at Blades (whose staff seemed relieved that I wasn’t tearing the place down, or crafting medieval siege artillery to attack the Carlton), followed by a few sets of tennis.
Good grief, that tennis winded me a bit. Back at Spontoon I had always managed to get some exercise in, whether it was tennis or running from various levels of the old ranygazoo whenever running was strictly necessary. But several months of a more sedentary existence would soon be taking a toll on me if I didn’t take steps.
And long ones, at that.
A shower and brushup, and I was ready to face the afternoon in fine fettle. I’m not exactly sure what a fettle was, but I was in a fine one nevertheless.
And I need to make sure that I get more exercise. Having one Lord Josslyn Buckhorn around is enough without having his son ballooning right alongside him.
Later that afternoon I was going over a few things while thinking about Willow (naturally). Nigel poked his nose in. “Frightfully sorry to interrupt anything, old man,” he said, “but I had wondered if you’d signed that proposal yet.”
“Hmm?” I looked around and caught sight of Nigel’s proposal toward the bottom of the stack in the old IN box.
“Well,” I said, “it won’t hurt to glance at it. What’s the hurry with it?”
Nigel scratched the base of one of his horns. “Well, you see, Reg, that’s the problem. There’s a time limit on the proposal, and if it isn’t taken care of quickly it could be a problem for the businessfurs it’s meant to help,” and he looked a bit worried.
“Oh.” I didn’t want to disappoint, particularly if small businesses could benefit from whatever was in the stack of papers. I knew that times were still a bit hard. Not as hard as in America, but close.
“Don’t you worry, Nigel,” I said reassuringly. “I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Righto,” and he left. I finished what I had been doing and started reading Nigel’s proposal.
About ten pages in I gave up. And here I thought that the Jackson account had been hard to dig through.
I decided to set it aside and read it at home.
***
Gwladys:
The impromptu bath in the fountain did very little to cool my mate’s temper, especially when the invitation came the next day.
It was paw-written on very fine-quality cardstock: “Mr. Paul and Mrs. Eunice duCleds would appreciate the favor of your company aboard their yacht M/V Lovey II,” followed by such necessary information as the date, time, and the location of the yacht in Monaco’s main harbor.
I showed it to Josslyn.
He snorted and threw the card over his shoulder. “Where’s a bloody U-boat when you need one?”
“Oh come now, Joss, you know Paul’s just a bit – exuberant.”
“Barking mad, just like all the duCleds.”
“His son married a doe.”
That brought him up short. In fact, he almost his lost his monocle in surprise. “A doe?”
“Yes, a fine Spanish deer.”
“How do you know?”
“Honestly, Joss, you were at your son’s wedding. Leslie was best man, and his wife was in the audience. Of course, you were busy setting up that practical joke on your son. You might not have been paying attention.”
He smiled at that. “I did get him, didn’t I?”
I smiled. “You certainly did. Now, shall I let them know we’ll be there?”
His smile turned nasty. “Yes.”
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / Water Sports
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
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