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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
KatieKat
__________________________________________________
Part 58.
Reggie:
When we arrived in Oakland, I helped Willow out of the plane and into a waiting Packherd, which sped off for the station. As always, Lodge had sent word ahead, and there was a ramp waiting so that Willow could stay in her wheelchair.
I know my love frets at it, being the doe of action that she is, but she doesn’t do well in planes while she’s – well, in the family way.
The Buckhorn train is made up of four cars. There are ‘Schulkyll’ and ‘Allegheny,’ which are set up for living quarters; ‘Pocono,’ which is a combination dining room and parlor, and ‘Market Street,’ which has a top-flight kitchen as well as quarters for the staff. You can really spot them easily, as they’re a very nice Tuscan red with the company name and logo on them.
Thinking about it, it made me wonder – I mean, that color red. The company ships and planes are liveried in blue, after all. One of the Sire’s whims, I imagine.
He has cast-steel whims.
I had finished tucking Willow in and was headed for ‘Market Street’ to get a light supper for her when I saw another Packherd pull up beside the ramp. I saw the redoubtable Duchess helped out of the car and make her way up the ramp on crutches.
Her step seemed . . . lighter, somehow. I guess her press conference went well.
I went about my business, secure in the knowledge that Lodge would have everything well in paw. The train was starting to pull out of the station as I took our dinner into the compartment.
The next day saw the train stopped at Ogden, Utah for the various things that the engine needs to keep huffing and puffing. I’m sure Grandfather George would be interested, but the sweet scent of breakfast drew me and Willow out to ‘Pocono’ for a repast.
It seemed that it drew others out, as well. Her Grace’s two bodyguards were already there, the lion already tucking into a platter of steak and eggs. The red panda just sat inscrutably, looking at a platter of fruit and what smelled like green tea.
I sat down beside Willow as Her Grace was helped in by her butler, fellow called Barclay I heard her say. He fussed over her a bit and made her injured hoof and leg comfortable. Once she was seated and a table set, I saw her nostrils flare at the scent of coffee.
“Your Grace, I’d like you to meet my wife, Willow. Willow, may I present Katie MacArran, Duchess of Strathdern.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Very pleased to meet you, and I appreciate the offer of the ride east.” She was almost salivating at the smell coming from the coffee carafe.
I smiled. “We’re going east, so it’s Kona coffee, so I’m told. If we were headed west, it’d be Brazilian. As for breakfast, Charlie in the galley has a dab paw and can whip up nearly anything.”
“What are you having this morning?” she asked. She was already starting on her first cup of coffee, savoring it like fine wine.
“Hmm? Ah, a stack of buckwheat pancakes with maple syrup, and a basket of corn muffins. Good stuff, those muffins. We make the mix exclusively for the Delaware and Lackawanna. Of course, we keep a little aside for our use.”
I heard a stomach rumble, and it was coming from our guest.
Thank goodness she wasn’t a carnivore, or it’d be venison on the menu.
“Mmm, buckwheat cakes. I haven’t had any of those since I left for England three years ago.”
Three years? Good Lord.
“Okay,” she was saying, “I’ll have the same . . . and some of those muffins, too.”
“An excellent choice, Your Grace,” Lodge said.
The breakfast was enough to make the hardest herbivore heart melt. The muffins were baked in a pan that made them look like ears of corn, complete with kernels, and were served with (of course!) Buckhorn’s ‘Heart o’ the Glen’ Premium Heather Honey. Our company brand maple syrup accompanied the pancakes.
Real maple syrup, thank you very much. The Sire would demand nothing less, and I agreed with him after the first taste.
The Duchess was drizzling honey on her muffins. “Sorry if I haven’t been particularly good company on this trip. It was a pretty sudden decision on Colonel Chennault’s part to send me home, and I’ve been more or less scrambling for the past week.”
“Oh, no need for apologies, Your Grace. After all you’ve been through, I’d have been rather surprised if you WERE up to socializing.”
