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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 48.
Reggie:
Happy Christmas!
My first Christmas with Willow as husband and wife. My goodness, I do like the sound of that.
It was all I could do to restrain myself and wait until a half-decent hour before Willow and I appeared for breakfast.
Mummy and the Sire were still upstairs, having breakfast in bed, and Grandpa George was already up and around to ask the gardener for something for Mr. Lavender.
It was worth waiting for Willow to wake up. Breakfast was waffles, with piping hot oatmeal muffins, orange juice and coffee.
Willow looked a bit tired, but happy, and kept rubbing her belly. “Feeling all right, love?”
“My little passenger decided to practice his tap dancing last night,” my beloved sighed.
“He’s going to have a lot of hobbies.”
“Just so long as he doesn’t become a jazz drummer.”
We idled away most of the morning, and shortly before lunch we all gathered around the tree.
The Sire sat slouched a short distance away from the rest of us, nursing a pre-prandial mug of mulled wine.
Which probably explained his look of pained surprise when I walked up to him with two wrapped packages. “Happy Christmas, Father.”
“What the blazes is this?” he spluttered.
“They’re usually called Christmas presents, Joss,” Mummy said. “Go ahead, open them.”
With a sigh, Father peeled back the wrapping on the smaller package and blinked. “What - ?”
“Well, Father,” I said, “you recall the bet I won against Lady Pamela. I thought that a photograph of her afterward would be appropriate.” I smiled. “Or good for a laugh.”
He was trying – very unsuccessfully – to not smile. Lady Pam hadn’t looked at her best after spending most of the day stuck on a sandbar and nursing a soupcon of resentment at having lost ten thousand pounds.
“What’s the other package?” he asked.
“Open it and see.”
He did so, and goggled at it.
You see, I had gotten him a dartboard, and rather a special one at that. One side bore Lady Pam’s phiz, with a predatory sneer on her muzzle.
The other side? Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.
The gift also included six darts, fletched to match the FRB colors.
“This way, Father, when I irritate you, you can take it out on that.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me, with a look that could turn wine into vinegar in one go.
“Thoughtful gift,” he grumbled.
Willow had gotten him a gold tie bar with the corporate logo, crowned with a viscount’s coronet. He seemed to like that. She also gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he seemed to resent.
“Grandpa?”
“Eh?” Grandfather looked up from where Mr. Lavender had been quietly sitting beside his chair. “What’s that, Reggie?”
“This is for you.”
“Oh, thank you very much.” He unwrapped it, and laughed delightedly as he held up a buff-colored locomotive. “Look! A replica of the 636W City of Denver! Reggie, how nice of you!”
Father managed to look disgusted and sad at the same time, and his look at me changed to one capable of curdling milk into aged Cheddar in seconds.
The rest of us were very pleased, and George happily burbled off to his room to try out his new gift.
More gifts were brought out from under the tree as the “Toot-toot!” and “Chuffa-chuffa!” sounds receded down the hall.
Mummy liked her gifts, and gave Willow a small box. “I had this made especially for your fawn,” she said.
Willow opened it, and giggled as she held up a baby-sized Phillies cap. “What if he or she grows up liking the Red Sox?” she asked.
My mother snickered. “As if that’d happen.”
Willow laughed and passed me a box. I attacked it, opened it, and looked at her. “A hat?”
“A Homburg,” my mate amplified. “I think you need one.”
No one could argue with that logic, so I tried it on. It was a bit narrow – made for cervines; antlers, y’know – and had small button-down flaps on either side for said antlers and keeping it secure against blustery winds or naughty boys with slingshots.
Willow looked enchanted by the diamond pendant I got her. The setting was a fair match for her engagement ring.
Finally the base of the tree was bare, except for one squat box labeled for me. I scooped it up and asked, “What’s this, Willow?” I jiggled it and heard something slosh inside. “Cologne?”
“Er, no, Reggie – wait - !”
But it was too late; I had already unwrapped it.
I held up a pint bottle, shaped to look like a log cabin. The label proclaimed that it was Buckhorn’s Premium Grade C Maple Syrup.
Willow’s ears were down and she was blushing furiously.
The penny dropped, and I found the temperature in the room going up as I started blushing right along with her.
Mummy and Father looked a bit gobsmacked, then Mummy leaned over to him and whispered, “Remember our wedding night?”
I hope she had tried to whisper it quietly enough so I couldn’t hear it.
But I did.
From the look on her face, so did Willow.
My father’s and my eyes met, and for a brief moment I felt that we both shared . . . something.
