FA+
Shop
488
Views
Views
5
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
Lady Pamela Fenwick appears courtesy of
rjbartrop
__________________________________________________
Part 71.
Willow:
Reggie and I went to the house in Mayfair the next day, and I started making plans for another party. This one would include members of Reggie’s family, like his grandfather George, and our neighbors the Greenleaf-Hayses.
Zenobia and Paczki practically melted into puddles at the sight of Tommy, and even Sophia’s usually stern façade cracked in spots.
Only in spots.
Sophia had taken care of infants in the past, so she was given nappy duty.
Reggie volunteered to do it one night, when Tommy started crying.
An hour later, he needed a bath, and the area set up for changing the baby would need cleaning the next morning.
And a fresh coat of paint.
Freshly bathed, Reggie got into bed beside me and shook his head. “I – I couldn’t get over it, Willow. I thought my antlers were going to melt.”
“Well, I did warn you, dear.”
“I know you did, and I should have listened. But it’s a thing I thought I ought to do, you know.” He made a face. “Reminds of when I was in Spontoon, and accidentally fell on an overripe durian.”
Ugh. “That bad?”
“Yes, rather.”
He went to work that morning, and I started getting replies to the various telegrams we’d sent out.
Alan was pleased, and expected that the little fellow might be Minkerton’s material, based on his mama.
Her Grace – Katie – was very happy, and wished us all the best.
Les and Inocenta sent their congratulations.
Sophia von Kojote very graciously sent felicitations on her and her husband’s behalf. I wondered whether the Baron was still nursing bruises.
Rosie sent two telegrams. The first read, “NERTZ STOP I LOST THE POOL STOP.”
That intrigued me. Someone had started a betting pool on my pregnancy? They should have told me; I might have put some money on it as well.
I had included Tommy’s birth weight (seven pounds, three ounces) in the telegrams. I was interested in knowing who had won.
Her second telegram answered that question.
K’NUTT WON POOL STOP PUT MONEY ON HIS IQ STOP WELL COMMA COCOANUTS ANYWAY STOP LOVE YOU LOTS STOP TAKE CARE OF LOVER BOY STOP
I planned on taking care of him.
***
Lady Pamela:
“Excuse me, Lady Pamela.”
“Yes?”
“Telephone.”
“Thank you. Hello?”
“What ho, Lady Pamela! Reggie Buckhorn here.”
“What the blazes are you calling – oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. Congratulations, it’s a buck.”
My teeth started grinding.
“Now, now,” says that insufferably vapid, cheerful voice, “no growling. A bet’s a bet.”
“Very well.”
“And I’ll have you know that your quiche isn’t going to be any old rubbish from the Harrods Food Hall. Finest gourmet ingredients, prepared by a four-star Michelin chef in our – “
I hung up on him.
Damn him. But a bet’s a bet, so I’ll go through with it.
Doesn’t mean I have to LIKE it, though.
***
Reggie:
We had a lovely family dinner on Friday night at the Mayfair house. Apart from me, Willow and our fawn, Mummy and the Sire were there, along with our neighbors, Grandfather George, Uncle Albert and his doe, Arabella.
Grandfather was staying for a few days with his brother and (much younger) sister-in-law, and seemed to be doing all right. Mr. Lavender was thriving, a tribute to Grandfather’s tender care of him.
Willow and I watched happily as George very gently and tenderly nuzzled his great-grandfawn. “He’s beautiful, Willow. Congratulations to both of you,” he said as he passed Thomas back to me.
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
Willow just smiled and said, “Hopefully, there’ll be more where he came from.”
Fortunately she said that while the Sire was out of the room.
We gave him a few gifts to take back with him to Lincoln Park: a few bottles of Imperial Tokay for him and his fellow patients, cigars for same, and a couple more bottles of rather rare Eiswein for Dr. Mink. George promised to distribute things equitably, and that the Tokay and cigars would be much appreciated.
Petunia Greenleaf-Hay was equally taken with the little fellow. She said he reminded her of her and Louis’ first child, who was now in the Welsh Guards. He was following in his father’s rather large footsteps; but then, he was a rabbit.
Over dinner, the conversation turned to the latest aborted attempt by the Prime Minister to “modernize” the House of Lords. Lord Mosley’s government had tried again, it seemed, only to be forestalled by the Opposition.
It transpired that Father and Louis Greenleaf-Hay were on common ground in this area, with support from Uncle Albert.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Father rumbled, “Oswald Mosley’s a good man. He was the only one with the spine to set up a government when the King got married.”