“Thanks, Reggie – may I call you Reggie?”
“Certainly, Your Grace. I’ve been called a lot worse in my day.”
My ears twitched as she bit into her muffins and nickered blissfully. The Sire will be pleased.
“Lodge tells us you had quite a reception at the press briefing,” Willow said.
“Yeah. Caught ME by surprise, I can tell you. After what I’ve been reading in the papers and hearing on the radio, I thought it was gonna be the Thompson Trophy scandal all over again. Instead, it seems, I’m the heroine of the hour.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“It seems there had been a Fox camera crew aboard the Panay,” she said. “Filmed the whole attack, and managed to get the film out of China. All of a sudden the Japanese were saying that it had all been a terrible mistake, and they’re still offering compensation.” Her eyes grew a little misty. “My best memory of that briefing was this little cougar kitten. She was holding a little sign that read ‘Thank you for saving my Daddie.’”
Willow and I both applauded, agreeing with the sentiment.
The Duchess started in on her wheatcakes and rolled her eyes in delight. “Mmmm! If that isn’t just the BEST . . . who’d you say this chef was again?”
“Charlie,” Willow replied. “The company hired him from the Southern Railways last year. They understand how to make a good breakfast down there.”
“I’ll say.” She reached for another muffin. “How come you only sell the mix for these to one railroad? You’d make a fortune with it on the open market. Almost as good as you’ve done with Zepps cookies.”
Willow glanced at me. “Oh, it’s not necessarily the mix, you know. There’s a type of cast-iron pan you bake them in that has to be broken in, and it’s all in the timing. Really, it’s only chaps like Charlie that have the knack for it.”
“Careful, Reggie. I’ll hire him away.”
Her one blue eye had a mischievous gleam in it, so I guessed she was just kidding.
“Heavens!” and I acted like I was duly horrified at the prospect. “Depriving the Sire of his wheatcakes? Drastic stuff, indeed.”
She flicked an ear at me. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Reggie, you’re not at all how your father described you.”
***
Katie:
For a second, it looked like I might have gone too far. Reggie’s look seemed to get a bit distant, and Willow had paused with a forkful of pancake halfway to her muzzle.
Reggie laughed then, and the spell broke. He sipped at his coffee. “Ah. You mean I’m not swinging from the chandeliers with a lampshade on my antlers? Or walking around with my jaw hanging open, and bearing the gaze both glassy and vacant?”
I shrugged. “Well, the difference is pretty remarkable. I wouldn’t think Sir Josslyn Buckhorn would tell whoppers like that.”
There’s that look again, but it left even faster this time.
“Oh, he didn’t, you know. The truth is a complete defense to libel, Your Grace. Things changed fairly recently, and much for the better.”
He reached over and took his wife’s paw, and I could hear two tails flagging as Willow sighed.
Oh damn but they looked so happy together, the way I had always wanted it to be with Carl. Oh, how I had loved that stallion . . . I had wanted so much to . . .
A voice inside me said, "Put it away, Katie Scarlett. He and Beatrix have been married for almost a year now; it's high time for you to move on."
How many more times am I going to have to tell myself that before it finally stuck?
I needed a lifeline.
Willow was good enough to throw me one.
“Oh, by the way Your Grace . . . it's Viscount Buckhorn now; New Year's Honors list a year ago."
I clapped my hooves in delight. “So the old curmudgeon's finally been elevated has he? Well, about time is all I can say. Has he taken his seat in Lords yet?"
"Yes," said Reggie "but he doesn't attend all that often." He grinned. "And then only, so he says, when he needs a bit of relief for his insomnia."
We all shared the laugh at that.
“Still, the way he talked about you seems so completely different from what I'm seeing."
Actually, Sir – no, LORD Josslyn’s description made his son sound like Colin.
