Tzimmes Cracked Corn (And I Don’t Care)
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)

Thumbnail art by  SusanDeer

20.


Reggie:

I suppose I should backtrack just a bit, what?

There I was in Mrs. Rapani’s office, and I swear that whoever’s unfriendly toward the Spontoonies could have dropped a bomb on the building and I doubt I would’ve noticed.

Despite whatever the Sire may say, I do have a brain in my head, and right now everything was centering on one question.

So I asked her.

“Why?”

The otteress seemed a little surprised at the question, if the flick of her small ears was any indication. I suspect that her surprise could be chalked up to the Buckhorn reputation being completely refuted by firstpaw observation. Experience can trump precept, after all, although I was uncertain which Buckhorn’s reputation she might have been judging me by.

Had it just been me, she might have expected me to lower my ears in defeat, slouch off, and then begin drinking heavily and causing no end of mayhem.

The Sire, on the other paw, would have flown into a complete rage, breathing forth fire and slaughter against Mrs. Rapani in the specific and the Spontoons in general. Whether that would be coupled with threats of lawsuits or actual bodily harm, deponent sayeth not.

So my one-word question appeared to take her on the back foot, as it were.

She blinked. “’Why,’ Mr. Buckhorn?”

I smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“Oh! Um, well, it’s like this, Mr. Buckhorn,” Mrs. Rapani said, “the Ministry’s projections of the surplus available for sale to third parties, such as F.R. Buckhorn and Sons, is substantially lower than the projections in your proposal.”

I frowned and scratched at the base of one antler. “I used the most current projections from your own Ministry, Ma’am.”

“I know, Mister Buckhorn. But those were last year’s figures.” She placed her paws on her desk, fingers interlaced. “I’m very sorry.”

I almost laughed at that. “Last year’s figures, eh? Well, day late and a pound short, I suppose. Next year, then, Mrs. Rapani, and when I come back, I’ll have the current figures.” I smiled and stood up, offering a paw. “Thank you very much for your time, and your trouble.”

She still looked a little flustered as she shook paws with me and gave the draft proposal back to me. Wishing her a good day, I left the Ministry.

The weather was still very nice, albeit hot, but I wasn’t paying much attention to that, or the sudden reappearance of my entourage of sporting agents. I trusted my hooves to find their way back to Shepherd’s, while I had some time with my thoughts.

Willow would have been better company.

But my thoughts were rather important, for me at any rate, because something occurred to me. Namely that this was the first time a business venture of mine had ended in failure.

So far, I’d had a good run, but thinking about how the Sire would react to this was making the sunlight feel a bit dim and made me not feel like playing any games with the bookies and assorted hangers-on that were tailing me and watching my every move.

My hooves seemed to know where to go, and that wasn’t to a bar, and I left my entourage at the entrance to Shepherd’s, where I went up to our rooms.

Which is where we are now, with my thoughts mixed but not mastered. Still, I hoped that time would blend things together agreeably before I decided that Bacchus might have a better idea.


***


Willow:

Reggie finished bringing me up to speed on what had happened, and he looked rather downcast. So I did what a good wife should do. I gently pushed him back until he was fully seated, sat in his lap, and started gently stroking his ears. “Poor darling,” I said. “You used last year’s figures?”

He nodded. “It was what they had ready to paw in London, and I confess that I was in a hurry to get the proposal together to help convince Father to let us take Company transport out here. I think that if I’d had more time, I would’ve thought to query the Spontoonies directly.” He looked up at me, and we kissed. “Live and learn, I guess. Lodge?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Do you have the key to the liquor cabinet?”

Lodge and I exchanged glances. “Yes, Sir,” he said. I could tell he was mentally bracing himself.

“Good,” Reggie said. “Keep it in your pocket. I shan’t be wanting a drink.”

I’ve rarely seen Lodge taken by surprise, and this was one of those occasions. In fact, he even slapped the backs of his legs with his broad, flat tail.

