Twenty minutes outside town, where silent woods mark the edges of duly kept farms, a badger finds joy in the return of a long-awaited lover.

Today’s story is “One Seat Empty” by DukeFerret, a queer romance and sports fiction writer who uploads short stories monthly on his furry social media accounts. One may follow his work by the Twitter handle @dookinduke, or the username DukeFerret on Fur Affinity and SoFurry.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

You’re listening to The Voice of Dog. I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is

“One Seat Empty” by DukeFerret,

a queer romance and sports fiction writer

who uploads short stories monthly on his furry social media accounts.

One may follow his work by the Twitter handle @dookinduke,

or the username DukeFerret

on Fur Affinity and SoFurry.

“One Seat Empty”

by DukeFerret My arm was numb when I woke up this morning.

I was sleeping awkwardly on my side,

legs spread diagonally across the mattress and my right arm draped over the other pillow.

I opened my eyes to find the thawing sun filtering through the blinds,

tracing long stripes of white through the scraggly grey bedroom carpet.

I sat up and stretched my arm,

contracting the bicep and wiggling the paw, working sensation back into the limb.

I met it with my other paw and rose them above my head before I shot open my muzzle and shook the world with a gargantuan yawn.

My knees twinged as I dropped out of bed.

I scoured around for my slippers until I spotted the fluffy pink pair at the closet door.

Arthur loved to make fun of them,

teasing how they clashed with my modest burgundy bedrobe.

I shamelessly put on the offending items and shuffled my way to the mirror.

Muzzle—still black-and-white.

Always had to check these days, just to make sure my eyes weren’t going.

I slipped the robe over my bare chest and tied it up front,

before raking a claw through my dark headfur to give it that

combed-back look.

Arthur called it my

“50s bad boy style”,

like I was one of those deep-voiced badgers singing rock ‘n’ roll and picking up ladies like groceries.

I guess I had one thing in common with my parents’ lifestyle after all.

The grey carpet

led me out into the hallway, where I followed it down the stairs as it gave way to the front door,

parallel to the wider expanse of the kitchen.

The great pilgrimage from bed took me straight to the holy coffee machine.

I set it to brew for the usual amount,

which seemed to rise steadily at this point, like a lapse in my

—not to gloat—practiced self-discipline.

With the coffee on, I strolled over to the calendar beside the curtained backyard door.

There was never much to do in October.

Week stretched over week in our little hollow,

counted out in cars pulling into my shop before they made their way back to the

town by the bay. Though,

if you wanted to get here on foot, it wasn’t hard:

just climb the nearest mountain range by the airport,

walk along twelve miles of sparsely-paved road,

cut through some farmland, and you’d soon enough find yourself at this stodgy roadstop.

There was something in this month, though,

occurring every year,

right around the time the first leaves fell.

I slid my eyes from the circled date

and left to put on breakfast.

I always loved mornings, but I wasn’t really a breakfast guy.

I looked at those fancy rich guy hotel breakfasts the same way I saw a slice of toast. Something about the morning just made everything taste like laundry.

I remember one time before we got engaged,

Arthur took me down a ski resort up north.

He got me some kind of mixed fruit tray to go along with my toast and eggs during the first morning.

I pretended like it was a breakthrough just to see the look on his broad reptilian face:

wide-eyed, with a rare, childlike excitement over his normally cool, self-confident appearance.

I wanted him to think he finally solved ol’ Gord.

My right paw met my left,

and I found myself fiddling with my ring.

He might’ve been putting it on, too, though.

Arthur always told me

that was part of what made me sweet:

the sacrifices, large and small.

I might’ve been the more

outwardly emotional one,

but he was the poet,

with the ability to put these feelings back into words.

The pop of the toaster poked me back in the moment.

It took me a minute to butter it before I crammed it into my mouth.

Then someone knocked on the door

in three quick raps.

The butter dripped into my muzzle fur as I rushed to finish off the last bite.

A panicked glance at my parents’ old grandfather clock

—it broke a few years ago.

They offered it to me if I could repair it, and I stuck it in the kitchen. Eight

-thirty was hardly an hour to poke a badger,

but I scrambled to the counter

to grab anything to wipe through my fur with.

Another three knocks.

“Be right there!” I growled, rushing around.

As I shuffled my way through the hallway in my dumb slippers, adjusting my robe to make sure I didn’t have any funny bits peeking out,

three more knocks banged the door.