The bottle of maple syrup was immediately concealed under an empty box.
Gifts were gathered up, and after a rather quiet lunch we all adjourned for the afternoon, sine die.
***
Willow:
The dinner table that evening had a lot of goodies. There was a very thick and creamy mushroom bisque for a soup course, with roast stuffed pumpkin as the headliner for the entrees. Sides included applesauce and thin broiled parsnip sticks.
There were also a couple of dishes that Rosie might have recognized, potato kugel and kashi with bowtie noodles. A little nod to herbivore furs who observe Hanukkah.
There was wine with dinner, and milk for me. Good for growing fawns.
After the last of the dishes were cleared away the lights went out and a traditional steamed pudding was brought, flickering with pale blue flames from the heated brandy sauce it had been doused with. When the lights came back up, foil-wrapped Christmas crackers had also been laid by our plates.
Lord Joss sampled the pudding, then waved a paw as a signal to have it served out to everyone.
It was delicious, like everything else was, but a bit rich for me. I didn’t finish.
Reggie cleaned his plate (not finding the coin inside) and he reached out for the cracker by his plate.
His father gave a warning growl and fixed him with the Evil Eye. “Don’t. Even. THINK. About. It.”
“Father, it’s Christmas.”
“I said NO!”
Reggie and his father locked gazes, and I started to think of ways to strike the swords up on this particular duel before things started getting rough.
Going into labor prematurely would be a last resort, not to mention overly dramatic.
When there was a sudden explosion, accompanied by a small burst of brightly-colored confetti.
Heads turned to see Gwladys sitting there with a serene smile on her muzzle, and an open cracker in her paws.
Well, with my hostess setting a good example, who am I to be a stick in the mud? I scooped up my cracker and pulled it open, eliciting a second bang. I then took out the much-folded paper hat that lay in one end, shook off a bit of stray confetti, and put it on my head with a triumphant look.
Reggie applauded.
Lord Josslyn looked as if he was about to explode. Instead of flying into a rage he refilled his glass of Madeira and shoved off for the sitting room.
With the Wet Blanket gone, we set off the rest of the crackers and talked about the things we’d gotten as gifts earlier in the day. At one point, Reggie got up from the table and slipped into the sitting room.
He tiptoed back into the dining room and put a finger to his lips, then gestured to us to come along with him.
Gwladys looked at me.
I looked back at her.
Lodge (who was standing beside Travis) remained completely impassive, but I fancied I could see him rolling his eyes to himself.
We tiptoed after my mate and looked.
Oh.
My.
I was glad I had taken a napkin with me. It fit quite readily into my mouth as a gag.
Gwladys merely closed her eyes and shook her head while smiling to herself.
Reggie had a wide and slightly goofy grin on his face.
Lord Josslyn had fallen asleep in a large and comfortable armchair in the sitting room. His son had seen fit to put his father in the proper Christmas spirit.
By stacking three Christmas paper hats together and placing it on his head between his antlers.
With the three different colors and the metal foil on the hats, it looked like the Pope’s tiara.
“I beg to observe, Sir,” Lodge whispered, “that it is unlikely Lord Josslyn will be in an urbi et orbi mood if he wakes up and finds that on his head. I also believe that he is a Church of England fur.”
“Hmm. You’re right, as per, Lodge.”
Reggie stole across the thick carpet and swiftly plucked the offending headgear from his father’s pate, then put it on his own head. He looked around, and seized a strip of ivy from the nearby mantelpiece. Reggie crowned his father’s antlers with the leafy greenery.
“There,” he whispered. “More seasonal this way, what?”
I was immediately reminded of one of the deer in that painting I’d found.
Lodge merely muttered something about someone named ‘Herne’ and shimmered off with Travis.
“Crowning him with ivy, Reggie?” Gwladys asked.
“Of course, Mummy. Has to be ivy. I recall he’s allergic to holly.” Reggie chuckled. “And you know what they say – mares eat oats and does eat oats, but little fawns eat ivy.”
Gwladys snickered and shook her head as she headed for the stairs.
Reggie went back to our rooms.
I . . . paused.
I stepped as gingerly as I could into the room, very gently removed the garland from my father-in-law’s antlers, then kissed him lightly on the cheek. He stirred, and I froze.
To tell the truth, I was afraid he’d die of heart failure if he woke up at that instant.
But he merely murmured something indistinct and I slipped out of the room.
Merry Christmas, Lord Josslyn.
<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 48.
