And On That Note
A [url=http://spontoon.rootoon.com]Spontoon Island[/url] story
© 2023 by Walter Reimer
(Various characters are copyright their respective owners.)
Thumbnail art by :iconturnbolt:
Twelve.

B'onss was on his feet, applauding loudly as Michelle finished her performance, bowed, and left the stage.  As the emcee approached to introduce the next act, the young tod-fox stayed on his feet, weaving around the tables and nearly colliding with other customers and at least two waiters until he burst out of the lounge into the lobby.  
“Can I help ya, kid?” one of the bouncers at the door to the casino asked.
“Ain’tnotimegottagobye!” B’onss yelped and ran for the front door, caromed off the doorman, and ricocheted out onto the sidewalk, where he landed in an untidy heap.  The young fox sprang to his feet, dusted himself off hurriedly, and began running again.
The bouncer watched him go and turned as the stage manager snickered.  “Boy’s got it bad,” the cougar said before he returned to his office.
B’onss almost tripped and fell as he reached the opening for the alley leading to the Grand’s stage entrance, but succeeded in negotiating the ninety-degree turn and running down the alley.
The stage entrance was at the end of the alley on the right, illuminated by a single light bulb mounted over the door.  The alley itself was clean as part of the Spontoonies’ efforts to present the best possible face to the tourist trade.
B’onss stood looking at the door, panting as he recovered his breath, and he hurriedly smoothed down his headfur and tried to straighten his tie.  He made sure that the white flower in his lapel hadn’t been dislodged by his rush to get to the door – good, it was still there – and after a few more moments he calmed down and settled down to wait.
He waited, hearing church bells a short distance away, maybe Saint Anthony’s over on Meeting, striking the hour.  Eight o’clock.
So he kept waiting, and sometime after eight his ears perked and he straightened up, brush wagging, as he heard someone opening the stage door.
A group of women of several different species, all wearing street clothes, came out of the doorway.  One or two smiled at B’onss as they walked past him and dispersed, heading for homes or apartments elsewhere on the islands.  One or two guys came out with them.
But no sign of the spotted skunk femme.
The door closed, and B’onss told himself that all he had to do was wait a while.  Michelle would show herself, and he would talk to her, and try to convince her to go out with him.
So he settled down again, and waited.
The church bells chimed nine o’clock.
Ten o’clock.
He was starting to nod his head when the stage door opened again.  The young tod-fox took a step forward and halted as the janitor blocked the door open with his bucket.  “Hey,” B’onss said.
The older canine said, “Yeah?”
“Ya seen anudder dame back there?” B’onss asked.  “Spotted skunk?”
“Nah, ain’t no one else,” the janitor replied as he started mopping the hallway leading to the stage door.
“Oh.”  B’onss’ ears and tail drooped, and he walked slowly out of the alleyway and headed for the water taxis.
He was halfway across the lagoon as the church bells rang eleven o’clock.

