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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 61.
Early to Bred, Early Arrive.
Willow:
I don’t know which disturbed or irritated my father-in-law more.
The fact that we didn’t stay on the other side of the world, or the fact that we came home with Reggie reporting success.
His meeting with the Wall Street types went well enough, with the U.S. board of Buckhorn’s apparently satisfied that the company would be in good paws when Lord Josslyn finally shuffled off this mortal coil. On that score, Reggie was very firm that his Sire was in the pink of health, and it would be many years before they would be looking to him for leadership.
The rest of the day was spent at our hotel, resting up.
For a given value of ‘resting up,’ admittedly.
As for the last leg of our trip to England, let me say that I agree with Gwladys – planes are all very well, but nothing beats a Canarder for going in style. Not even the constant stream of telegrams from FRB’s London office could dampen our spirits.
Apollo was waiting for us at Victoria Station, and we headed into London and home. Sophia had the place under a very firm hoof by this time, so there were no problems.
Henry, the new cook, wasn’t a transvestite. That was a definite plus, as it meant that my wardrobe was safe.
I had only a light supper that night. My little passenger was getting used to being back home.
And you know something? I think it is a buck.
I could swear I felt antlers the last time he kicked.
About a week after we got back I got a long letter from Rosie. Most of it had to do with how well Da was doing, along with a lot of good-natured ribbing about how cute I looked when I was a fawn.
Strictly on the Q.T., of course.
Reggie begged details, and made the room feel warmer by telling me that while I had been merely ‘cute’ as a fawn, I was beautiful as an adult.
Yes, even when pregnant.
Before we spent our first weekend back at Monongahela House, another item arrived in the mail. A small package postmarked Burlington, Vermont, it turned out to be from Katie MacArran.
Inside the package was a lovely Thank You note for our hospitality, as well as a beautiful Revere silver cup and spoon in silver, with a leaf and acorn motif. It was gorgeous.
As a result, when Apollo drove us up to the house that weekend we carried an additional piece of baggage to show Gwladys and Josslyn.
***
Reggie:
Mummy was very taken with the gift that Her Grace had sent us.
Father, surprisingly, was pleased as well. I’m starting to be able to guess nuances in his prevailing mood of dour and glower. It’s sort of like picking out which part of a cloud is going to rain on you, versus trying to strike you with lightning.
Of course, the lightning will hurt worse than the Sire.
Willow and I accompanied Mummy to church that Sunday, where Reverend Bumble kept the sermon under an hour. The subject was renewal; mainly spiritual, but reminding everyone that winter was winding down.
There was also a reminder, rather inexplicably inserted in the middle that also had a renewal motif; viz., repairs to the church roof.
After church I had a thought, and sought out the Sire.
“Father?”
“Hrrm?”
“You’re pleased because I didn’t ruin your business relationship with Her Grace, is that it?”
The Sire favored me with a somewhat surprised look, and went back to his pre-dinner martini.
That was all the answer I was likely to get, apparently.
“Good grief, Gwladys! I’m not an invalid!” I heard Willow saying as I headed down the hallway to our rooms.
“I know you’re not, Willow. But – and always remember this – a pregnant woman has certain privileges. Doesn’t matter how emancipated and independent you think you might be, my girl, you grab every bit of male gallantry you can and hang on for dear life. It won’t last long.”
“Reggie’s gallant all the time.”
Ah, the heart stirred.
“That’s because I raised him right,” Mummy said firmly, and I stopped in the doorway to see her finishing up tucking a lap-robe over Willow’s legs. My wife was in her wheelchair.
“Hullo!” I said. “Thank you, Mummy, for looking after Willow,” and I gave her a kiss on her cheek, before sharing a deeper kiss with my doe. “Are you feeling all right, Willow?”
She smiled up at me. “Just fine. Had a nice nap, and now I’m ready for some dinner – and not while in bed, either.”
I laughed. “All right. Besides, your presence at the table may just put the Sire off.”
Willow didn’t have much to eat for dinner, and rather amazingly the Sire was off his feed as well. Mummy and I did justice to the cook’s efforts, though, so no fear that he’d feel unwanted.
There was a nice fire in the main hall’s fireplace while we sat and chatted a bit after dinner. Willow was being determinedly non-alcoholic, and I was keeping pace with her by having a cup of coffee.
Coffee was also on order for the delicious apple crumb cake that the cook had offered.
Travis came in while we were talking and said, “My Lord, there are several villagers at the door.”
The Sire roused himself from his after-dinner port and glowered at the rabbit. “Eh?”
He acted as if he was about to order up the boiling oil.
“There is a deputation from Saint Peter Churchford at the door, my Lord,” Travis amplified.
“What the blazes do THEY want?!”
“They have heard that your daughter-in-law will have a child soon, my Lord.”
“If they don’t know by now, they’re as blind as they are stupid,” the Sire grated. He fixed me with his usual glare. “Go see what they want. You’re the one responsible, not me.”
