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

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Part 38.


Driven Round the Twist

Willow:

I was NOT having a very good day.

One of the first things I sought out when Reggie and I moved into our house in London was a suitable doctor. Gwladys helped me out by recommending a certain Dr. Finley on Harley Street.

“He’s top-notch,” she said.

Well, he finally fell to the lowest notch today.

Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Finley is a great specialist (you don’t get to be a Harley Street denizen by having feral ducks follow you around). He’s a skunk, which reminded me of Dr. Meffit from Spontoon.

His species was the only similarity, though. He liked to joke a bit about my condition and fawn, but was always businesslike.

He’d also try to set a patient’s mind at ease, usually by humming or singing something, or telling a joke to, as he put it, “stimulate the hyena gland.” A girl’s not quite at her best when being, er, examined, so it’s usually quite soothing.

Not today.

What in God’s name possessed him to hum Down in the Valley?

I know he thought I’m an American, but it was still insulting – as well as completely inappropriate, and I told him so in no uncertain terms.

He contritely recommended a replacement, and even telephoned him as I was getting dressed.

Nosey drove me home after that.

And we had an argument.

“Me bruvver sez – “

“Nosey, I don’t CARE what your ‘bruvver’ says. You will keep ALL FOUR wheels firmly on the road, please.”

“Me bruvver never sez anyfink, he’s silent – “

“A sound policy. Adopt it.”

Nosey complied and the rest of the trip home was uneventful.

The other shoe dropped with a clang when I had my tea that afternoon.

“What’s this?”

You can’t fault me for snapping a bit. It was one of those days.

Nosey looked a bit shyly at me as I held up the envelope.

“Well, Missus, it’s my notice.”

I blinked.

“Your notice?”

“Yeah, Missus.”

I’ve been getting very emotional ever since I passed my sixth month. This little passenger’s taking a lot out of me.

I looked up at Nosey and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. “Why, Nosey?” A thought hit me. “It’s – it’s not because I shouted at you, is it?”

A rare smile hit that woebegone face. “Ah, no, Missus,” he said. “Hain’t ennyting ‘bout you an’ Mister Buckhorn. Yer both good’uns.”

“So why are you wanting to leave?”

“Well, wot’s wot is that t’ings is a bit warm ‘ere in London, Missus, an’ might be gettin’ warmer.” He tapped the side of his muzzle.

The penny dropped.

“Have you been moonlighting, Nosey?”

That shifty look came back. “Mebbe a bit, Missus.”

“Hmm. Maybe a change of scenery would be desirable . . . “

“Jest wot I wuz t’inkin,’ Missus.”

“I hear Bolivia doesn’t have an extradition treaty. Butch and Sundance loved it.”

He blinked at that a bit, then started to chuckle as his tail wagged. “Naw, naw, bless ya Missus, I don’ need ta run that far, y’see. Gots a job all lined up, I has.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Th’ Creighton-Ward family, up in Gloucestershire they is. All I needs ta do is turn in th’ ol’ notice, an’ I’m off.”

I studied the notice carefully, then smiled up at him. “I’m going to do three things, Nosey.”

“Wot, Missus?”

“First, I’m going to give you a parting bonus, in recognition of all you’ve done for us.”

“Oh. Thanks, Missus.”

“I’m not finished. I’m also going to write a recommendation to the Creighton-Wards. They’re getting one of the best drivers in England.”

The usually dour hound brightened a bit. “Thanks, Missus.”

“And finally, I want to ask you who you would want to take your place here – and no, it had better not be your ‘bruvver Stig.’”

"I’ll haveta t’ink ‘bout that one, Missus. I takes it you don’ wants – “

“No.”

“Ah. Orright.”


***


Reggie:

I have to say I was jolly well disappointed that Nosey was leaving. Despite what I might think about his driving, he hadn’t managed to wreck the Crossley no matter what tricks and turns he put the poor car through.

And I wasn’t about to try my luck in the London traffic, thank you.

Fortunately Nosey had agreed to stay on while he helped us find a suitable replacement. The Creighton-Wards were also quite understanding, and very much appreciated the reference we gave them.

A few days after Nosey turned in his notice I was at the office when Miss Haversham stepped in. “A letter has arrived for you, sir.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir. It’s postmarked Spontoon.”

“Jolly good! Well, let’s have it, then, and we’ll see what’s what.”

The envelope bore the crest of Imperial Distillers, and I wracked my brains to see if there had been a bar bill still lurking about unpaid. Bacchus must be propitiated, you know.

A quick tour through my (much more lucid) memory revealed nothing.

I was also cognizant that I had shipped a few cases of Clementina to the Long Bar at Shepherd’s. I was certain that Fausti would manage to think of something to make of it.

What precisely, it might not be best to dwell upon, so I opened the envelope.

3. XI. 37
Mr. Buckhorn,
I have been asked by Senor Mephisto Fausti, who is still in the employ of Shepherd's Hotel, to forward to you the enclosed recipes. As you can see, each recipe uses Clementina No. 9 as a key ingredient.
1. The Tropical Sunset, which utilizes a mixture of Clementina and grain alcohol, is actually quite delicious, though it does have a tendency to creep up on one.
2. The Princeton, which utilizes Johnny Walker Black Label, has proven to be very popular as well among a number of expatriate Americans.
3. The Londonderry: Clementina and Irish Whiskey. Senor Fausti tells me that one can make it with either Bushmills or Jameson’s, depending on which Irishman you are making it for.
4. The Miner's Pickaxe: Clementina, bourbon whiskey and a twist.
Senor Fausti tells me that this beverage is very flexible. There are a number of more exotic recipes Senor Fausti is still experimenting with, including one using the local pineapple brandy. He said that you were familiar with it.

