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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 33.
October 1937
Nut Cloisters
Willow:
(Er, Willow?)
(Yes, Grace?)
(Believe me, I know you’re going through some, er, changes.)
(And?)
My twin had her paws on her hips and she looked at me crossly.
(Was it really necessary to shout at Reggie?)
(Did I?)
(You totally did.)
(I didn’t mean it . . . what did I shout at him?)
(You said, and I quote, “YOU DID THIS TO ME!”)
(Ouch. You didn’t have to shout, Grace.)
(I had to hear it too.)
(Well, I AM sorry . . . )
(I’M not the one you should be saying that to, Willow.)
(. . .)
***
Reggie:
Please don’t get me wrong. I mean, I’m not a complete fawn in the woods, but . . .
“Lodge?”
“My wife . . . er, is she supposed to be that . . . well . . . you know?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Ah.”
It’s just I’ve seen femmes in the family way before, of course.
But it’s different when you know that you caused it.
“I mean, there isn't a whole army of fawns in there, is there? It seems quite a lot for just one.”
“You said yourself, Sir, that Mrs. Buckhorn's doctors state that there is only one heartbeat.”
“Good heavens. He'll be as big as his grandsire if this keeps up, and that's saying something. I wonder how much the Sire weighed when he was born.” Before Lodge could say anything I waved my paw at him. “That was one of those rhetorical thingies, Lodge.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Reggie?”
I turned around to see my lovely wife standing in the doorway. Willow looked as if she was about to cry.
“What’s the matter, Willow?”
She swallowed. “Well – ulp! – Grace said I yelled at you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Can you forgive me?”
I went over to her, gave her a hug and a smooch, and guided her to a chair. “I forgave you the moment you said it, Willow.”
She kissed me back, and the world got rather pink and fluffy around the edges.
She sniffled a bit. “You must think I look like a Zeppelin.”
“Never, love. I’d never fall in love with a German.”
Willow blinked up at me, and we both started laughing.
***
Gwladys:
“Josslyn?”
“Hmm?”
My mate’s behavior since getting the report about Reggie has been worrying me a little. He’s been a bit less suspicious, to begin with.
It’s almost as if he’s been planning something.
I waved the newspaper at him. “It says in the paper that there was a riot in Monaco.”
“There was?”
“Yes.” I glanced at the article. “It says that several furs from Dartmouth tried to board Paul duCleds’ yacht. Five were arrested, including Paul, who – quote – ‘was repelling boarders.’”
“Really?”
I caught the expression on his face before he buried his muzzle in the business pages.
“Josslyn, really!”
“What, woman?”
“Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Of course not.”
For some reason I didn’t believe him.
It might have had something to do with him chuckling behind the paper.
***
Reggie:
I’d been doing some thinking.
Of course, you know that it’s a rather unique state for me to be in.
But as Willow’s condition has progressed a thought’s been trying to get my attention.
Trying? It had been doing everything but standing on its head and wiggling its ears at me.
And here it is: My father put his father away because Grandfather George had apparently gone all milky in the filbert. I really never knew the whole truth about it, but what if it was the kind of condition that skipped around?
Suppose my and Willow’s fawn ended up barking?
As Nosey drove us up to Monongahela House that first weekend in October, Willow asked me, “Love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Anything on your mind?”
“Er, yes, well . . . “
I glanced at Lodge, and he turned his head away, to look out at the scenery (such as it was) as we made our way through Chipping Buncombe.
I took her paws in mine, and kept my voice down as I told her All. When I was done, Willow looked a bit thoughtful.
“Reggie,” she said carefully, “I agree. It’s a valid concern. I’m doing everything the doctors are telling me to do to make sure that, doe or buck – “
“Doe. She’ll take after you.”
She smiled and that pink fog started rising again. “Doe or buck, our fawn will be healthy. So, do you want to know what I think?”
“Always.”
“I think we should go visit your grandfather.”
***
Willow:
I don’t really recall my grandparents (not very well, at any rate; considering how much of a lout my late Uncle Prescott was, it’s probably for the best), so a chance to meet one of Reggie’s was not to be missed.