That was hardly fair.
Our fawn was a collaborative effort.
“Come on, Willow,” I said, “let’s go see what they want.”
I made sure that Willow was well bundled up (it was chilly, with rain falling) when we reached the door, and Travis opened it. “Hullo! What’s all this?”
Good Lord. I almost sounded like a policeman.
The deputation, about a dozen furs, was led by the Reverend Bumble, his wife and Old Paul. The badger smiled and said, “It’s an old tradition, sir, - “
“Reggie.”
He laughed. “Reggie, that – well, that the villagers turn out to greet the new heir to the demesne.”
“Well, I’m flattered, but – “
“Oh, not you, Reginald,” Reverend Bumble cut in, and beamed at Willow.
Willow smiled. “Although I’m not from here, I feel at home, and I want to say thank you for keeping up with old traditions.”
The deputation cheered.
And started singing Yankee Doodle.
A very creditable performance, but it was soon ended.
There was a whistling snort like the Super Chief, followed by the bulky visage of the Sire, about two seconds away from full-on apoplexy.
“STOP THAT! STOP THAT BLOODY SINGING!”
The villagers faltered and stopped.
Seemingly satisfied that the singing was going to stay stopped, the Sire withdrew, huffing and grumbling sotto voce.
Mummy had appeared and said with a smile, “Never mind my husband. Do come in, all of you, and have something warm to drink. Travis?”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“Hot coffee – with a nip of brandy in each. Use His Lordship’s private stock.”
Just this once, the rabbit’s mien seemed to crack.
He recovered swiftly, though, and bowed. “Yes, my Lady.”
***
Willow:
I thought it was a lovely tradition, and a very nice gesture.
Grace was grumbling.
(What, Grace?)
(That . . . that song.)
(Well, they think we’re American, Twin. You’d hardly expect them to know the words to Our Home, Together.)
Grace’s tone was glum.
(Who does, anymore?)
(This little guy will.) I patted my stomach as Reggie wheeled me back inside.
Grace smiled. (Promise, Willow?)
(Cross my heart, Grace.)
Josslyn had gone upstairs, so the group was convivial and toasted my and Reggie’s health before leaving.
I felt tired after that, so we said our goodnights to Gwladys. Reggie wheeled me back to our rooms and we got ready for bed.
It was nice and warm in our bed, and I cuddled up against my buck as he nuzzled behind my ears.
As I drifted off to sleep, I could almost hear the clock in the main hall chime the half-hour between eleven and midnight.
And then . . .
<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 61.
Early to Bred, Early Arrive.
Willow:
I don’t know which disturbed or irritated my father-in-law more.
The fact that we didn’t stay on the other side of the world, or the fact that we came home with Reggie reporting success.
His meeting with the Wall Street types went well enough, with the U.S. board of Buckhorn’s apparently satisfied that the company would be in good paws when Lord Josslyn finally shuffled off this mortal coil. On that score, Reggie was very firm that his Sire was in the pink of health, and it would be many years before they would be looking to him for leadership.
The rest of the day was spent at our hotel, resting up.
For a given value of ‘resting up,’ admittedly.
As for the last leg of our trip to England, let me say that I agree with Gwladys – planes are all very well, but nothing beats a Canarder for going in style. Not even the constant stream of telegrams from FRB’s London office could dampen our spirits.
Apollo was waiting for us at Victoria Station, and we headed into London and home. Sophia had the place under a very firm hoof by this time, so there were no problems.
Henry, the new cook, wasn’t a transvestite. That was a definite plus, as it meant that my wardrobe was safe.
I had only a light supper that night. My little passenger was getting used to being back home.
And you know something? I think it is a buck.
I could swear I felt antlers the last time he kicked.
About a week after we got back I got a long letter from Rosie. Most of it had to do with how well Da was doing, along with a lot of good-natured ribbing about how cute I looked when I was a fawn.
Strictly on the Q.T., of course.
Reggie begged details, and made the room feel warmer by telling me that while I had been merely ‘cute’ as a fawn, I was beautiful as an adult.
Yes, even when pregnant.
Before we spent our first weekend back at Monongahela House, another item arrived in the mail. A small package postmarked Burlington, Vermont, it turned out to be from Katie MacArran.
Inside the package was a lovely Thank You note for our hospitality, as well as a beautiful Revere silver cup and spoon in silver, with a leaf and acorn motif. It was gorgeous.
As a result, when Apollo drove us up to the house that weekend we carried an additional piece of baggage to show Gwladys and Josslyn.
***
Reggie:
Mummy was very taken with the gift that Her Grace had sent us.
Father, surprisingly, was pleased as well. I’m starting to be able to guess nuances in his prevailing mood of dour and glower. It’s sort of like picking out which part of a cloud is going to rain on you, versus trying to strike you with lightning.
Of course, the lightning will hurt worse than the Sire.
Willow and I accompanied Mummy to church that Sunday, where Reverend Bumble kept the sermon under an hour. The subject was renewal; mainly spiritual, but reminding everyone that winter was winding down.