Reggie nodded over a mouthful of wheatcake, and nodded in the direction of his valet, who was just entering the car. "There are magistrates back in the Spontoons who'd tell you otherwise, Your Grace. They still tell stories about the duel I fought there a while back, don't they Lodge?"
"Indeed, Sir," Lodge replied, with a trace of weariness in his voice. To my considerable surprise, he shifted his attention to me. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but there is a telegram for you which has just arrived." The beaver produced a small buff telegram envelope on a silver platter.
Sigh.
Ahh, here it comes, I thought, the first piece of fan mail. Looks like I'm going to have to take on another secretary. Again.
I apologized to my hosts, who waved off the interruption cheerfully. I opened the telegram, and found that it was from someone named JGB R-1, and was coded as coming from Dayton, Ohio.
YOUR GRACE STOP FACE TO FACE MEETING URGENTLY REQUESTED STOP CONFIDENTIALITY REQUIRED BY OTHER PARTY STOP SUGGESTIONS WELCOME STOP RETURN WRIGHT FIELD DAYTON STOP SIGNED JGBR-1 PS DON'T GUSH OVER ME LIKE FIRST TIME CHINA STOP MESSAGE ENDS
The last line that cemented it. The sender was Jack Finlayson . . . had to be. First initial J and the plane he had flown to victory in the Thompson had been the Gee Bee R-1.
And yes, I HAD gushed over him the first time we'd met.
But what the Hell did he want with me now...and who was this 'other party' he was bringing with him?
My oh-so-carefully built up good mood was starting to dissolve like a sugar cube in my coffee. It was going to be difficult to set up the meeting in the first place, and I wasn't in the mood for secrets. Furthermore, the raccoon had made it abundantly clear that any sort of a leak could blow the whole works. Even if such a conference could be arranged, it would have to be the kind of meeting that had no distractions, nothing to break the flow of the discussion. And here I am, stuck on a damfool train . . .
Waitaminnit.
A train.
Of course! Better yet, a PRIVATE train -- with no one but my servants, and my hosts' servants, on board.
Hmmmmm, yes . . . my hosts.
"Look, I'm terribly sorry to trouble you, but it appears as if something urgent has just come up. I need to hold a private meeting with, errrr . . . some important clients. Do you suppose I can 'borrow' one of the other cars for a bit?"
Willow tilted her head a bit. "Well, this place is supposed to be a rolling boardroom, if it needs to be. Reggie's had a meeting here before."
"Oh, quite, quite, Willow," her mate agreed, patting her hoof. “No meetings, though, this time around, so the parlor is quite free. Where are your chaps, Your Grace?"
"Dayton."
Willow ran a paw over her belly. Her fawn might be a little jumpy. "I suppose you could just pack 'em on a train to Chicago by way of Columbus. We get in at Chicago & Northwestern Station, and then they transfer the train to Union Station. They’ve been putting us on some remote track, so as not to get underhoof. Your clients could board there. How many do you expect?"
"Two."
Well, that’s what I assume, anyway.
Lodge coughed gently. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, Ma'am, but ‘Allegheny’ has two of its four suites free. If it would be agreeable to Her Grace, I'm sure we could accommodate them through to New York."
"Yes, thank you, it would."
Reggie gave a cheerful nod. "Righto, then. Lodge, bung off a discreetly worded telegram to Her Grace's chum, advising them that the fatted acorn has been slain, and to shift ho for Union Station, Chicago. After that, have a chat with Her Grace and get the particulars on setting up the parlor car for the meeting, what she'd like Charlie to whip up and such. Mrs. Buckhorn and I will take our meals in our stateroom, and I'll take all my calls and letters there."
Willow gave a quirky smile. "He does ALL his best work in the bedroom."
Reggie turned about as red as the banquette.
I met Willow’s gaze and we both suppressed a snicker.
Males.
Why did they ALWAYS find the most perfectly ordinary subject in the world to be such a huge embarrassment?