Reggie:
Happy Christmas!
My first Christmas with Willow as husband and wife. My goodness, I do like the sound of that.
It was all I could do to restrain myself and wait until a half-decent hour before Willow and I appeared for breakfast.
Mummy and the Sire were still upstairs, having breakfast in bed, and Grandpa George was already up and around to ask the gardener for something for Mr. Lavender.
It was worth waiting for Willow to wake up. Breakfast was waffles, with piping hot oatmeal muffins, orange juice and coffee.
Willow looked a bit tired, but happy, and kept rubbing her belly. “Feeling all right, love?”
“My little passenger decided to practice his tap dancing last night,” my beloved sighed.
“He’s going to have a lot of hobbies.”
“Just so long as he doesn’t become a jazz drummer.”
We idled away most of the morning, and shortly before lunch we all gathered around the tree.
The Sire sat slouched a short distance away from the rest of us, nursing a pre-prandial mug of mulled wine.
Which probably explained his look of pained surprise when I walked up to him with two wrapped packages. “Happy Christmas, Father.”
“What the blazes is this?” he spluttered.
“They’re usually called Christmas presents, Joss,” Mummy said. “Go ahead, open them.”
With a sigh, Father peeled back the wrapping on the smaller package and blinked. “What - ?”
“Well, Father,” I said, “you recall the bet I won against Lady Pamela. I thought that a photograph of her afterward would be appropriate.” I smiled. “Or good for a laugh.”
He was trying – very unsuccessfully – to not smile. Lady Pam hadn’t looked at her best after spending most of the day stuck on a sandbar and nursing a soupcon of resentment at having lost ten thousand pounds.
“What’s the other package?” he asked.
“Open it and see.”
He did so, and goggled at it.
You see, I had gotten him a dartboard, and rather a special one at that. One side bore Lady Pam’s phiz, with a predatory sneer on her muzzle.
The other side? Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.
The gift also included six darts, fletched to match the FRB colors.
“This way, Father, when I irritate you, you can take it out on that.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me, with a look that could turn wine into vinegar in one go.
“Thoughtful gift,” he grumbled.
Willow had gotten him a gold tie bar with the corporate logo, crowned with a viscount’s coronet. He seemed to like that. She also gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he seemed to resent.
“Grandpa?”
“Eh?” Grandfather looked up from where Mr. Lavender had been quietly sitting beside his chair. “What’s that, Reggie?”
“This is for you.”
“Oh, thank you very much.” He unwrapped it, and laughed delightedly as he held up a buff-colored locomotive. “Look! A replica of the 636W City of Denver! Reggie, how nice of you!”
Father managed to look disgusted and sad at the same time, and his look at me changed to one capable of curdling milk into aged Cheddar in seconds.
The rest of us were very pleased, and George happily burbled off to his room to try out his new gift.
More gifts were brought out from under the tree as the “Toot-toot!” and “Chuffa-chuffa!” sounds receded down the hall.
Mummy liked her gifts, and gave Willow a small box. “I had this made especially for your fawn,” she said.
Willow opened it, and giggled as she held up a baby-sized Phillies cap. “What if he or she grows up liking the Red Sox?” she asked.
My mother snickered. “As if that’d happen.”
Willow laughed and passed me a box. I attacked it, opened it, and looked at her. “A hat?”
“A Homburg,” my mate amplified. “I think you need one.”
No one could argue with that logic, so I tried it on. It was a bit narrow – made for cervines; antlers, y’know – and had small button-down flaps on either side for said antlers and keeping it secure against blustery winds or naughty boys with slingshots.
Willow looked enchanted by the diamond pendant I got her. The setting was a fair match for her engagement ring.
Finally the base of the tree was bare, except for one squat box labeled for me. I scooped it up and asked, “What’s this, Willow?” I jiggled it and heard something slosh inside. “Cologne?”
“Er, no, Reggie – wait - !”
But it was too late; I had already unwrapped it.
I held up a pint bottle, shaped to look like a log cabin. The label proclaimed that it was Buckhorn’s Premium Grade C Maple Syrup.
Willow’s ears were down and she was blushing furiously.
The penny dropped, and I found the temperature in the room going up as I started blushing right along with her.
Mummy and Father looked a bit gobsmacked, then Mummy leaned over to him and whispered, “Remember our wedding night?”
I hope she had tried to whisper it quietly enough so I couldn’t hear it.
But I did.
From the look on her face, so did Willow.
My father’s and my eyes met, and for a brief moment I felt that we both shared . . . something.
