FA+
Shop
455
Views
Views
6
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280
File Size 257.5 kB
Report this content
More from Walt46
Listed in Folders
Very Fawnedly Yours
© 2013 by Walter Reimer
(All characters courtesy of
eocostello, 
mercmarten and 
marmelmm. 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 68.
Reggie:
The man from the Automotive Association sat back and said, “There, Sir. Your ignition’s fixed.”
“Thanks awfully.”
“No problem. Services are included in your fees. Whoever done it did a neat job, so not much to fix.”
I drew myself up proudly.
“I married a Minkerton!”
The fellow didn’t seem very impressed. “That’s very nice, Sir, I’m sure.” He packed up his toolkit, accepted a tip and got back on his motorbike. Pretty soon he was putt-putting away.
My stomachs reminded me that I’d nothing to eat apart from a bite of lunch in the hospital canteen. I’d been busy, so they understood.
But their patience had limits, and I had about met them.
I had dozed a bit, but Willow slept until just after lunch. Then came time to feed the fawn, which was an experience. I was allowed to feed him, with Willow watching me like a hawk. In fact, she held him while I held the bottle.
Didn’t manage to spill a drop.
“He’s going to be a fine fellow, my love.”
“Yes, he is. He has you for a daddy.”
I blushed at that. I was still having a bit of trouble believing that this little miracle was partly my fault.
Well, ‘fault’ isn’t the right word, but you know what I mean.
Even if I don’t.
Later in the afternoon, Willow asked for a pen and some paper.
“Whatever for, Willow?”
“We need to let Rosie know, Reggie.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. Silly of me.” I still had my son in my arms, so I can be excused for being distracted.
Eventually a few sheets of paper and a pencil were cadged from a nurse, and Willow wrote a few telegrams. One for Rosie, of course, and another for the von Kojotes. Les and Inocenta got one as well.
“And one for Alan Minkerton.”
“Eh?”
Willow smiled. “I need to let the boss know, Reggie.”
“Good Lord. I thought you were retired.”
She winked, and the edges of my vision went a bit pink.
For some reason, my memory dredged up a little something out of Rabelais.
“I’m technically detached, Reggie.”
“Meaning you’re attached.”
“Yes. To you. Joined at the hip.”
“Cheek to cheek.”
“Side by side.”
“Can’t get a melon between us.”
We both started laughing at that.
So after kissing my wife and son goodbye, I drove back to the house. Slowly and carefully. No hurry getting to where I was going.
Apollo accepted my apologies for running him over, and I left him shaking his head over the damage done to the car.
Lodge met me at the front door with a warm and gracious smile, something rather rare and therefore the more treasured. “Congratulations, Sir. To you and to Mrs. Buckhorn.”
“Thank you, Lodge. Believe me when I tell you that he’s a wonder.”
“I do not doubt it, Sir.”
I stuck out a paw. After a moment, he took it, and we shared a firm pawshake.
“And rest assured, Lodge, you shall not have nappy duty.”
“Thank you, Sir. That is a great relief to me.”
“Why, I may take a turn at it myself. I mean, how hard can it be?”
I went on into the house, but not before I caught just a glimpse of a horrified look on Lodge’s phiz.
Hmm.
Mummy was just coming down the stairs. “Reggie.”
“Mother.”
“How’s Willow?”
I smiled. “Beautiful.”
She chuckled. “Your father’s doing better. I just served him his dinner.”
My stomachs growled at the word.
“I suppose I should get something as well. Then . . . I suppose I should go upstairs and have a talk with him.”
“Yes. You should.”
Dinner was two bowls of thick, creamy mushroom soup, served with a round of bread and butter. With my stomachs contented and thus fortified, I had a quick wash and brush-up (and a change of clothes). I then ascended the stairs.
The bedroom door was closed, and I steeled myself.
I knocked.
***
Josslyn:
“What do YOU want?”
He closes the door. Gently.
Well, he won’t be trying to smother me with a pillow. I’m awake.
“I, um . . . “
“Out with it, boy.”
“I want to apologize, Father.”
“Eh?”
Drat it.
“I said, I want to apologize – for everything, but most of all for last night. I . . . wasn’t quite in a good state of mind at the time, you see.”
Hmm.
I wasn’t in my right mind last night either, or I would have stayed in bed with the blanket over my antlers.
Look at him. Looks tired; also looks contrite, but not looking away from me.
Good.
He also – his expression shows that he feels some responsibility now. Comes of being a father.
A father.
I suppress a shudder.
“What are you planning to do now?”
“I’m going in to work tomorrow, Father.”
“Good. Let the Board know that I won’t be in. Dratted doctor says I need two days’ rest.”
“Yes, Father. I’ll arrange for a courier to send you reports and the boxes. I know you want to get back to work.”
Hard to admit, but that’s good thinking.
“You look tired.”
“I am, Father. I’ll be off to bed soon.”
“How are – how are your mate and . . . ?”
“Fawn?”
“Yes, blast it.”
“They’re both fine, Father. Thank you for asking.” He starts to turn away, and stops. “Is there anything else, Father?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Your grandmother’s cigars are in a humidor in the basement. Travis has the keys.”
“Probably not my brand, Father.”
“It’s traditional. Reginald.”
He blinks, then nods. “I’d forgotten about that. Thank you, Father.” A pause, with his paw on the knob. “Will you want one?”
“No. Horrid habit, stuffing burning leaves in your muzzle. Kills the palate and stops up your nose.”
