Who's A Good Boy Then, Jeeves? Part Two

[cuddyclothes]

This is in response to the prompt "non-sexual pet play. Dog Jeeves". I can't find the actual prompt so I'm paraphrasing. Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps has hypnotized Jeeves into believing he is a Labrador retriever--some of the time. Part One is Here.

One thought one had adjusted to a valet who, while superb in every way, occasionally behaved as a Labrador retriever. Jeeves was now given walks twice a day (fortunately all he did was chase squirrels), slept at the foot of my bed at night, shouted at the postman, and begged for food at meals. One thought one could ride this out until Barmy returned from his travels and de-hypnotized Jeeves back into being 100% gentleman’s personal gentleman.

One would have been wrong.

 

Jeeves shimmered in with the Darjeeling one bright, sunny morn. “Good morning, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Fotheringay-Phipps called earlier. He desires to see you.”

“Barmy? Is he here?” I leapt out of bed and seized my dressing gown, wrapping it about the slender frame. “We can finally stop all of this nonsense!”

“No, sir, he merely left the message.”

“Ring him up, Jeeves! Tell him to get himself back to Berkeley Mansions immediately if not sooner!”

“Very good, sir. Mrs. Gregson telephoned and asked that you give her luncheon.”

I moaned and clutched the head. “Not Aunt Agatha, Jeeves, not now! At the risk of offending you I simply cannot have her see you—you know—begging.”

“Sir!” He drew back slightly.

“Jeeves, I don’t mind, but she might think it a bit odd. And I can’t lock you in the kitchen and have you serve at table.”

His facial expression expressed what I can only call opprobrium. “Mrs. Gregson will be arriving in 45 minutes, sir,” he said frigidly. “I shall draw your bath. If there will be nothing else.” Jeeves seemed to float backwards toward the salle de bain, where presently there came the sound of running water.

“Don’t serve beef!” I called after him.

Shortly before the appointed hour, I visited Jeeves in the kitchen.

“Jeeves,” I opened with, “what I have to say might wound you.”

“Sir?” He looked up from the little green leafy things he was tearing into even tinier little green leafy things.

“There have been recent activities in the Wooster household that will have to be temporarily suspended. There will be no walk in the park. There will be no begging at table. I am the master, you are the do—servant. Do we understand, Jeeves?”

“No walk in the park, sir?” His brow furrowed.

“Today you must behave. Good valets do not beg at table.”

“Very good, sir.” The poor fellow was quite cast down.

“You can have an extra walk tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Thank you, sir!”

The doorbell rang. To my dismay, Jeeves went to the door saying loudly, “Who’s there? Who’s there? Who’s there?”

“Mrs. Gregson!” said the booming voice on the other side. Jeeves was instantly his dignified self as he swung open the door.  She glared at him. “Who on earth was making that horrible noise?”

Before he could answer, he looked down. With growing horror, I realized she was carrying—

The dog McIntosh.

Jeeves’s eyes widened, then narrowed. I would swear on a stack of Bibles that the hair on the back of his neck stood up! McIntosh looked up at Jeeves, and growled!

Aunt Agatha gave my valet her best stink-eye. “Jeeves! Bertie, what is the matter with the man?”

With a speed I wouldn’t have believed myself, I leapt across the room and tore McIntosh from my aunt’s arms. “Jeeves! No! No! Into the kitchen with you! Tea! Tea!”

Although no one else would have been able to tell, there was a visible struggle on Jeeves’s pan before he said, “Very good, sir” and flowed out to the kitchen. Having averted a very one-sided confrontation, I heaved a sigh of relief.

“What is wrong with you, Bertie?” Agatha demanded. “First that disgraceful yelling and now you take my dog away from me! Are you drunk?”

“No, no, no! I just wanted to hold the little chappie.”

“Give him back this instant!”

Reluctantly, I handed her back her dog. “Aunt Agatha, it might be for the best if you were to shut McIntosh in my bedroom.”