“Reggie?”

“Yes, Willow?”

“No drinks?”

“No drinks.”

“Why?”

He smiled up at me, gently took my paw, and kissed it. “Because, my dear, it’s my mistake, and I’ll own up to it, and take my lumps from the Sire like a good little fawn. That means no drinking, and no shenanigans. I won’t have this setback causing any disturbance for your father and Rosie’s wedding – “

There was a slight interruption, as I was kissing him.

When we stopped to take a breath, Reggie grinned and said, “Where was I?”

“You were being the wonderful buck I fell in love with.”

“And you were being the amazing doe I fell for, like a ton of bricks down a well.” We both chuckled at that. “Now, I was about to say something, but you took the words right out of my mouth – it must have been while you were kissing me,” and we both chuckled again. “How is the prank war going?”

It was my turn to smile. “Willow two, Jerks nothing. In fact, after those two points, you might be able to detect a certain air about members of the Embassy,” and I gave him a brief summary of what had happened so far, and there was a short intermission while we both laughed ourselves silly.

When we had recovered, Reggie’s ears suddenly swiveled. “Just recalled what I was about to say,” he said. “I had thought of an appropriate wedding gift.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” and he told me.

He never got to ask me what I thought of it.

I think the kiss I gave him was all the response the idea needed. It was certainly a lot better than a card, or a toaster.

“Reggie.”

“Yes, Willow?”

“That’s a great idea, and I think you’ve earned a G&T.”

He frowned. “But Willow – “

I put a finger to his lips to shush him. “Just one. Your bet doesn’t say that you can’t drink at all, does it?”

“No, but – oh very well. Lodge?”

“Sir?”

“Could you prepare two G&Ts for myself and Mrs. Buckhorn?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Oh, and Lodge?” My husband held up one finger. “Mine will be light on the gin, if you please.”

“Yes, Sir,” and Lodge headed off to the liquor cabinet.

We sat there until Lodge had approached with the drinks, whereupon I left Reggie’s lap and sat facing him. He took a sip of the cocktail and chuckled, “Ah, good. The quinine will come in jolly useful if we come away from the Spontoons bearing more than ill tidings.”

I gave a tiny snort at that. “Since you thought of the wedding present, my love,” I said, “may I choose a baby present for Rosie?”

“Of course, Willow!” Reggie grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, a silver cup and spoon are traditional – “

“We could contact Fennell’s when we get back to London.”

“Great idea,” I said, and we drank a toast.


***


Lodge:

I was very pleased to see that Mister Buckhorn had chosen to exercise a certain amount of restraint in his imbibing. Much of this I do ascribe to the beneficial influence of Mrs. Buckhorn, and it is apparent that marriage and fatherhood have been good for my employer.

I could count on Mrs. Buckhorn to “keep the fun clean,” as it is put.


***


Brush:

So it’s late the next day, after lunch, when th’ phone starts ringin’ over in Ciss Lopp’s office. “It’s for you, Sergeant,” th’ bunny says, but it sounds like she’s tryna keep from laughin.’

I picks up th’ phone. “Sergeant Brush here . . . what? Say that again . . . No, it ain’t that I can’t hear yez, I just have trouble believin’ it . . . uh-huh. Right, be right there.”

Th’ Inspector flicks his ears. “Problem, Sergeant?”

“Not sure, Sir,” I sez. “Call from th’ Vostok Embassy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They’re tellin’ me that th’ New Haven Embassy’s under siege.”

That makes him frown. “’Under siege,’ Sergeant?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“From whom?”

I takes a breath first, udderwise I’d bust a gut laughin.’ “Squirrels, Sir.”

Th’ Inspector blinks. “Squirrels.”

“That’s what they said, Sir.”

“Since the call deals with . . . hm, could you take care of this without me, Sergeant?”

“Of course, Sir,” and I leave.

Th’ door’s closin,’ but I can still hear him snicker. Real quiet-like.





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