I was about to object louder until I glimpsed a turquoise shape behind the front door’s frosted glass window.

Then I practically ripped the door off of its hinges.

There, a slim lizard stood in his usual orange coat,

wearing a shrewd grin and holding out a palm of pink flowers

behind the netted screen door.

“Happy anniversary!”

he announced in that

rich, gravelly voice of his,

eyelids narrowing affectionately over yellow scleras.

I was already crushing him in a hug.

“Oh my god, Art. Fuck you.”

His arms slid into place under mine,

breath raspy as we clung to each other.

“Eugh. I got you some, uh—”

he rubbed my back, so I loosened my grip and leaned back enough to look him in the eye.

“I went...scavenging...a bit,

and I picked you some peonies.

I thought they looked delightful in dew.”

I pressed my muzzle to his and closed my eyes,

savouring the moment

as if his mouth were an oasis under a hot desert sun.

He held the kiss,

if softer, before we broke apart

and I pulled him inside.

As he walked past me, I took one last close look outside,

scouring for his tracks and finding nothing obvious.

I let the screen door swing shut

as I turned back to him.

“Ah,” I hesitated, scanning up and down his worn,

dirt-stained clothes to his scuffed black shoes,

“I can vacuum after.

You just sit down in the kitchen and I’ll get you warmed up.”

His analytical look

turned into a compassionate nod.

As he strode along, I turned to close the wood door,

setting the lock as it pressed shut.

I ambled my way down the hallway behind him, quickly checking my muzzle in the mirror,

when the coffee machine beeped.

By the time I made it to the kitchen,

Arthur was seated in the far chair of the dining table, spinning the peonies between his fingers.

“I figured you’d already have some flowers on the table.”

He inclined his head to the kitchen counter ahead.

“New coffee machine, though?”

“Yup, got it a month ago.”

I made a beeline for the cabinets,

fishing out the first jar available and setting it under the tap.

“Old one was acting up.

Probably could’ve fixed it myself, but I figured it was ancient anyway,

and I wanted to give ourselves a little treat.”

With the jar filled halfway, I made my way to the table and set it down so he could put the flowers in.

“I wonder if that means we’re old

—already getting excited for new appliances, huh?”

His scoff made me smile wider than I ever could’ve expected.

“You want coffee?” I asked,

drifting back to the machine.

I was already grabbing two mugs and aligning them side-by

-side as he mumbled agreement.

I might as well have darted through a wall before pouring our drinks and measuring out careful spoonfuls of sugar over his trademark

“World’s Best Dad”

mug (we didn’t have any kids, he just thought it was funny).

When I finished, I carried both to the table and delicately set them down, taking the seat closest to Arthur.

His slitted black irises glimmered.

“You brewed all that for yourself?”

His hand felt cold when he found my paw and squeezed it.

“No wonder you’re getting fat.

fat.” “I—hey!” I clung to his hand like it was some kind of

long, romantic handshake.

“It was subconscious, or something.

I knew you’d drop by...

by...in my heart...” I uttered,

wearing a playfully wistful look.

Arthur steadily rose the mug to his mouth

and blew through the faint steam rising over the lip.

He was holding it a little weird though,

and it took the slight twist of his wrist

in his first tentative sip

before I felt the fur on my arm mat down.

“Wait, hun, you’re bleeding.”

He swallowed gingerly,

then set the mug down with a sigh.

“Damn it. I was wondering if I could hide it.

It’s not that bad, really.”

He surrendered his other hand to me

as I brought both paws to cradle it.

A shallow gash ran diagonally through his scales.

It really wasn’t that bad,

but I missed fussing over him.

“Here, let me—” “No,

wait.” His eyes lost their mischief for a split second.

“If they caught me with anything…”

his glance flicked away,

“they wouldn’t do anything to me,

but if they had evidence you helped…” “Mmm,

yeah.” I rose anyway after an extra sip.

“But if you got your dumb blood on the table, they could just use that.”

“Fine,” he grunted with some frigidity

before it quickly faded. “Heh.

I can’t imagine you getting caught and still climbing out with me.

At least not as long as you drink four cups per morning!”

I strode to the linen closet outside of the kitchen and scoured for something I didn’t mind staining.

I pored through that statement

as I picked a suitable towel.

