Reggie:

Willow managed to catch sight of our neighbors (well, Mrs. Greenleaf-Hay, at
least) and extended our invitation to dinner.

It was accepted with a certain amount of enthusiasm, my wife said, with Petunia
(Mrs. G-H) saying that it should be a matter of no moment to get her husband
Louis to agree.

And it should go without saying that our lepine neighbors presented themselves
at our door that Saturday evening. Introductions were made, and we settled down
in the drawing room while Paczki offered a tray of drinks and Eva offered
appetizers.

Willow had also asked, and very cleverly might I add, what were our guests'
preferences. To my surprise, Louis (as he insisted I call him) insisted on beer
– a good ale – and cheese for starters.

"Beer and cheese, Louis?" I asked. I was having a canapé and a glass of water.

"Oh, absolutely, Reggie," he said in a hearty and matter-of-fact tone. "I
learned to appreciate it when I was in the Army."

"Willow said she'd seen a picture of you in uniform. What regiment were you
in?"

Louis looked proud as he drew himself up, his rabbit ears adding inches. "The
Welsh Guards. Got my commission in the regiment."

I congratulated him, of course, and knew that he was older. He'd seen action in
the war, poor chap, but seemed none the worse for it.

We talked about business, and the conversation turned to gardening. He and
Petunia had one under the front windows, with a slightly more extensive one
behind. Louis supposed that, as fellow herbivores, Willow and I would get
around to breaking ground.

"You'll appreciate it, Reggie," he said enthusiastically. "It's very relaxing
after a hard week at work, believe me. Doing the garden, digging the weeds –
who could ask for more?"

"Well, I had been looking for a hobby," I said, and Willow caught my eye. She
had a big smile on her muzzle. "I might start one in the Spring after the
fawn's born."

"Splendid!" Louis said, and on that note Lodge announced dinner.

Mr. Coney, our cook, outdid himself. After a nice squash soup we were presented
with a sort of lasagna, only made with thin slices of aubergine. It was
excellent, and I reminded myself to tell him so.

Petunia was sipping at her wine when Willow said, "We would have invited you
both over sooner, but you were out."

"Oh, we were away on holiday, dear."

"South of France?"

"Heavens, no," Mrs. G-H said with a laugh. "Every summer we can rent a cottage
in the Isle of Wight."

"If it's not too dear," Louis interjected.

"We shall scrimp and save," Petunia reminded him. "We have the children down
there with us, and we have such fun."

"Children?" Willow asked. "Any grandchildren?"

Petunia grinned. "Three."

"Vera, Chuck and Dave," Louis said proudly.

Willow and I exchanged looks, and she unobtrusively rubbed her stomach.

Dash it all – who let the pink fog in here again?