I very definitely was familiar with Fausti’s concoctions. I recall hearing that he had made something “especial” for me and Willow’s wedding, and the recipe had been confiscated by the Militia.

I later found out that they’d tested it, and it blew up a motorboat’s engine.

In any event, Imperial Distillers would like to place an order for Clementina as a standard mixer. Please advise to whom orders should be rendered.

Jolly good! That’ll please Father.

Sincerely yours,
F. Brooks, North Pacific Agent, Imperial Distillers.
P.S. Please excuse the somewhat unorthodox paw-writing. I find that I have not been my normal self since I have been engaged in testing Senor Fausti's recipes.

I had thought that his paw-writing looked a bit shaky. I hoped that he’d recover.

Eventually.

Some of the conversation at lunch was about the King and Queen touring Scotland. I hadn’t met King Edward yet, but I had thought he was a bit more of a couch potato than myself, back when I was inebriated more often than not.

It was good to see that Queen Wallis was as good an influence on him as Willow was being on me. And although the reporters were too polite to say so, the news pictures don’t lie – the Queen looked about as, um, well-rounded as Willow.

Jolly good news! I’m very glad I’m British.

Politics was another topic, but I didn’t really pay much attention to that. As long as Mosley keeps things going as they are, we should pull through despite what America might be doing.

Which was the third topic, as it looked like America might be going Red (or, at least, a bright shade of pink). More than a couple of the directors looked a bit disturbed at that, and seemed scarcely comforted when Uncle Albert harrumphed and said that it would blow over.

After the old buck had headed downstairs to take his afternoon sauna, Cousin Stanley came up to me.

“Tell me, Reggie, what do you think? About things back home, I mean?”

“Well, I think that the cook’s planning on – “

“Not your home,” he said with a grin. “America.”

“Oh, over there! Hmm. Well, I can’t agree with what President Long’s been doing, but we’re still doing a good business over there – furs do need to eat, y’know – but eventually his policies are going to start hurting the country. I certainly won’t abide losing our biggest market after the Empire.”

“I thought that’d be your opinion. Thank you, Reggie.”

“No problem, old man.”

When I got home, Lodge met me at the door. “What ho, Lodge! Anything going on?”

“Yes, Sir. Mrs. Buckhorn is in the sitting room.”

“And is she sitting?”

“I will assume so, Sir. She is interviewing the . . . applicant to take Mr. Barker’s position as chauffeur.”

“Really? Jolly good!” I let Lodge hang up put my overcoat on the peg and went off to find my darling mate.

“Oh, Reggie!” Willow said as I walked in. I kissed her, and she asked, “How was work?”

“The usual.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It just reminds me how long I’ve got before I can come back here.”

She smiled, and the room went a bit pink. “I want you to meet Nosey’s replacement.”

“Have you decided that fast, dear?” I looked the gentlefur over.

The fellow was feline, with sort of a white and brown calico look to his fur. It also looked as if he’d been on hard times; he looked a bit lean and hungry, and his suit appeared a bit threadbare.

His appearance . . . well.

‘Catastrophically ugly’ came rather close. His face looked like several disparate features all stuck together and made to march in a face-like formation. Made me wonder what had happened to the poor chap.

I was too polite to say anything, so I stuck out a paw. “Reggie Buckhorn.”

“Apollo Gumpert, sir.”

Now that was an . . . interesting name.

“Fine, fine. Tell us about yourself, please. And have a seat.”

“Thank you.” His accent sounded a bit German, I think. “As my friend Barker has told you, I am from Holland – “

Good thing I didn’t say anything about the Germans, then. One for Reggie.

“ – and I had a living as a race driver.”

Willow had her glasses on, which I took as a hint that she was in her secretary guise. “What happened?”

“I . . . well, I had an accident.”

“Go on, please.”

“My car hit a patch of spilled oil and went out of control. It struck a fishmonger’s stall, and I could no longer see.”

“The stall’s awning?”

“The monger’s entire stock of herring. The car hit a tree and knocked it down.”

“A herring impediment,” Nosey observed.

I suppressed a smile. “Perhaps he could have used a herring aid.”

Willow looked at us sourly. “So you knocked down a tree - with a herring.”

“Ja, just so.”

“Have you seen the car you’ll be expected to use?”

He glanced at Nosey. “Yes. It is a fine auto.”

Willow glanced at me. “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, “you won’t be expected to drive in a race in the Crossley, of course.”

Mr. Gumpert smiled a bit. “Of course not.”

I glanced at Willow, who nodded. “You’re hired, Mr. Gumpert. Can you start tomorrow?”

“Ja, sir.”

We shook paws, and he stepped out of the room with Nosey.

Willow rolled her eyes at me. “’A herring aid?’ Honestly, Reggie, that was a bad pun.”

“Oh, you know what they say, love – no pun, no gain.”

“Hmmph. Let’s go get some dinner, and you can tell me how your day went.”

“All right.” I helped her out of her chair, and ran my paw over her belly. “You’ve been having a snack?”

“What?”

I grinned. “You have a pun in the oven.”

“That’d be – ohh, you’ll get a tweak to your ear for that.” She put her paws on either side of my face and kissed me deeply. “After dinner.”

“Whatever you want, my darling.”



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