“Ah. Jolly good.” He steps out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I passed out sympathy cards when he was born.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
© 2013 by Walter Reimer
(All characters courtesy of
eocostello, 
mercmarten and 
marmelmm. 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 68.
Reggie:
The man from the Automotive Association sat back and said, “There, Sir. Your ignition’s fixed.”
“Thanks awfully.”
“No problem. Services are included in your fees. Whoever done it did a neat job, so not much to fix.”
I drew myself up proudly.
“I married a Minkerton!”
The fellow didn’t seem very impressed. “That’s very nice, Sir, I’m sure.” He packed up his toolkit, accepted a tip and got back on his motorbike. Pretty soon he was putt-putting away.
My stomachs reminded me that I’d nothing to eat apart from a bite of lunch in the hospital canteen. I’d been busy, so they understood.
But their patience had limits, and I had about met them.
I had dozed a bit, but Willow slept until just after lunch. Then came time to feed the fawn, which was an experience. I was allowed to feed him, with Willow watching me like a hawk. In fact, she held him while I held the bottle.
Didn’t manage to spill a drop.
“He’s going to be a fine fellow, my love.”
“Yes, he is. He has you for a daddy.”
I blushed at that. I was still having a bit of trouble believing that this little miracle was partly my fault.
Well, ‘fault’ isn’t the right word, but you know what I mean.
Even if I don’t.
Later in the afternoon, Willow asked for a pen and some paper.
“Whatever for, Willow?”
“We need to let Rosie know, Reggie.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. Silly of me.” I still had my son in my arms, so I can be excused for being distracted.
Eventually a few sheets of paper and a pencil were cadged from a nurse, and Willow wrote a few telegrams. One for Rosie, of course, and another for the von Kojotes. Les and Inocenta got one as well.
“And one for Alan Minkerton.”
“Eh?”
Willow smiled. “I need to let the boss know, Reggie.”
“Good Lord. I thought you were retired.”
She winked, and the edges of my vision went a bit pink.
For some reason, my memory dredged up a little something out of Rabelais.
“I’m technically detached, Reggie.”
“Meaning you’re attached.”
“Yes. To you. Joined at the hip.”
“Cheek to cheek.”
“Side by side.”
“Can’t get a melon between us.”
We both started laughing at that.
So after kissing my wife and son goodbye, I drove back to the house. Slowly and carefully. No hurry getting to where I was going.
Apollo accepted my apologies for running him over, and I left him shaking his head over the damage done to the car.
Lodge met me at the front door with a warm and gracious smile, something rather rare and therefore the more treasured. “Congratulations, Sir. To you and to Mrs. Buckhorn.”
“Thank you, Lodge. Believe me when I tell you that he’s a wonder.”
“I do not doubt it, Sir.”
I stuck out a paw. After a moment, he took it, and we shared a firm pawshake.
“And rest assured, Lodge, you shall not have nappy duty.”
“Thank you, Sir. That is a great relief to me.”
“Why, I may take a turn at it myself. I mean, how hard can it be?”
I went on into the house, but not before I caught just a glimpse of a horrified look on Lodge’s phiz.
Hmm.
Mummy was just coming down the stairs. “Reggie.”
“Mother.”
“How’s Willow?”
I smiled. “Beautiful.”
She chuckled. “Your father’s doing better. I just served him his dinner.”
My stomachs growled at the word.
“I suppose I should get something as well. Then . . . I suppose I should go upstairs and have a talk with him.”
“Yes. You should.”
Dinner was two bowls of thick, creamy mushroom soup, served with a round of bread and butter. With my stomachs contented and thus fortified, I had a quick wash and brush-up (and a change of clothes). I then ascended the stairs.
The bedroom door was closed, and I steeled myself.
I knocked.
***
Josslyn:
“What do YOU want?”
He closes the door. Gently.
Well, he won’t be trying to smother me with a pillow. I’m awake.
“I, um . . . “
“Out with it, boy.”
“I want to apologize, Father.”
“Eh?”
Drat it.
“I said, I want to apologize – for everything, but most of all for last night. I . . . wasn’t quite in a good state of mind at the time, you see.”
Hmm.
I wasn’t in my right mind last night either, or I would have stayed in bed with the blanket over my antlers.
Look at him. Looks tired; also looks contrite, but not looking away from me.
Good.
He also – his expression shows that he feels some responsibility now. Comes of being a father.
A father.
I suppress a shudder.
“What are you planning to do now?”
“I’m going in to work tomorrow, Father.”
“Good. Let the Board know that I won’t be in. Dratted doctor says I need two days’ rest.”
“Yes, Father. I’ll arrange for a courier to send you reports and the boxes. I know you want to get back to work.”
Hard to admit, but that’s good thinking.
“You look tired.”
“I am, Father. I’ll be off to bed soon.”
“How are – how are your mate and . . . ?”
“Fawn?”
“Yes, blast it.”
“They’re both fine, Father. Thank you for asking.” He starts to turn away, and stops. “Is there anything else, Father?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Your grandmother’s cigars are in a humidor in the basement. Travis has the keys.”
“Probably not my brand, Father.”
“It’s traditional. Reginald.”
He blinks, then nods. “I’d forgotten about that. Thank you, Father.” A pause, with his paw on the knob. “Will you want one?”
“No. Horrid habit, stuffing burning leaves in your muzzle. Kills the palate and stops up your nose.”
“Ah. Jolly good.” He steps out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I passed out sympathy cards when he was born.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
Comments