The bottle of maple syrup was immediately concealed under an empty box.
Gifts were gathered up, and after a rather quiet lunch we all adjourned for the afternoon, sine die.
***
Willow:
The dinner table that evening had a lot of goodies. There was a very thick and creamy mushroom bisque for a soup course, with roast stuffed pumpkin as the headliner for the entrees. Sides included applesauce and thin broiled parsnip sticks.
There were also a couple of dishes that Rosie might have recognized, potato kugel and kashi with bowtie noodles. A little nod to herbivore furs who observe Hanukkah.
There was wine with dinner, and milk for me. Good for growing fawns.
After the last of the dishes were cleared away the lights went out and a traditional steamed pudding was brought, flickering with pale blue flames from the heated brandy sauce it had been doused with. When the lights came back up, foil-wrapped Christmas crackers had also been laid by our plates.
Lord Joss sampled the pudding, then waved a paw as a signal to have it served out to everyone.
It was delicious, like everything else was, but a bit rich for me. I didn’t finish.
Reggie cleaned his plate (not finding the coin inside) and he reached out for the cracker by his plate.
His father gave a warning growl and fixed him with the Evil Eye. “Don’t. Even. THINK. About. It.”
“Father, it’s Christmas.”
“I said NO!”
Reggie and his father locked gazes, and I started to think of ways to strike the swords up on this particular duel before things started getting rough.
Going into labor prematurely would be a last resort, not to mention overly dramatic.
When there was a sudden explosion, accompanied by a small burst of brightly-colored confetti.
Heads turned to see Gwladys sitting there with a serene smile on her muzzle, and an open cracker in her paws.
Well, with my hostess setting a good example, who am I to be a stick in the mud? I scooped up my cracker and pulled it open, eliciting a second bang. I then took out the much-folded paper hat that lay in one end, shook off a bit of stray confetti, and put it on my head with a triumphant look.
Reggie applauded.
Lord Josslyn looked as if he was about to explode. Instead of flying into a rage he refilled his glass of Madeira and shoved off for the sitting room.
With the Wet Blanket gone, we set off the rest of the crackers and talked about the things we’d gotten as gifts earlier in the day. At one point, Reggie got up from the table and slipped into the sitting room.
He tiptoed back into the dining room and put a finger to his lips, then gestured to us to come along with him.
Gwladys looked at me.
I looked back at her.
Lodge (who was standing beside Travis) remained completely impassive, but I fancied I could see him rolling his eyes to himself.
We tiptoed after my mate and looked.
Oh.
My.
I was glad I had taken a napkin with me. It fit quite readily into my mouth as a gag.
Gwladys merely closed her eyes and shook her head while smiling to herself.
Reggie had a wide and slightly goofy grin on his face.
Lord Josslyn had fallen asleep in a large and comfortable armchair in the sitting room. His son had seen fit to put his father in the proper Christmas spirit.
By stacking three Christmas paper hats together and placing it on his head between his antlers.
With the three different colors and the metal foil on the hats, it looked like the Pope’s tiara.
“I beg to observe, Sir,” Lodge whispered, “that it is unlikely Lord Josslyn will be in an urbi et orbi mood if he wakes up and finds that on his head. I also believe that he is a Church of England fur.”
“Hmm. You’re right, as per, Lodge.”
Reggie stole across the thick carpet and swiftly plucked the offending headgear from his father’s pate, then put it on his own head. He looked around, and seized a strip of ivy from the nearby mantelpiece. Reggie crowned his father’s antlers with the leafy greenery.
“There,” he whispered. “More seasonal this way, what?”
I was immediately reminded of one of the deer in that painting I’d found.
Lodge merely muttered something about someone named ‘Herne’ and shimmered off with Travis.
“Crowning him with ivy, Reggie?” Gwladys asked.
“Of course, Mummy. Has to be ivy. I recall he’s allergic to holly.” Reggie chuckled. “And you know what they say – mares eat oats and does eat oats, but little fawns eat ivy.”
Gwladys snickered and shook her head as she headed for the stairs.
Reggie went back to our rooms.
I . . . paused.
I stepped as gingerly as I could into the room, very gently removed the garland from my father-in-law’s antlers, then kissed him lightly on the cheek. He stirred, and I froze.
To tell the truth, I was afraid he’d die of heart failure if he woke up at that instant.
But he merely murmured something indistinct and I slipped out of the room.
Merry Christmas, Lord Josslyn.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 500 x 669px
File Size 486.1 kB
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