So after arriving at the house and getting settled in, we decided to talk to Gwladys about it. Josslyn had gone upstairs, apparently to take a nap.
It was a perfect opportunity.
“Oh yes,” she said with a grin in my direction, “we like to drop by the place once a month or so. I think that, deep down, Joss feels a bit guilty about putting his father away, but George seems happy there. If you’re interested in stopping by, the place is the Lincoln Park Home for the Nervously Inclined.”
I boggled a bit at the name. “You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not. The doctor in charge is a nice enough fellow, from Austria.”
“Where’s it located?”
“Down in Kent, near Sevenoaks. Used to be an old manor house or something.” Gwladys turned to see her son staring at the books in the library. “Something wrong, Reggie dear?”
I noticed that Reggie had been looking at the books, even pulling a few out and looking at them. I caught sight of a title on the spine as he put it back: The Prince, by Machiavelli.
It looked as if it’d been quite well-thumbed.
“Mummy, have you noticed Father reading Dante?”
“Oh, yes. I think he’s read it enough to memorize it, dear.” She leaned close to me and added, “He likes to imagine some of the Fenwicks in the choicer chapters.”
“Oh, ah, er,” Reggie said. “That’d be quite the interesting barbecue.”
Gwladys sighed. “Along with the editor of the Times, most of the Church hierarchy, the head of the Inland Revenue . . . Just as well your father never turned his mind to poetry.” A pause. “At least full time.”
That got my interest.
Reggie looked shocked. “Full time?”
My mother-in-law gave a rather mysterious smile. “Tried his paw at some Ovid-type works years ago. Surprisingly successful.”
Reggie started flagging. It was clear he’d never imagined the idea of his father being lovestruck.
“Um, not the, ah, whatdoyoucallit, the Ars Amoris?”
All Gwladys did was smile, prompting Reggie to blush and beat a hasty retreat from the room, flagging erratically.
Gwladys and I shared a long laugh.
Later, as we got ready for dinner, Reggie still looked a bit shocked. “Willow, I don’t think I’ll ever plumb the far reaches of the Sire’s psyche.”
<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 33.
October 1937
Nut Cloisters
Willow:
(Er, Willow?)
(Yes, Grace?)
(Believe me, I know you’re going through some, er, changes.)
(And?)
My twin had her paws on her hips and she looked at me crossly.
(Was it really necessary to shout at Reggie?)
(Did I?)
(You totally did.)
(I didn’t mean it . . . what did I shout at him?)
(You said, and I quote, “YOU DID THIS TO ME!”)
(Ouch. You didn’t have to shout, Grace.)
(I had to hear it too.)
(Well, I AM sorry . . . )
(I’M not the one you should be saying that to, Willow.)
(. . .)
***
Reggie:
Please don’t get me wrong. I mean, I’m not a complete fawn in the woods, but . . .
“Lodge?”
“My wife . . . er, is she supposed to be that . . . well . . . you know?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Ah.”
It’s just I’ve seen femmes in the family way before, of course.
But it’s different when you know that you caused it.
“I mean, there isn't a whole army of fawns in there, is there? It seems quite a lot for just one.”
“You said yourself, Sir, that Mrs. Buckhorn's doctors state that there is only one heartbeat.”
“Good heavens. He'll be as big as his grandsire if this keeps up, and that's saying something. I wonder how much the Sire weighed when he was born.” Before Lodge could say anything I waved my paw at him. “That was one of those rhetorical thingies, Lodge.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Reggie?”
I turned around to see my lovely wife standing in the doorway. Willow looked as if she was about to cry.
“What’s the matter, Willow?”
She swallowed. “Well – ulp! – Grace said I yelled at you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Can you forgive me?”
I went over to her, gave her a hug and a smooch, and guided her to a chair. “I forgave you the moment you said it, Willow.”
She kissed me back, and the world got rather pink and fluffy around the edges.
She sniffled a bit. “You must think I look like a Zeppelin.”
“Never, love. I’d never fall in love with a German.”
Willow blinked up at me, and we both started laughing.
***
Gwladys:
“Josslyn?”
“Hmm?”
