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Hello there!
12 years ago
General
Has it really been seven months since I last posted a story? Sorry about that. Time flies and I have many (very much non-furry) people depending on me, so my writing tends to miss out.
Nevertheless I do have a story nearing completion. I think I'll be calling it Coyote Eggs.
Here is a teaser excerpt:
Testing, testing… is this thing turned on? Yes? Oh… ah… good. Guess I’ll get started then. First thing to say is—don’t mess with Coyote. He’s trouble. Yeah, I know. Kind of obvious looking at me, isn’t it?
I never wanted to, of course. Never intended to. How was I to know the petting-zoo coyote on my surgery table was actually Coyote—the genuine, magical bad-news trickster of song and story? He’s not real, people say, but I was never one of those people. I’ve always tried to keep an open mind.
Anyway, moving along; there he was, asleep and strapped splay-legged before me, clipped scrubbed and draped for a routine castration… and that’s what I did. He was my first coyote neuter but no different from the others: skillful slice-snip-stitch and Coyotyl’s huevos were in the gut bucket and himself snugly blanket-wrapped in his shiny stainless steel recovery room cage. He was not pleased when the anesthetic wore off.
No, he was not pleased at all. I remember every word he said.
“You ash… asshole… what have you done to me?” he growl-mumbled as I gently massaged him awake. I was taken aback by these words, as you might expect. My patients cussed me out on a regular basis but never in human speech! It was also unusual for me to be tending a surgical recovery unassisted, but the hour was late so I had let my staff go home when the prep work was done and now I was by myself with a drugged, drunken canine and a cock-n-bull story involving a wedding party at the petting zoo, an untended bowl of spiked rum punch, and a flagrant cross-species rape attempt on the maid of honor. This was not the reprobate’s first offense and the petting zoo’s owner was a good client, and desperate, and the staff told me I really, really ought to accept the case… and so it goes. Such is the life of a divorce-impoverished relief veterinarian in southern Nevada rural practice.
But yes, back to the talking coyote. We veterinarians really are not accustomed to such things. We are accustomed to unsolved mysteries, unpleasant surprises, and unexplainable behavior in general, however. One learns to go with the flow. One also learns to keep one’s eye on the teeth at first hint of trouble and to count one’s fingers before and afterward.
Not so sure about the talking bit, but trouble was most definitely hinting so I edged back on my heels and eased the cage door closed, not latching it yet but keeping it between us, just in case. The guy was large for a coyote but still less than half my size. Seemed like ample protection at the time.
“What have you done?” the coyote repeated, wiggling free from his blanket cocoon. His voice was stronger now, all traces of confusion gone from it.
“You’ve just had surgery,” I soothed, voice soft and blandly professional, “It’s quite normal to feel ill and confused when waking up from—”
“What surgery?” the coyote snarled. He nosed between his hind legs, where it was quite obvious to him what sort of surgery had been done, then rolled his head back to fix me with a malignant, cold-smoldering yellow gaze. “Mortal,” he hissed, “do you have any idea what you’ve just done? I ought to—” Then the coyote stopped, mouth half-open, and began to laugh. Without warning he lunged forward, still laughing, knocking me on my ass and tearing the cage door loose from my grasp. His teeth slashed down hard, yanked back harder then he was gone and I was doubled up in pain, both hands pressed tight to—
And that's all I can show, for here and now (gotta keep the blogspace clean, ya know). I will try hard to have the whole story done soon. It will be listed as adult material, of course, so if you are looking for it be sure to have your viewing preferences set accordingly.
Nevertheless I do have a story nearing completion. I think I'll be calling it Coyote Eggs.
Here is a teaser excerpt:
Testing, testing… is this thing turned on? Yes? Oh… ah… good. Guess I’ll get started then. First thing to say is—don’t mess with Coyote. He’s trouble. Yeah, I know. Kind of obvious looking at me, isn’t it?
I never wanted to, of course. Never intended to. How was I to know the petting-zoo coyote on my surgery table was actually Coyote—the genuine, magical bad-news trickster of song and story? He’s not real, people say, but I was never one of those people. I’ve always tried to keep an open mind.
Anyway, moving along; there he was, asleep and strapped splay-legged before me, clipped scrubbed and draped for a routine castration… and that’s what I did. He was my first coyote neuter but no different from the others: skillful slice-snip-stitch and Coyotyl’s huevos were in the gut bucket and himself snugly blanket-wrapped in his shiny stainless steel recovery room cage. He was not pleased when the anesthetic wore off.
No, he was not pleased at all. I remember every word he said.
“You ash… asshole… what have you done to me?” he growl-mumbled as I gently massaged him awake. I was taken aback by these words, as you might expect. My patients cussed me out on a regular basis but never in human speech! It was also unusual for me to be tending a surgical recovery unassisted, but the hour was late so I had let my staff go home when the prep work was done and now I was by myself with a drugged, drunken canine and a cock-n-bull story involving a wedding party at the petting zoo, an untended bowl of spiked rum punch, and a flagrant cross-species rape attempt on the maid of honor. This was not the reprobate’s first offense and the petting zoo’s owner was a good client, and desperate, and the staff told me I really, really ought to accept the case… and so it goes. Such is the life of a divorce-impoverished relief veterinarian in southern Nevada rural practice.
But yes, back to the talking coyote. We veterinarians really are not accustomed to such things. We are accustomed to unsolved mysteries, unpleasant surprises, and unexplainable behavior in general, however. One learns to go with the flow. One also learns to keep one’s eye on the teeth at first hint of trouble and to count one’s fingers before and afterward.
Not so sure about the talking bit, but trouble was most definitely hinting so I edged back on my heels and eased the cage door closed, not latching it yet but keeping it between us, just in case. The guy was large for a coyote but still less than half my size. Seemed like ample protection at the time.
“What have you done?” the coyote repeated, wiggling free from his blanket cocoon. His voice was stronger now, all traces of confusion gone from it.
“You’ve just had surgery,” I soothed, voice soft and blandly professional, “It’s quite normal to feel ill and confused when waking up from—”
“What surgery?” the coyote snarled. He nosed between his hind legs, where it was quite obvious to him what sort of surgery had been done, then rolled his head back to fix me with a malignant, cold-smoldering yellow gaze. “Mortal,” he hissed, “do you have any idea what you’ve just done? I ought to—” Then the coyote stopped, mouth half-open, and began to laugh. Without warning he lunged forward, still laughing, knocking me on my ass and tearing the cage door loose from my grasp. His teeth slashed down hard, yanked back harder then he was gone and I was doubled up in pain, both hands pressed tight to—
And that's all I can show, for here and now (gotta keep the blogspace clean, ya know). I will try hard to have the whole story done soon. It will be listed as adult material, of course, so if you are looking for it be sure to have your viewing preferences set accordingly.