There was also a reminder, rather inexplicably inserted in the middle that also had a renewal motif; viz., repairs to the church roof.
After church I had a thought, and sought out the Sire.
“Father?”
“Hrrm?”
“You’re pleased because I didn’t ruin your business relationship with Her Grace, is that it?”
The Sire favored me with a somewhat surprised look, and went back to his pre-dinner martini.
That was all the answer I was likely to get, apparently.
“Good grief, Gwladys! I’m not an invalid!” I heard Willow saying as I headed down the hallway to our rooms.
“I know you’re not, Willow. But – and always remember this – a pregnant woman has certain privileges. Doesn’t matter how emancipated and independent you think you might be, my girl, you grab every bit of male gallantry you can and hang on for dear life. It won’t last long.”
“Reggie’s gallant all the time.”
Ah, the heart stirred.
“That’s because I raised him right,” Mummy said firmly, and I stopped in the doorway to see her finishing up tucking a lap-robe over Willow’s legs. My wife was in her wheelchair.
“Hullo!” I said. “Thank you, Mummy, for looking after Willow,” and I gave her a kiss on her cheek, before sharing a deeper kiss with my doe. “Are you feeling all right, Willow?”
She smiled up at me. “Just fine. Had a nice nap, and now I’m ready for some dinner – and not while in bed, either.”
I laughed. “All right. Besides, your presence at the table may just put the Sire off.”
Willow didn’t have much to eat for dinner, and rather amazingly the Sire was off his feed as well. Mummy and I did justice to the cook’s efforts, though, so no fear that he’d feel unwanted.
There was a nice fire in the main hall’s fireplace while we sat and chatted a bit after dinner. Willow was being determinedly non-alcoholic, and I was keeping pace with her by having a cup of coffee.
Coffee was also on order for the delicious apple crumb cake that the cook had offered.
Travis came in while we were talking and said, “My Lord, there are several villagers at the door.”
The Sire roused himself from his after-dinner port and glowered at the rabbit. “Eh?”
He acted as if he was about to order up the boiling oil.
“There is a deputation from Saint Peter Churchford at the door, my Lord,” Travis amplified.
“What the blazes do THEY want?!”
“They have heard that your daughter-in-law will have a child soon, my Lord.”
“If they don’t know by now, they’re as blind as they are stupid,” the Sire grated. He fixed me with his usual glare. “Go see what they want. You’re the one responsible, not me.”
That was hardly fair.
Our fawn was a collaborative effort.
“Come on, Willow,” I said, “let’s go see what they want.”
I made sure that Willow was well bundled up (it was chilly, with rain falling) when we reached the door, and Travis opened it. “Hullo! What’s all this?”
Good Lord. I almost sounded like a policeman.
The deputation, about a dozen furs, was led by the Reverend Bumble, his wife and Old Paul. The badger smiled and said, “It’s an old tradition, sir, - “
“Reggie.”
He laughed. “Reggie, that – well, that the villagers turn out to greet the new heir to the demesne.”
“Well, I’m flattered, but – “
“Oh, not you, Reginald,” Reverend Bumble cut in, and beamed at Willow.
Willow smiled. “Although I’m not from here, I feel at home, and I want to say thank you for keeping up with old traditions.”
The deputation cheered.
And started singing Yankee Doodle.
A very creditable performance, but it was soon ended.
There was a whistling snort like the Super Chief, followed by the bulky visage of the Sire, about two seconds away from full-on apoplexy.
“STOP THAT! STOP THAT BLOODY SINGING!”
The villagers faltered and stopped.
Seemingly satisfied that the singing was going to stay stopped, the Sire withdrew, huffing and grumbling sotto voce.
Mummy had appeared and said with a smile, “Never mind my husband. Do come in, all of you, and have something warm to drink. Travis?”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“Hot coffee – with a nip of brandy in each. Use His Lordship’s private stock.”
Just this once, the rabbit’s mien seemed to crack.
He recovered swiftly, though, and bowed. “Yes, my Lady.”
***
Willow:
I thought it was a lovely tradition, and a very nice gesture.
Grace was grumbling.
(What, Grace?)
(That . . . that song.)
(Well, they think we’re American, Twin. You’d hardly expect them to know the words to Our Home, Together.)
Grace’s tone was glum.
(Who does, anymore?)
(This little guy will.) I patted my stomach as Reggie wheeled me back inside.
Grace smiled. (Promise, Willow?)
(Cross my heart, Grace.)
Josslyn had gone upstairs, so the group was convivial and toasted my and Reggie’s health before leaving.
I felt tired after that, so we said our goodnights to Gwladys. Reggie wheeled me back to our rooms and we got ready for bed.
It was nice and warm in our bed, and I cuddled up against my buck as he nuzzled behind my ears.
As I drifted off to sleep, I could almost hear the clock in the main hall chime the half-hour between eleven and midnight.
And then . . .
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
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