My mate’s behavior since getting the report about Reggie has been worrying me a little. He’s been a bit less suspicious, to begin with.
It’s almost as if he’s been planning something.
I waved the newspaper at him. “It says in the paper that there was a riot in Monaco.”
“There was?”
“Yes.” I glanced at the article. “It says that several furs from Dartmouth tried to board Paul duCleds’ yacht. Five were arrested, including Paul, who – quote – ‘was repelling boarders.’”
“Really?”
I caught the expression on his face before he buried his muzzle in the business pages.
“Josslyn, really!”
“What, woman?”
“Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Of course not.”
For some reason I didn’t believe him.
It might have had something to do with him chuckling behind the paper.
***
Reggie:
I’d been doing some thinking.
Of course, you know that it’s a rather unique state for me to be in.
But as Willow’s condition has progressed a thought’s been trying to get my attention.
Trying? It had been doing everything but standing on its head and wiggling its ears at me.
And here it is: My father put his father away because Grandfather George had apparently gone all milky in the filbert. I really never knew the whole truth about it, but what if it was the kind of condition that skipped around?
Suppose my and Willow’s fawn ended up barking?
As Nosey drove us up to Monongahela House that first weekend in October, Willow asked me, “Love?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Anything on your mind?”
“Er, yes, well . . . “
I glanced at Lodge, and he turned his head away, to look out at the scenery (such as it was) as we made our way through Chipping Buncombe.
I took her paws in mine, and kept my voice down as I told her All. When I was done, Willow looked a bit thoughtful.
“Reggie,” she said carefully, “I agree. It’s a valid concern. I’m doing everything the doctors are telling me to do to make sure that, doe or buck – “
“Doe. She’ll take after you.”
She smiled and that pink fog started rising again. “Doe or buck, our fawn will be healthy. So, do you want to know what I think?”
“Always.”
“I think we should go visit your grandfather.”
***
Willow:
I don’t really recall my grandparents (not very well, at any rate; considering how much of a lout my late Uncle Prescott was, it’s probably for the best), so a chance to meet one of Reggie’s was not to be missed.
So after arriving at the house and getting settled in, we decided to talk to Gwladys about it. Josslyn had gone upstairs, apparently to take a nap.
It was a perfect opportunity.
“Oh yes,” she said with a grin in my direction, “we like to drop by the place once a month or so. I think that, deep down, Joss feels a bit guilty about putting his father away, but George seems happy there. If you’re interested in stopping by, the place is the Lincoln Park Home for the Nervously Inclined.”
I boggled a bit at the name. “You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not. The doctor in charge is a nice enough fellow, from Austria.”
“Where’s it located?”
“Down in Kent, near Sevenoaks. Used to be an old manor house or something.” Gwladys turned to see her son staring at the books in the library. “Something wrong, Reggie dear?”
I noticed that Reggie had been looking at the books, even pulling a few out and looking at them. I caught sight of a title on the spine as he put it back: The Prince, by Machiavelli.
It looked as if it’d been quite well-thumbed.
“Mummy, have you noticed Father reading Dante?”
“Oh, yes. I think he’s read it enough to memorize it, dear.” She leaned close to me and added, “He likes to imagine some of the Fenwicks in the choicer chapters.”
“Oh, ah, er,” Reggie said. “That’d be quite the interesting barbecue.”
Gwladys sighed. “Along with the editor of the Times, most of the Church hierarchy, the head of the Inland Revenue . . . Just as well your father never turned his mind to poetry.” A pause. “At least full time.”
That got my interest.
Reggie looked shocked. “Full time?”
My mother-in-law gave a rather mysterious smile. “Tried his paw at some Ovid-type works years ago. Surprisingly successful.”
Reggie started flagging. It was clear he’d never imagined the idea of his father being lovestruck.
“Um, not the, ah, whatdoyoucallit, the Ars Amoris?”
All Gwladys did was smile, prompting Reggie to blush and beat a hasty retreat from the room, flagging erratically.
Gwladys and I shared a long laugh.
Later, as we got ready for dinner, Reggie still looked a bit shocked. “Willow, I don’t think I’ll ever plumb the far reaches of the Sire’s psyche.”
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
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