<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
KatieKat__________________________________________________
Part 58.
Reggie:
When we arrived in Oakland, I helped Willow out of the plane and into a waiting Packherd, which sped off for the station. As always, Lodge had sent word ahead, and there was a ramp waiting so that Willow could stay in her wheelchair.
I know my love frets at it, being the doe of action that she is, but she doesn’t do well in planes while she’s – well, in the family way.
The Buckhorn train is made up of four cars. There are ‘Schulkyll’ and ‘Allegheny,’ which are set up for living quarters; ‘Pocono,’ which is a combination dining room and parlor, and ‘Market Street,’ which has a top-flight kitchen as well as quarters for the staff. You can really spot them easily, as they’re a very nice Tuscan red with the company name and logo on them.
Thinking about it, it made me wonder – I mean, that color red. The company ships and planes are liveried in blue, after all. One of the Sire’s whims, I imagine.
He has cast-steel whims.
I had finished tucking Willow in and was headed for ‘Market Street’ to get a light supper for her when I saw another Packherd pull up beside the ramp. I saw the redoubtable Duchess helped out of the car and make her way up the ramp on crutches.
Her step seemed . . . lighter, somehow. I guess her press conference went well.
I went about my business, secure in the knowledge that Lodge would have everything well in paw. The train was starting to pull out of the station as I took our dinner into the compartment.
The next day saw the train stopped at Ogden, Utah for the various things that the engine needs to keep huffing and puffing. I’m sure Grandfather George would be interested, but the sweet scent of breakfast drew me and Willow out to ‘Pocono’ for a repast.
It seemed that it drew others out, as well. Her Grace’s two bodyguards were already there, the lion already tucking into a platter of steak and eggs. The red panda just sat inscrutably, looking at a platter of fruit and what smelled like green tea.
I sat down beside Willow as Her Grace was helped in by her butler, fellow called Barclay I heard her say. He fussed over her a bit and made her injured hoof and leg comfortable. Once she was seated and a table set, I saw her nostrils flare at the scent of coffee.
“Your Grace, I’d like you to meet my wife, Willow. Willow, may I present Katie MacArran, Duchess of Strathdern.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Very pleased to meet you, and I appreciate the offer of the ride east.” She was almost salivating at the smell coming from the coffee carafe.
I smiled. “We’re going east, so it’s Kona coffee, so I’m told. If we were headed west, it’d be Brazilian. As for breakfast, Charlie in the galley has a dab paw and can whip up nearly anything.”
“What are you having this morning?” she asked. She was already starting on her first cup of coffee, savoring it like fine wine.
“Hmm? Ah, a stack of buckwheat pancakes with maple syrup, and a basket of corn muffins. Good stuff, those muffins. We make the mix exclusively for the Delaware and Lackawanna. Of course, we keep a little aside for our use.”
I heard a stomach rumble, and it was coming from our guest.
Thank goodness she wasn’t a carnivore, or it’d be venison on the menu.
“Mmm, buckwheat cakes. I haven’t had any of those since I left for England three years ago.”
Three years? Good Lord.
“Okay,” she was saying, “I’ll have the same . . . and some of those muffins, too.”
“An excellent choice, Your Grace,” Lodge said.
The breakfast was enough to make the hardest herbivore heart melt. The muffins were baked in a pan that made them look like ears of corn, complete with kernels, and were served with (of course!) Buckhorn’s ‘Heart o’ the Glen’ Premium Heather Honey. Our company brand maple syrup accompanied the pancakes.
Real maple syrup, thank you very much. The Sire would demand nothing less, and I agreed with him after the first taste.
The Duchess was drizzling honey on her muffins. “Sorry if I haven’t been particularly good company on this trip. It was a pretty sudden decision on Colonel Chennault’s part to send me home, and I’ve been more or less scrambling for the past week.”
“Oh, no need for apologies, Your Grace. After all you’ve been through, I’d have been rather surprised if you WERE up to socializing.”
