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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 37.
November 1937
Penny for the Pound
Gwladys:
The start of November held both good news and bad news for me.
The bad news was that my dear mate was acting a bit moody and introverted of late, and I suspected he was beginning to get worried about Reggie’s supposed machinations.
Again.
The good news was that Josslyn was drinking Clementina. Its mixture of fruit juices was actually quite healthy, so much so that the company’s labs couldn’t think of any way to improve upon the recipe.
Reggie had sent several cases of the drink to a bartender he had known in the Spontoons last month, with a request to come up with ways to use it as a mixer. “If Fausti can’t think of anything to do with it,” Reggie had said, “there’s no fur on earth who can.”
The first Friday of November was Guy Fawkes Day, rather a fun holiday in Britain. It reminds me a lot of Halloween, with fireworks, bonfires and a lot of good fun.
Joss, of course, would have none of it.
It didn’t help his disposition that his son got fully into the spirit of the occasion, encouraging the people in St. Peter Churchford to set up a big bonfire and parade their ‘guys’ around the front of the house so we could enjoy their artistic merits.
Interestingly, nearly all of the effigies were fat, horned and had a monocle.
Quite a few were singing Yankee Doodle, which had Joss’ teeth on edge practically continuously. You see, Josslyn had always been the butt of jokes when he was at school. ‘Natty Bumpo’ was the mildest, I was told, making a joke of his part-American ancestry.
One of the reasons he excelled at boxing.
And when the song came out, he had another reason to snort.
The next day we made our monthly visit to Lincoln Park, and his mood was a bit more mercurial afterwards.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“What makes you think something’s wrong, woman?”
“Your teeth are grinding. Again.”
“I think my sire is getting better.”
“Oh? Does Dr. Mink think so?”
Josslyn scowled at me. “I don’t give a tupenny damn what that Schlag-breathed twit thinks. I’m telling you, my sire is as rational as I am.”
Which wasn’t saying much, but I let it pass uncommented-upon.
"Even supposing he is, dear, your sire is well into his eighties, and some of the older furs told me he didn't like the job much, anyway. What could he do to you? You have control of all the stock, except for a small chunk Reggie has."
"He could be in league with that blasted fawn."
"I think that improbable, Joss. They've only seen each other once."
"As far as YOU know."
"Given that I asked Dr. Mink and looked at the guest registry, Josslyn, I think I have a fair idea. Lincoln Park doesn't get that many visitors."
"That stupid Polish bear they have on staff could be acting as go-between."
I put my knitting aside. Yes, I was doing the grandmotherly thing and knitting something nice for my impending grandfawn. Since I wasn’t sure whether it would be a buck or a doe, I was using a variety of yarns.
Royal red and blue for Penn, and two different shades of blue for Oxford and for Collegiate (my daughter-in-law’s actual alma mater, although that’s a secret). All the blue yarn was in snowflake patterns, since the fawn was due in either January or February.
"It's a wonder, Joss,” I said, “that MI5 hasn't hired you, with that kind of thought process."
" . . . "
"Your sire, bless his heart, is merely enjoying himself, the same way he has been for what, thirty years?"
Joss grumbled something indistinct.
“And for heaven's sake, you're not reading Clausewitz again? It was Sun Tzu last week. It makes me glad you don't make aeroplanes or tanks for a living."
"Well, damnit woman, you're reading Das Kapital."
I smiled. “Oh, that. It's screamingly funny in parts."
Joss looked sour at that. "Marx is not funny."
"Which one?"
“Karl!"
"You know, that’s quite true. He doesn't have brothers supporting him."
At that point, Joss realized I was pulling his hoof, and sulked.
"Seriously, Josslyn, if you think your sire is getting better, why not have him examined in Harley Street?"
The words were hardly out of my muzzle when I thought I might regret making it.
Not a week later dear George had an appointment to see no less than Dr. Hal Burke, the Master of Lunacy at Bedlam Hospital. The doctor performed a few tests, including a full physical, and spent the rest of the day closeted with my father-in-law talking to him.
At one point both Josslyn and I were surprised to hear the two of them singing:
“Others will fill our places,
Dressed in the old light blue,
We’ll recollect our races,
We’ll to the flag be true;
And youth will be still in our faces
When we cheer for an Eton crew,
And youth will be still in our faces
When we cheer for an Eton crew!”
Josslyn almost lost his monocle.
“How did he know that song?” he asked. “Father never went to Eton.”
“Perhaps he learned it from someone at the home, dear.”
“Hmm.”
The door to the office burst open and the two came out. George, despite a bit of a stoop from his age, easily towered over the doctor, who was a terrier. They were both laughing at something, as George was saying, “And the other man said, ‘Keep looking! We’ll both take the bus!’”
“Excellent joke, old fellow!” Dr. Burke was saying. “You go along now, and I’ll have a word with your son, shall I?”
“Thank you again, Doctor,” and George walked past me on his way to the outer waiting room.
Much to my surprise he winked at me as he went past.
“Well?” Joss demanded.
Dr. Burke took his glasses off and polished them with a pawkerchief before replying, “Well, Lord Josslyn, I hate to say this – “
“I’m not paying you to say what you hate or don’t hate, you barking nuisance. Out with it!”
“He’s still quite mad.”
“Really.”
“Oh, yes. Mad as a hatter, I’m afraid. The only thing I can recommend is that he stay at Lincoln Park, in the care of Dr. Mink.”
Joss looked a bit satisfied at that.
But I . . . wasn’t so sure.