“True, true, Your Lordship,” Louis said heartily. The rest of us just ate and paid attention.
“But I can’t abide him mucking about with the Constitution. Think of it! Replacing the Upper House with an assembly of industrial magnates – it’s ludicrous. I only go to the Lords when I have to. Can’t abide half the industrialists, either. Most of them are useless.”
Louis wagged a finger, a gesture mimicked by one of his long ears. “It could be worse, Lord Josslyn. Churchill could have been asked to form a government.”
The Sire greeted this prospect with a derisive whistle-snort.
“Confounded man! The utter gall – the absolute cheek – of a Duke’s son turning coats the way he did!” he spluttered. “And getting away with it! And turning coats again!”
I leaned close to Willow and whispered, “You dirty re-ratter . . . “
Willow smothered a giggle in her napkin.
Father fixed me with a glare and said to Louis, “Just you watch. Wake up one morning, open up the Morning Post, and you’ll find that the blasted fellow’s gone Labour, just for spite!”
Louis agreed, and toasted Father’s health.
When dessert, a delicious apple tart with a vanilla sauce, was finished, Lodge appeared in the dining room doorway and nodded once.
“Excellent!” Heads turned, and I said, “We have a little entertainment planned for tonight. There’s a screen and projector set up in the drawing room.”
“Movies, young Reggie?” Uncle Albert said.
“Just a short subject, Uncle. Father? Would you like to see it?”
“Yes.” The Sire started to get out of his chair, while the rest of the party exchanged rather startled looks.
So, we all adjourned to the drawing room and settled in as Apollo fussed with the projector.
While final preparations were being made, I turned to everyone else and said, “I suppose I should explain.”
“Please do,” Arabella said. From the look of things, she was anxious to get Uncle Albert home.
“Well, Willow and I were visiting Grandfather and we happened across Lady Pamela Fenwick. Words were exchanged, and before things could descend into personalities a wager was suggested. If our fawn was a doe, I would eat a slice of steak and kidney pie.”
The others, herbivores all, looked quite properly horrified at the prospect of eating something like that.
“And if the fawn was a buck?” Grandfather asked.
I grinned. “Watch, and see.”
<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
turnboltLady Pamela Fenwick appears courtesy of
rjbartrop__________________________________________________
Part 71.
Willow:
Reggie and I went to the house in Mayfair the next day, and I started making plans for another party. This one would include members of Reggie’s family, like his grandfather George, and our neighbors the Greenleaf-Hayses.
Zenobia and Paczki practically melted into puddles at the sight of Tommy, and even Sophia’s usually stern façade cracked in spots.
Only in spots.
Sophia had taken care of infants in the past, so she was given nappy duty.
Reggie volunteered to do it one night, when Tommy started crying.
An hour later, he needed a bath, and the area set up for changing the baby would need cleaning the next morning.
And a fresh coat of paint.
Freshly bathed, Reggie got into bed beside me and shook his head. “I – I couldn’t get over it, Willow. I thought my antlers were going to melt.”
“Well, I did warn you, dear.”
“I know you did, and I should have listened. But it’s a thing I thought I ought to do, you know.” He made a face. “Reminds of when I was in Spontoon, and accidentally fell on an overripe durian.”
Ugh. “That bad?”
“Yes, rather.”
He went to work that morning, and I started getting replies to the various telegrams we’d sent out.
Alan was pleased, and expected that the little fellow might be Minkerton’s material, based on his mama.
Her Grace – Katie – was very happy, and wished us all the best.
Les and Inocenta sent their congratulations.
Sophia von Kojote very graciously sent felicitations on her and her husband’s behalf. I wondered whether the Baron was still nursing bruises.
Rosie sent two telegrams. The first read, “NERTZ STOP I LOST THE POOL STOP.”
That intrigued me. Someone had started a betting pool on my pregnancy? They should have told me; I might have put some money on it as well.
I had included Tommy’s birth weight (seven pounds, three ounces) in the telegrams. I was interested in knowing who had won.
Her second telegram answered that question.
K’NUTT WON POOL STOP PUT MONEY ON HIS IQ STOP WELL COMMA COCOANUTS ANYWAY STOP LOVE YOU LOTS STOP TAKE CARE OF LOVER BOY STOP
I planned on taking care of him.
***
Lady Pamela:
“Excuse me, Lady Pamela.”
“Yes?”