When I got back to the kitchen,

I tossed it to him underhand.

“You climbed out again?

That how you fucked up your hand?”

Arthur scooped it up and shrugged.

“Yeah. Wasn’t my best work.

It’s always the barbed wire that’ll getcha.”

His smile grew into an infectious toothy grin.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how barbed wire works!”

His grin turned into a pompous smirk.

“Didn’t work well enough this time.”

I made my way back to the chair beside him as he took another sip.

“It never does, huh?”

He set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the cloth.

“Well, they shouldn’t’ve built a fence if they didn’t want me to climb it!” “Mmm.

Can’t keep my husband under control.”

My phone started buzzing from the counter behind me,

halting our banter as

Arthur’s gaze drifted over my shoulder.

I sauntered to the phone before leaning over the counter and peeking at a number

I recognized—I answered it like I didn’t.

“Hello! This is Flynn’s Auto—”

“Gord, you have your radio on?”

a gruff voice cut in.

“No, I don’t have any replacements on me, though I can check in the shop.”

He ignored me. “Three inmates broke out earlier.

I’m calling to let you know.

Keep your eyes peeled for outfits from our prison.”

He paused, and a low growl entered his voice.

“One of them’s the lizard.”

My fur bristled along my arm, which I scratched at nonchalantly.

“That’s terrible.”

I met Arthur’s eyes across the room,

which flicked down to the table

and back up to me before they hid behind the mug up to his mouth.

“I’ll keep an eye out for ‘em. I,

uh...how’s Mom’s wrist doing?”

“We didn’t see ‘em leave, but they were missing from their bunks this morning.

No clue if they crossed the creek.”

He trailed off before his voice lost some of his guardedness.

“Oh, Hilda’s doing good.

Only got four weeks left in the cast.” “Oh, that’s great!

Tell her I love her when you get home.” “Mmm.

Sure.” Silence hung between us.

I gazed over a neatly sitting Arthur, cozy in his chair,

watching me carefully,

contemplative. I closed my eyes as a wave of emotion gripped me.

“I love you, Dad,” I said,

gripping the phone like a thirty-pound weight.

“I love both of you.”

In the returning silence, I caught an expletive growled away from the phone speaker.

His voice returned as a growl.

“I love you too, Gord,”

he rehearsed. “We’re coming over.”

I clicked off the phone and dropped it flat on the counter.

I studied my reflection in the black screen,

peering through the sharply contrasting fur of my striped muzzle,

locked tight behind the disappointment gripping it.

I trudged back to the table and sat down,

trying to keep my face even as I turned it to Arthur.

“So, what do you wanna do?” “Mmm,

not much we have time for,”

he mused, setting his drink down and tapping the table with his long fingers.

“I’d love to head into town, stop by some brunch buffet, maybe go out shopping and

buy something to replace this heinous jumpsuit,”

he muttered, picking at the orange fabric on his chest.

“Aha, I’d love to!

Next time I’m down there I could grab something for the drawer,”

I enunciated all nefariously,

like I always did talking about my stash of Christmas and birthday gifts for him each year.

His gaze softened.

He stood up and nudged the chair back.

In an instant, he slid onto my lap, wrapping his uninjured hand around my neck and leaning in close.

We silently met each other’s eyes before his mouth edged forward

and pressed against my muzzle,

holding me in a kiss as I clung to him.

After a moment, we broke away

and stared at each other.

“Six more years,” I groaned.

Arthur’s mystical black eyes flicked away,

measuring a thought, before focusing back on me.

“As I was frolicking about through Mr. Miville’s farm,

finding my way here…”

He looked the other way at the curtain masking light from the backyard door

before his slithery voice returned.

“I was thinking about how nice of a place we chose to buy a home.”

I watched him thoughtfully,

cherishing his presence.

He shifted his head back to me and spoke with the elegance of a poet.

“The orange-dyed trees,

the rickety wooden fences,

the golden seas of wheat

stretching over hills of rising sunlight...”

The corners of his mouth curved into a familiar smile.

“It’s a shame we’ll be leaving it all soon.”

I pressed my paw into his back and closed my eyes.

“I broke out of there with Kenneth and Varden today.

We split off to cover Ken’s trail.

His daughter’s waiting at the eastern border,

and all bets are off if he crosses near the sea.”

When I opened my eyes,

I saw that passionate glimmer return to his.

“He never killed anyone.