“Thanks, Reggie – may I call you Reggie?”
“Certainly, Your Grace. I’ve been called a lot worse in my day.”
My ears twitched as she bit into her muffins and nickered blissfully. The Sire will be pleased.
“Lodge tells us you had quite a reception at the press briefing,” Willow said.
“Yeah. Caught ME by surprise, I can tell you. After what I’ve been reading in the papers and hearing on the radio, I thought it was gonna be the Thompson Trophy scandal all over again. Instead, it seems, I’m the heroine of the hour.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“It seems there had been a Fox camera crew aboard the Panay,” she said. “Filmed the whole attack, and managed to get the film out of China. All of a sudden the Japanese were saying that it had all been a terrible mistake, and they’re still offering compensation.” Her eyes grew a little misty. “My best memory of that briefing was this little cougar kitten. She was holding a little sign that read ‘Thank you for saving my Daddie.’”
Willow and I both applauded, agreeing with the sentiment.
The Duchess started in on her wheatcakes and rolled her eyes in delight. “Mmmm! If that isn’t just the BEST . . . who’d you say this chef was again?”
“Charlie,” Willow replied. “The company hired him from the Southern Railways last year. They understand how to make a good breakfast down there.”
“I’ll say.” She reached for another muffin. “How come you only sell the mix for these to one railroad? You’d make a fortune with it on the open market. Almost as good as you’ve done with Zepps cookies.”
Willow glanced at me. “Oh, it’s not necessarily the mix, you know. There’s a type of cast-iron pan you bake them in that has to be broken in, and it’s all in the timing. Really, it’s only chaps like Charlie that have the knack for it.”
“Careful, Reggie. I’ll hire him away.”
Her one blue eye had a mischievous gleam in it, so I guessed she was just kidding.
“Heavens!” and I acted like I was duly horrified at the prospect. “Depriving the Sire of his wheatcakes? Drastic stuff, indeed.”
She flicked an ear at me. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Reggie, you’re not at all how your father described you.”
***
Katie:
For a second, it looked like I might have gone too far. Reggie’s look seemed to get a bit distant, and Willow had paused with a forkful of pancake halfway to her muzzle.
Reggie laughed then, and the spell broke. He sipped at his coffee. “Ah. You mean I’m not swinging from the chandeliers with a lampshade on my antlers? Or walking around with my jaw hanging open, and bearing the gaze both glassy and vacant?”
I shrugged. “Well, the difference is pretty remarkable. I wouldn’t think Sir Josslyn Buckhorn would tell whoppers like that.”
There’s that look again, but it left even faster this time.
“Oh, he didn’t, you know. The truth is a complete defense to libel, Your Grace. Things changed fairly recently, and much for the better.”
He reached over and took his wife’s paw, and I could hear two tails flagging as Willow sighed.
Oh damn but they looked so happy together, the way I had always wanted it to be with Carl. Oh, how I had loved that stallion . . . I had wanted so much to . . .
A voice inside me said, "Put it away, Katie Scarlett. He and Beatrix have been married for almost a year now; it's high time for you to move on."
How many more times am I going to have to tell myself that before it finally stuck?
I needed a lifeline.
Willow was good enough to throw me one.
“Oh, by the way Your Grace . . . it's Viscount Buckhorn now; New Year's Honors list a year ago."
I clapped my hooves in delight. “So the old curmudgeon's finally been elevated has he? Well, about time is all I can say. Has he taken his seat in Lords yet?"
"Yes," said Reggie "but he doesn't attend all that often." He grinned. "And then only, so he says, when he needs a bit of relief for his insomnia."
We all shared the laugh at that.
“Still, the way he talked about you seems so completely different from what I'm seeing."
Actually, Sir – no, LORD Josslyn’s description made his son sound like Colin.