“Telephone.”
“Thank you. Hello?”
“What ho, Lady Pamela! Reggie Buckhorn here.”
“What the blazes are you calling – oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. Congratulations, it’s a buck.”
My teeth started grinding.
“Now, now,” says that insufferably vapid, cheerful voice, “no growling. A bet’s a bet.”
“Very well.”
“And I’ll have you know that your quiche isn’t going to be any old rubbish from the Harrods Food Hall. Finest gourmet ingredients, prepared by a four-star Michelin chef in our – “
I hung up on him.
Damn him. But a bet’s a bet, so I’ll go through with it.
Doesn’t mean I have to LIKE it, though.
***
Reggie:
We had a lovely family dinner on Friday night at the Mayfair house. Apart from me, Willow and our fawn, Mummy and the Sire were there, along with our neighbors, Grandfather George, Uncle Albert and his doe, Arabella.
Grandfather was staying for a few days with his brother and (much younger) sister-in-law, and seemed to be doing all right. Mr. Lavender was thriving, a tribute to Grandfather’s tender care of him.
Willow and I watched happily as George very gently and tenderly nuzzled his great-grandfawn. “He’s beautiful, Willow. Congratulations to both of you,” he said as he passed Thomas back to me.
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
Willow just smiled and said, “Hopefully, there’ll be more where he came from.”
Fortunately she said that while the Sire was out of the room.
We gave him a few gifts to take back with him to Lincoln Park: a few bottles of Imperial Tokay for him and his fellow patients, cigars for same, and a couple more bottles of rather rare Eiswein for Dr. Mink. George promised to distribute things equitably, and that the Tokay and cigars would be much appreciated.
Petunia Greenleaf-Hay was equally taken with the little fellow. She said he reminded her of her and Louis’ first child, who was now in the Welsh Guards. He was following in his father’s rather large footsteps; but then, he was a rabbit.
Over dinner, the conversation turned to the latest aborted attempt by the Prime Minister to “modernize” the House of Lords. Lord Mosley’s government had tried again, it seemed, only to be forestalled by the Opposition.
It transpired that Father and Louis Greenleaf-Hay were on common ground in this area, with support from Uncle Albert.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Father rumbled, “Oswald Mosley’s a good man. He was the only one with the spine to set up a government when the King got married.”
“True, true, Your Lordship,” Louis said heartily. The rest of us just ate and paid attention.
“But I can’t abide him mucking about with the Constitution. Think of it! Replacing the Upper House with an assembly of industrial magnates – it’s ludicrous. I only go to the Lords when I have to. Can’t abide half the industrialists, either. Most of them are useless.”
Louis wagged a finger, a gesture mimicked by one of his long ears. “It could be worse, Lord Josslyn. Churchill could have been asked to form a government.”
The Sire greeted this prospect with a derisive whistle-snort.
“Confounded man! The utter gall – the absolute cheek – of a Duke’s son turning coats the way he did!” he spluttered. “And getting away with it! And turning coats again!”
I leaned close to Willow and whispered, “You dirty re-ratter . . . “
Willow smothered a giggle in her napkin.
Father fixed me with a glare and said to Louis, “Just you watch. Wake up one morning, open up the Morning Post, and you’ll find that the blasted fellow’s gone Labour, just for spite!”
Louis agreed, and toasted Father’s health.
When dessert, a delicious apple tart with a vanilla sauce, was finished, Lodge appeared in the dining room doorway and nodded once.
“Excellent!” Heads turned, and I said, “We have a little entertainment planned for tonight. There’s a screen and projector set up in the drawing room.”
“Movies, young Reggie?” Uncle Albert said.
“Just a short subject, Uncle. Father? Would you like to see it?”
“Yes.” The Sire started to get out of his chair, while the rest of the party exchanged rather startled looks.
So, we all adjourned to the drawing room and settled in as Apollo fussed with the projector.
While final preparations were being made, I turned to everyone else and said, “I suppose I should explain.”
“Please do,” Arabella said. From the look of things, she was anxious to get Uncle Albert home.
“Well, Willow and I were visiting Grandfather and we happened across Lady Pamela Fenwick. Words were exchanged, and before things could descend into personalities a wager was suggested. If our fawn was a doe, I would eat a slice of steak and kidney pie.”
The others, herbivores all, looked quite properly horrified at the prospect of eating something like that.
“And if the fawn was a buck?” Grandfather asked.
I grinned. “Watch, and see.”
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
Comments