“Why?” she said in the tone that would have Bluebeard taking a hasty leave.

“Well--“ I floundered for a reason. “Jeeves is allergic. We can’t have him sneezing about the place.”

“You had McIntosh stay with you for weeks and I heard nothing about any allergy. What is the matter with you, Bertie!” The old dragon settled herself on the couch, McIntosh in her copious lap. “Settle down. You’ll make my poor baby nervous the way you’re shifting about. Why do you keep looking at the kitchen door?”

“I—I—“

“Don’t stutter, Bertie!”

Jeeves shimmered out of the kitchen with the tea things. For a moment all seemed as it should be. But as Jeeves set down the tray, McIntosh growled again and snapped at him!

Jeeves gave McIntosh a cold glare. Aunt Agatha saw it. Being one of those dog owners whose pestilential pet can do no wrong, she demanded: “Why are you looking at my dog that way, Jeeves?”

He stood. “He should not be here, madam. You should have left him at home.”

Aunt Agatha’s eyes popped out of head as her complexion turned to a most unflattering shade of puce. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

“Jeeves!” I screamed. “Don’t tell her I said that!”

The aged a. turned her basilisk stare on me. “You told Jeeves I should leave my dog at home?”

“Jeeves’s loyalty sometimes overcomes his discretion, aged a. Pay him no mind. I was in a mood—one gets in moods, what? What? And I’m sorry, but I said that McIntosh should be left home—“

“WHY?”

“Because—because I’ve got a cat! Don’t I have a cat, Jeeves?”

Jeeves didn’t seem to be listening. He continued to glare at McIntosh, who growled again. Fortunately Aunt Agatha’s glare was still pointed Wooster-ward. “Don’t we have a cat, Jeeves?” I pleaded.

“No, sir,” he said absently.

“Bertie, lying to me about having a cat is not to be countenanced! I have put up with a great deal from you over the years, young man. Jeeves, stop staring at my dog!”

Jeeves shook himself, and was once more the old retainer. “I apologize, madam.”

“Jeeves, why don’t you rustle up the comestibles? I can serve the tea.”

“Very good, sir,” he said, and drifted off. As he went through the kitchen door, he shot a look back at McIntosh.

“Bertie, you must get rid of Jeeves.”

Ah, now we were back on familiar territory. “Now, my dearest aunt, you know I couldn’t survive a day without Jeeves. Cream?”

Our visit resumed its usual contours. To whit: the aged relation launched into a lengthy monologue about my failings, idleness, and need for a woman to guide me. To which I responded with small cries of “I say!” and “Dash it!” However, my mind was elsewhere. How were we to survive luncheon with Jeeves and McIntosh in the same suite? Surely I could count on Jeeves to behave. If nothing else, Jeeves was a very good boy. I girded my loins and waited patiently while my aunt deplored my taste in music and books.

We were called in to dine. The table was, as always, beautifully set. Aunt Agatha kept McIntosh in her lap, feeding him bits of bread. Jeeves brought in the soup without incident. But then, as he brought in the veal, I could tell that he was quivering. “No,” I mouthed. He set down the plates with an unsteady hand. I shooed him back to the kitchen. Fortunately Aunt Agatha was too busy shoving in the comestibles to notice my manservant’s behavior.

It was when Jeeves returned with the wine that was I was dreading happened. The aged a. was about to give her dog a tasty piece of veal. Before I quite registered what was happening, Jeeves snatched it and popped it into his mouth.

“Jeeves--!” Aunt Agatha gasped.

Jeeves stared down at her with an expression I didn’t like the look of. “Mine,” he said with the undertone of a growl. “This place is mine.” McIntosh responded with a growl and snapped at Jeeves! Jeeves reached for the little fellow—I closed my eyes—

Only to open them when there was the most tremendous crash of china and glass.

“BERTIE!” my aunt squalled.