Reggie nodded over a mouthful of wheatcake, and nodded in the direction of his valet, who was just entering the car. "There are magistrates back in the Spontoons who'd tell you otherwise, Your Grace. They still tell stories about the duel I fought there a while back, don't they Lodge?"
"Indeed, Sir," Lodge replied, with a trace of weariness in his voice. To my considerable surprise, he shifted his attention to me. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but there is a telegram for you which has just arrived." The beaver produced a small buff telegram envelope on a silver platter.
Sigh.
Ahh, here it comes, I thought, the first piece of fan mail. Looks like I'm going to have to take on another secretary. Again.
I apologized to my hosts, who waved off the interruption cheerfully. I opened the telegram, and found that it was from someone named JGB R-1, and was coded as coming from Dayton, Ohio.
YOUR GRACE STOP FACE TO FACE MEETING URGENTLY REQUESTED STOP CONFIDENTIALITY REQUIRED BY OTHER PARTY STOP SUGGESTIONS WELCOME STOP RETURN WRIGHT FIELD DAYTON STOP SIGNED JGBR-1 PS DON'T GUSH OVER ME LIKE FIRST TIME CHINA STOP MESSAGE ENDS
The last line that cemented it. The sender was Jack Finlayson . . . had to be. First initial J and the plane he had flown to victory in the Thompson had been the Gee Bee R-1.
And yes, I HAD gushed over him the first time we'd met.
But what the Hell did he want with me now...and who was this 'other party' he was bringing with him?
My oh-so-carefully built up good mood was starting to dissolve like a sugar cube in my coffee. It was going to be difficult to set up the meeting in the first place, and I wasn't in the mood for secrets. Furthermore, the raccoon had made it abundantly clear that any sort of a leak could blow the whole works. Even if such a conference could be arranged, it would have to be the kind of meeting that had no distractions, nothing to break the flow of the discussion. And here I am, stuck on a damfool train . . .
Waitaminnit.
A train.
Of course! Better yet, a PRIVATE train -- with no one but my servants, and my hosts' servants, on board.
Hmmmmm, yes . . . my hosts.
"Look, I'm terribly sorry to trouble you, but it appears as if something urgent has just come up. I need to hold a private meeting with, errrr . . . some important clients. Do you suppose I can 'borrow' one of the other cars for a bit?"
Willow tilted her head a bit. "Well, this place is supposed to be a rolling boardroom, if it needs to be. Reggie's had a meeting here before."
"Oh, quite, quite, Willow," her mate agreed, patting her hoof. “No meetings, though, this time around, so the parlor is quite free. Where are your chaps, Your Grace?"
"Dayton."
Willow ran a paw over her belly. Her fawn might be a little jumpy. "I suppose you could just pack 'em on a train to Chicago by way of Columbus. We get in at Chicago & Northwestern Station, and then they transfer the train to Union Station. They’ve been putting us on some remote track, so as not to get underhoof. Your clients could board there. How many do you expect?"
"Two."
Well, that’s what I assume, anyway.
Lodge coughed gently. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, Ma'am, but ‘Allegheny’ has two of its four suites free. If it would be agreeable to Her Grace, I'm sure we could accommodate them through to New York."
"Yes, thank you, it would."
Reggie gave a cheerful nod. "Righto, then. Lodge, bung off a discreetly worded telegram to Her Grace's chum, advising them that the fatted acorn has been slain, and to shift ho for Union Station, Chicago. After that, have a chat with Her Grace and get the particulars on setting up the parlor car for the meeting, what she'd like Charlie to whip up and such. Mrs. Buckhorn and I will take our meals in our stateroom, and I'll take all my calls and letters there."
Willow gave a quirky smile. "He does ALL his best work in the bedroom."
Reggie turned about as red as the banquette.
I met Willow’s gaze and we both suppressed a snicker.
Males.
Why did they ALWAYS find the most perfectly ordinary subject in the world to be such a huge embarrassment?
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Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 659 x 1280px
File Size 110.5 kB
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