***

Franklin Stagg looked down at his grandchildren, and smiled.
Mary Rose blinked owlishly up at her grandfather, while her brother Tommy reached up towards his grandfather’s antlers.  “Gah-mah?” he asked.
The buck-fawn’s father attracted his attention and Reggie said, “No, Tommy, ‘Grandpa.’”
“Gah-bah?” Tommy asked, and again Stagg smiled.
Reggie shrugged.  “Close enough, at his age.  Although I might have been overheard once or twice saying something similar while deep in my cups.”
“Well, those days are behind you now, Reggie,” Stagg said.  “Tommy’s growing up so fast, and Mary – Grace?”
His daughter perked her ears.  “Yes, Da?”  She had her baby brother and sister in her lap.
“She looks exactly like you did at her age.”
“Well, blood telling, don’t you know,” Reggie said, and his ears perked at Rosie’s snicker.  “What?”
“I was just thinking how right Franneleh is,” the cheetah replied as she looked at Willow.
“Oh?  How?”
“Bernyce sent us fawn pictures.  You were adorable,” she said to her stepdaughter, whose ears went straight down in embarrassment as her husband and father chuckled.
Dinner for the four adults had been prepared downstairs by Nick, the rabbit making a fine vegetarian lasagna with garlic bread.  Rosie, the sole carnivore in the group, had a smaller portion of lasagna containing seasoned ground beef.  That didn’t stop her from also savoring the garlic bread.  The children were all bottle-fed, with Tommy also getting some baby food.  
His father had worn a towel across his front as he fed his son in an effort to avoid wearing young Tommy’s dinner.
Young Franklin suddenly bleated and young Toni reached up with her paws.  “And that’s what I was waiting for,” Rosie said.
“What?”  Willow asked, just before her expression changed as she became aware of the state of Toni’s diaper.  “Oh.  Need a helping paw?”
“There’s another one here,” Stagg said, nodding toward Mary.  His ears twitched and he glanced at Tommy.  “Make that four.”
“Good heavens,” Reggie said as Willow gave Rosie her twins and got to her hooves to collect her own children from her father’s lap.  “It’s like ladies in restaurants.”
Franklin had sat back slightly as his wife and daughter took the children into the bedroom to change their diapers, and he turned to look at Reggie.  “How so?”
“Well, it’s like one needs to go, er, powder their nose, all the other femmes at the table feel the need to do the same,” the younger buck explained.  He managed a grin as the older buck chuckled softly.  “You never saw that phenomenon?”
“I would be lying if I said I did,” Stagg replied, “but then my younger years weren’t quite as sociable as yours.  How is business going?”
“Surprisingly well, despite the unpleasantness on the Continent.  Prime Minister Mosley tried to get me to join the Cabinet as Minister for Food.”
Stagg’s ears swiveled.  “Is Britain getting involved?”
“Oh good Lord, no.  Once in a generation was a gracious plenty, seems to be the prevailing opinion.”  Reggie sighed.  “But it’s been going on for almost a year now, and no one knows how long Czechoslovakia can hang on.  We may get involved despite Mosley’s leanings.”
The older buck sighed.  “One hopes for peace, but it’s obvious not everyone drew the same lessons from the last time.”
“Quite right, Sir.  But come, this has been a good evening so far.  We shouldn’t drag a gloomy subject out into the middle of the floor.  Next thing you know, the children will be treating it as a salt lick, and then where would we be, what?” Reggie asked.
“Fair enough,” Stagg chuckled.
“How goes the eternal struggle between the law and ne’er-do-wells?”
“Speed Week starts on Monday, so I expect the ne’er-do-wells will start becoming more visible,” Stagg said dryly, looking up and smiling as Willow and Rosie brought the freshly-diapered fawns back into the room.

***

K’nutt Karoksson watched with a great deal of interest as Seamus and Paddy balanced on the Fingal’s Folly’s floats and opened up the engine cowlings, with the wolfhound waving away a few wisps of oil smoke.  The odd-looking plane had been aloft for a test flight, and with its return to the ramp at the rear of the hangar Timmeen had immediately gotten out of the cockpit and retreated to the dark confines of the hangar’s office.
The mystery of what he did in there was solved when K’nutt caught a glimpse of several lit candles and a statue of the Virgin Mary.
"Me cousin’s a Stickinovite," Paddy said as he poked his nose into the plane’s engine compartment.
“Oh?” Seamus asked.  “Phwat’re they like, when they’re at home?" 
"He carries this doorty great stick, so he does y’see, an’ if his pint’s spilled, he puts th’ stick in.”
K’nutt watched with interest but little real comprehension as the two canines fussed over the engine.  A bucket was hung under the crankcase to catch any dripping oil, and the young tod-fox approved.  Spontoonies didn’t like it when outlanders fouled the lagoon with oil.  He was a little reluctant to join in, because it was B’onss who had what one person called a “mechanical bent.”
No one would tell him what was mechanically bent about his twin brother.
“Oi, K’nutt m’lad.”  The tod looked up at Seamus and the wolfhound said, “Can ye get me tha’ spanner there?”  The fox dutifully picked up the wrench and brought it over.  “Thank ye, lad.”
“S-S-Sure, S-S-Seamus,” K’nutt said, looking at the plane while the beagle and the wolfhound worked.  The propeller at the back end was called a pusher, which he thought was perfectly logical.  Pushing was easier than pulling, after all; less chance of having what you were pulling running into the backs of your legs or over your feet.
Unless, of course, you were pushing it uphill.
“Well, there’s that sorted,” Paddy said.  The two canines clambered down off the floats and with K’nutt and Timmeen’s help rigged the wheels onto the plane’s floats, and hauled it up the ramp into the hangar.
Yes, pulling was harder than pushing, K’nutt mused as he made his way home, remembering to wash his paws before leaving the hangar.  Ma would scold him for not cleaning up.