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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
Fluffball
__________________________________________________
Part 45.
Lodge:
I met this statement with a due sense of resigned dread.
“An idea, Sir?”
“Why yes, dash it all. Lodge, you’re smarter than a brain pie. Why shouldn’t you be in Parliament? You’d be head and shoulders above them all in the intellect department.”
I gave a polite cough against the back of my paw.
“The term ‘overqualified’ comes to mind, Sir.”
“Bosh, Lodge. You could be Prime Minister.”
“With all respect to Lord Mosley, Sir, the rough and tumble of politics is ill-suited for one of my temperament. I find serving you and Mrs. Buckhorn more to my taste.”
I have found that since the advent of Mrs. Buckhorn, my employer’s taste for alcohol has dropped off dramatically, and met with a concomitant increase in reasoning power. It was, at times, a bit jarring.
“After all, Sir, you yourself will be in Parliament at some point in time.”
Mr. Buckhorn gave a flip of a paw. “In the Lords, Lodge. Not at all the same thing, you know. In the Lords they sleep most of the time, so I’ve heard, and . . . wait a minute.” My employer looked thoughtful. “You know, I may be a bit overqualified myself.”
“Indeed, Sir. I would hazard a guess that you would prove an ornament to the House.”
“Only if I imported one of Fausti’s creations, Lodge.”
“That is so, Sir.”
“Besides, it’s all academic. It’s chaps like you that really run things, eh Lodge?”
I was beginning to grow uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.
“Sir?”
“Think about it, dash it all. Chaps like you keeping chaps like me in trim.” He nodded to himself. “You already run things.”
I thought that quick action was required.
Before certain things are deduced.
“Surely an exaggeration, Sir. I only have responsibility for your attire and your household.”
“Oh, true. And you do a jolly good job of that, Lodge.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“That reminds me. Were you able to get rid of the, ah?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Splendid, Lodge, splendid!” And with that, Mr. Buckhorn wished me a good night and went upstairs to bed.
Midway up the stairs, he paused.
“Lodge, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Yes, Sir?”
I admit that I was somewhat taken aback by the look in Mr. Buckhorn’s eyes. I’ve often seen them fogged by alcohol, but as I stated earlier he has not been overindulging.
What I saw in his eyes was a calculating look that put me much in mind of his father.
“Think over what we’ve been talking about, Lodge,” and my employer resumed his path upstairs.
<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
Fluffball__________________________________________________
Part 45.
Lodge:
I met this statement with a due sense of resigned dread.
“An idea, Sir?”
“Why yes, dash it all. Lodge, you’re smarter than a brain pie. Why shouldn’t you be in Parliament? You’d be head and shoulders above them all in the intellect department.”
I gave a polite cough against the back of my paw.
“The term ‘overqualified’ comes to mind, Sir.”
“Bosh, Lodge. You could be Prime Minister.”
“With all respect to Lord Mosley, Sir, the rough and tumble of politics is ill-suited for one of my temperament. I find serving you and Mrs. Buckhorn more to my taste.”
I have found that since the advent of Mrs. Buckhorn, my employer’s taste for alcohol has dropped off dramatically, and met with a concomitant increase in reasoning power. It was, at times, a bit jarring.
“After all, Sir, you yourself will be in Parliament at some point in time.”
Mr. Buckhorn gave a flip of a paw. “In the Lords, Lodge. Not at all the same thing, you know. In the Lords they sleep most of the time, so I’ve heard, and . . . wait a minute.” My employer looked thoughtful. “You know, I may be a bit overqualified myself.”
“Indeed, Sir. I would hazard a guess that you would prove an ornament to the House.”
“Only if I imported one of Fausti’s creations, Lodge.”
“That is so, Sir.”
“Besides, it’s all academic. It’s chaps like you that really run things, eh Lodge?”
I was beginning to grow uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.
“Sir?”
“Think about it, dash it all. Chaps like you keeping chaps like me in trim.” He nodded to himself. “You already run things.”
I thought that quick action was required.
Before certain things are deduced.
“Surely an exaggeration, Sir. I only have responsibility for your attire and your household.”
“Oh, true. And you do a jolly good job of that, Lodge.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“That reminds me. Were you able to get rid of the, ah?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Splendid, Lodge, splendid!” And with that, Mr. Buckhorn wished me a good night and went upstairs to bed.
Midway up the stairs, he paused.
“Lodge, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Yes, Sir?”
I admit that I was somewhat taken aback by the look in Mr. Buckhorn’s eyes. I’ve often seen them fogged by alcohol, but as I stated earlier he has not been overindulging.
What I saw in his eyes was a calculating look that put me much in mind of his father.
“Think over what we’ve been talking about, Lodge,” and my employer resumed his path upstairs.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 500 x 669px
File Size 486.1 kB
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