We’re gonna free him, Gordy.

They aren’t gonna catch him.

He didn’t do shit.

And I didn’t do anything, either.”

His arm tightened around me as he rubbed my back with his fingers.

We stayed like that,

free in a moment together.

Right up until the turn of the hour.

The dull, repetitive droning of the grandfather clock’s chimes

sounded through the kitchen,

shaking us out of our hug.

He stepped off of my lap,

then held out a hand for me to stand.

“Your dad,” Arthur muttered,

“if he finds me here…”

he shook his head, then transfixed me with a serious look.

“Thanks for the coffee, hun.

If anyone smells my scent here, just say I held you at knifepoint.”

I smirked. “Noted. I’m sure you would, had I given you the chance.”

He nodded. “They wouldn’t do shit about me.

I can escape as much as I want in this town. If they wanted to stop me, they’d try harder.”

He removed the cloth, inspecting the cut again.

“I know your dad, and I know what he’d do.

But he knows me too.”

My glance shifted to the pink flowers

peeking out of the makeshift vase, just beyond his side.

Escaping never worsened a sentence, much to the prison’s detriment.

I found myself chuckling.

“Never change, Art.”

He dropped the towel on the table and stepped to the backyard door as I followed him.

His eyes slid up to me, suddenly glistening with the warning of tears.

“You too, Gord,” he said, quietly.

“Hang in there.”

We met in another tight hug,

leaning on each other’s shoulders.

I sniffed slowly at him,

taking in his scent,

relishing it with the knowledge

that it’d soon be leaving.

The jumpsuit felt rough in my paws,

though I felt his strong back muscles through the fabric;

the same set I’d been watching him work on since high school.

Arthur cleared his throat,

then sighed. “I’ll make it out of there for good some day,”

he whispered against my ear,

“and we’re gonna move somewhere.

It’ll be a while,

but it won’t be forever.

I’m gonna go free.

But more importantly,”

he breathed out slowly,

rustling the fur on my neck,

“I’m gonna free you, Gordy. I’m gonna free you too.”

We slid our heads back to connect our mouths.

In the kiss, his hands combed through the fluff of my robe.

As we broke apart,

he wiped his eyes with his sleeve,

pulling aside the curtain with his other hand.

He unlocked the door

to the rush of a breeze,

then glanced back at me before his first step back into the wild.

“Love you.” I swallowed.

“Love you too. And thanks for the flowers.”

He gave one more smile, then stepped out the door.

He turned, grasping the handle like he was about to close the door and walk away,

until he stopped and peered back.

“By the way,” he declared,

“your slippers are still dumb.”

The door flew shut as he sprinted down the porch.

He glanced back quickly,

waved with his good hand,

raced across the yard before ducking into the forest behind our house.

Our house. I smiled.

He made me feel like ripping my fur out, some days;

on others, I would run across the continent for him.

I felt the age creeping into my bones on occasion,

yet a young spirit deep within me,

like the time lost to our arrangement

kept us from ever growing tired of each other.

I’m sure he grew tired of sleeping on single-inch mattresses for the past half-decade.

I stood at the door for a while and just watched the soothing sway of the trees,

imagining Arthur retreating back to the house with some freshly picked flowers. Leaves

fell occasionally, drifting down onto grass I hardly maintained.

Sure, I’d hire someone every once in a while, but I couldn’t do all that work on my own.

It made me think of him,

and how lonely it could feel.

I still thought about the empty pillow,

and the ski resort breakfasts,

and the classes we used to snore through together.

With a shake of my head, I wrapped my paws around the edges of the curtains and closed them.

Strolling to the doorway of the kitchen,

I flicked the ceiling lights on instead,

before walking back to the table and draining my mug,

staring down at Arthur’s half-finished drink.

I was mindful of cleaning that up,

washing our glasses and placing them back exactly where they were,

grabbing his discarded rag and depositing it into the washing machine a couple rooms down.

As I finished up and crept halfway up the stairs to get dressed,

three knocks pounded on the door.

My brisk walk to answer it slowed as I

recognized black-and-white fur obscured through frosted glass.

I unlocked the door and cracked it open.

On the other side was a stocky badger in a brown leather jacket and ludicrous sheriff’s hat.

There was a police car behind him,

pulled up on the pavement, with two other cops: a bear I recognized,

and a horse I didn’t.