<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 37.
November 1937
Penny for the Pound
Gwladys:
The start of November held both good news and bad news for me.
The bad news was that my dear mate was acting a bit moody and introverted of late, and I suspected he was beginning to get worried about Reggie’s supposed machinations.
Again.
The good news was that Josslyn was drinking Clementina. Its mixture of fruit juices was actually quite healthy, so much so that the company’s labs couldn’t think of any way to improve upon the recipe.
Reggie had sent several cases of the drink to a bartender he had known in the Spontoons last month, with a request to come up with ways to use it as a mixer. “If Fausti can’t think of anything to do with it,” Reggie had said, “there’s no fur on earth who can.”
The first Friday of November was Guy Fawkes Day, rather a fun holiday in Britain. It reminds me a lot of Halloween, with fireworks, bonfires and a lot of good fun.
Joss, of course, would have none of it.
It didn’t help his disposition that his son got fully into the spirit of the occasion, encouraging the people in St. Peter Churchford to set up a big bonfire and parade their ‘guys’ around the front of the house so we could enjoy their artistic merits.
Interestingly, nearly all of the effigies were fat, horned and had a monocle.
Quite a few were singing Yankee Doodle, which had Joss’ teeth on edge practically continuously. You see, Josslyn had always been the butt of jokes when he was at school. ‘Natty Bumpo’ was the mildest, I was told, making a joke of his part-American ancestry.
One of the reasons he excelled at boxing.
And when the song came out, he had another reason to snort.
The next day we made our monthly visit to Lincoln Park, and his mood was a bit more mercurial afterwards.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“What makes you think something’s wrong, woman?”
“Your teeth are grinding. Again.”
“I think my sire is getting better.”
“Oh? Does Dr. Mink think so?”
Josslyn scowled at me. “I don’t give a tupenny damn what that Schlag-breathed twit thinks. I’m telling you, my sire is as rational as I am.”
Which wasn’t saying much, but I let it pass uncommented-upon.
"Even supposing he is, dear, your sire is well into his eighties, and some of the older furs told me he didn't like the job much, anyway. What could he do to you? You have control of all the stock, except for a small chunk Reggie has."
"He could be in league with that blasted fawn."
"I think that improbable, Joss. They've only seen each other once."
"As far as YOU know."
"Given that I asked Dr. Mink and looked at the guest registry, Josslyn, I think I have a fair idea. Lincoln Park doesn't get that many visitors."
"That stupid Polish bear they have on staff could be acting as go-between."
I put my knitting aside. Yes, I was doing the grandmotherly thing and knitting something nice for my impending grandfawn. Since I wasn’t sure whether it would be a buck or a doe, I was using a variety of yarns.
Royal red and blue for Penn, and two different shades of blue for Oxford and for Collegiate (my daughter-in-law’s actual alma mater, although that’s a secret). All the blue yarn was in snowflake patterns, since the fawn was due in either January or February.
"It's a wonder, Joss,” I said, “that MI5 hasn't hired you, with that kind of thought process."
" . . . "
"Your sire, bless his heart, is merely enjoying himself, the same way he has been for what, thirty years?"
Joss grumbled something indistinct.
“And for heaven's sake, you're not reading Clausewitz again? It was Sun Tzu last week. It makes me glad you don't make aeroplanes or tanks for a living."
"Well, damnit woman, you're reading Das Kapital."
I smiled. “Oh, that. It's screamingly funny in parts."
Joss looked sour at that. "Marx is not funny."
"Which one?"
“Karl!"
"You know, that’s quite true. He doesn't have brothers supporting him."
At that point, Joss realized I was pulling his hoof, and sulked.
"Seriously, Josslyn, if you think your sire is getting better, why not have him examined in Harley Street?"
The words were hardly out of my muzzle when I thought I might regret making it.
Not a week later dear George had an appointment to see no less than Dr. Hal Burke, the Master of Lunacy at Bedlam Hospital. The doctor performed a few tests, including a full physical, and spent the rest of the day closeted with my father-in-law talking to him.
At one point both Josslyn and I were surprised to hear the two of them singing:
“Others will fill our places,
Dressed in the old light blue,
We’ll recollect our races,
We’ll to the flag be true;
And youth will be still in our faces
When we cheer for an Eton crew,
And youth will be still in our faces
When we cheer for an Eton crew!”
Josslyn almost lost his monocle.
“How did he know that song?” he asked. “Father never went to Eton.”
“Perhaps he learned it from someone at the home, dear.”
“Hmm.”
The door to the office burst open and the two came out. George, despite a bit of a stoop from his age, easily towered over the doctor, who was a terrier. They were both laughing at something, as George was saying, “And the other man said, ‘Keep looking! We’ll both take the bus!’”
“Excellent joke, old fellow!” Dr. Burke was saying. “You go along now, and I’ll have a word with your son, shall I?”
“Thank you again, Doctor,” and George walked past me on his way to the outer waiting room.
Much to my surprise he winked at me as he went past.
“Well?” Joss demanded.
Dr. Burke took his glasses off and polished them with a pawkerchief before replying, “Well, Lord Josslyn, I hate to say this – “
“I’m not paying you to say what you hate or don’t hate, you barking nuisance. Out with it!”
“He’s still quite mad.”
“Really.”
“Oh, yes. Mad as a hatter, I’m afraid. The only thing I can recommend is that he stay at Lincoln Park, in the care of Dr. Mink.”
Joss looked a bit satisfied at that.
But I . . . wasn’t so sure.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
Comments