Jeeves was chasing McIntosh around the sitting room! He had the advantage of long arms and opposable thumbs, but McIntosh had the advantage of being small enough to duck under the chesterfield where Jeeves couldn’t reach. Jeeves went down on his stomach, trying to reach the dog.

“Come out and fight!” Jeeves demanded. “I’ll show you!”

“JEEVES!” I shrieked. “JEEVES! BAD VALET! BAD BAD VALET!”

Jeeves was too intent on his prey to notice me. I heard a squeak under the chesterfield. Jeeves snatched his hand out. There was a bloody bite on the heel of his thumb.

Aunt Agatha sat frozen at the table, speechless for a change. Suddenly, she rose like an avenging angel, grabbed an issue of Punch, rolled it up and smacked Jeeves on the back with it. “Jeeves!” she yelled. “Stop that at once! Have you gone mad? Bertie, Jeeves has gone mad!”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Jeeves was instantly diverted, charging the door with cries of “Who’s there! Who’s there! Who’s there!”

The door opened hesitantly, and Barmy stuck his head in. I was never so glad to see anyone in all of my born days.

“Bertie, did I interrupt something?” Barmy asked. “I heard shouting when I got off the lift.”

I grabbed the idiot by the shoulders. “This is all your fault,” I ground out. “Jeeves is a Labrador retriever!”

Barmy’s eyes lit up, and the blighter grinned! “Bertie! I did it! I hypnotized Jeeves! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were in bloody France! Now unhypnotize him!”

Aunt Agatha had retrieved McIntosh, clutching him to her capacious bosom. “What are you blathering about?”

“Barmy hypnotized Jeeves into thinking he’s a Labrador retriever, Aunt Agatha. Hence the odd behavior. Barmy, undo this mess at once!”

“I say, can I see him being a dog? Throw a stick?” Barmy asked wistfully.

“No!”

“Dash it.”

“Jeeves, come here,” I ordered. Jeeves flowed over, still glaring at McIntosh.  “Jeeves, Barmy here is going to do some hypnotic things.”

“Sir?” Jeeves asked cautiously.

“Jeeves, be a good valet and I’ll take you for a nice long walk,” I said, hoping against hope it would work.

Jeeves inclined the head. “Very good, sir.”

Barmy pulled his watch out of his pocket and swung it in front of Jeeves. It seemed to take forever, Barmy swinging the watch and telling Jeeves to go to sleep. Eventually Jeeves started to get muzzy.

“Jeeves,” Barmy said, “you are no longer a Labrador retriever. You are Jeeves, valet to Bertie Wooster. You are Jeeves.” He lowered the watch. “Jeeves?”

“Sir?” Jeeves shook himself. “Do you desire anything, sir?”

“Let me,” I said to Barmy. It was the work of a moment to return to the dining table, which was now a shambles, and pick a large piece of veal out of the serving dish. I returned holding it, and held it out toward my erstwhile Labrador retriever. “Jeeves,” I said, “would you like a nice piece of veal? Barmy wants to see you beg.”

Jeeves’s face registered disbelief. “Why are you offering me that, sir?”

“Because you like it, Jeeves.”

One eyebrow went up. “I hope I am never in a position to eat a piece of meat out of a gentleman’s fingers, sir.”

“Jeeves! You’re back!” I wanted to give him a manly hug but restrained myself.

“I have not gone anywhere, sir.”

“Barmy, you did it!” I dropped the veal on the floor, giving Barmy a hard pat on the back! “Thanks, old man! I couldn’t have stood it a minute longer. Aunt Agatha, you see that there’s a perfectly good explanation...Aunt Agatha?”

Aunt Agatha stood ramrod straight. McIntosh was on the floor, gobbling down the veal. She had a strange expression on her face—actually, a strange lack of expression. A shudder went down my spine.

“Do you desire anything else, sir?” she asked.

Oh, no.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

That ending though!! :o
BAHAHAHAHAA
I love it. This is the cutest thing!

[cuddyclothes]

Thank you!

[(Anonymous)]

Great! 😆👍