I knew this was coming,

but my mouth went dry.

“Hey, son,” Dad grunted in his brusque voice.

He’d been getting shorter with age,

though he still stood a couple inches over me.

I slid open the screen door and met him face-to

-face. “Hey, Dad.” His brown eyes studied my robe.

“You...just get out of bed?” “Uh,

yeah...slept in a bit.”

I glanced toward some incoming clouds.

“Hard to get up on weekends, y’know?” “Mmm.

Not for church.” His face betrayed no emotion.

“We scouted the area.

Saw some footsteps heading north from your house.”

One of his eyebrows raised.

“Did any suspicious customers happen to show up here this morning?” “Hm? What?

No, I—” I stopped for a second as an idea hit me.

“Oh, I was out in the forest last night;

I was trying to see the stars.

You know which planets were overhead last night?”

A frown pulled at the corners of his muzzle.

“Dangerous time to go out.

You dunno what’s out there this time of year.”

I didn’t really know what to say,

so I shrugged idly.

“You sure you didn’t see anyone?

Stan Miville said he thought he saw a pair creepin’ through his farm this morning.”

He knew what was up.

My heart thumped through my ribs.

“Nah,” I answered, forcing my voice to stay even and my fur to stay down,

“don’t you think they would’ve broken off away from town?

Doesn’t make a whole lotta sense to snoop around here

—especially if they know I’ve got you on speed dial.”

His dull look didn’t change.

“Why would they know that?”

I opened my muzzle.

No sound came out.

I tapped my paws against each other as I looked to his car. “Mmm...

“Mmm...no reason, right?” he grumbled.

“I—uh…” Suddenly, he cracked a rare smile. “Nah, I know whatcha mean.

I’m just teasin’ ya.”

His arms spread wide,

unexpectedly beckoning me in.

“Love ya, son.” I hesitated for a moment before tiptoeing into the hug.

His beefy arms slid under mine, clutching me firmly while I squinted over his shoulder at the bear and horse,

who stared back at me and whispered to each other.

When I was ready to break away, he held the hug for another moment,

prodding his muzzle against my...

My ears flicked in panic.

He took a deep, laborious sniff into the shoulder of my robe.

He let go, quickly,

and turned away from me in an instant.

I stood there, frozen,

as he trotted down the steps,

tail flicking back and forth.

“Nope. No one around here, fellas,”

he declared firmly to the other officers.

He waltzed all the way to the front of the car,

pulling open the door and climbing into the driver’s seat without sparing me a glance.

The other two cops followed him,

though the bear gave me a casual wave before he ducked into the car.

In an instant, the car was moving, turning around on the driveway, receding to where the pavement intersected with the rugged asphalt road.

I breathed in, slowly,

then twisted away and trampled back into the house.

In a quick moment, I was back indoors,

away from the whirling breeze,

detecting utter silence except for the ticking of the clock in the kitchen.

I followed the sound, absent-mindedly,

until I was standing there in the doorway with the faint scent of Arthur.

My stride continued to the table,

where I crept around to his chair, still pulled out,

away from the others.

I sat down where he did,

just waiting, staring across the kitchen, until the jar of peonies caught my eye.

Through the blankness of thought,

I leaned forward to pick up the jar

and sit back again.

My paw toyed at one of the flowers,

until I picked it out to inspect it closely.

A wave of brilliant,

frilly pink petals rose from its densely-leaved stem,

protecting the stamens in the middle.

For the first time,

I noticed its scent over Arthur’s:

faint, but sweet. I closed my eyes,

imagining Arthur

crouching on someone’s lawn at the crack of daylight,

dirtying the shins of his jumpsuit,

then finding himself distracted by the hues of the sunrise,

composing poetry in his head.

I imagined him, utterly indifferent to his own injury,

strolling calmly through the forest near my house,

knowing that he’d make it in time to see me...

me...knowing that he’d have paved the way for someone else’s escape.

I thought about him sitting where I sat,

teasing me as he did,

satisfied with the simple idea

that he outsmarted the system again,

surprising me at my home before I could even think to drive down to the prison to greet him.

But for now, I was alone with the ticking of the grandfather clock.

I twisted the peony in my paw

and took one last whiff before I let it slip back into the vase.

This was “One Seat Empty”

by DukeFerret, read for you by Khaki,

your faithful fireside companion.

You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog.