| Here is an excerpt from the much-anticipated sequel to Lawrence M. Schoen's Buffalito Destiny. |
| HADLEY RILLE BOOKS |
Reggie must have heard the squish of the key and started to yowl. Svetlana and I entered the
suit's parlor to the accompaniment of my buffalo dog crying out like a toy siren. He was
nowhere in sight. The sound came from beyond the bedroom, from the obsidian alcoves I'd
come to think of as the suite's bathroom. Something in that wail signaled more than minor
discomfort over a lumpy pillow or annoyance that he'd eaten all of the treats I'd left out for
him. I heard real distress and I instantly forgot all about my presumed groupie. I bolted into
the bedroom and the sanitation complex beyond. That's when I found Reggie in the toilet.
Only, it wasn't quite a toilet. The area opening off the bedroom consisted of a series of
alcoves scooped from a wall of black, polished stone. A mosaic on the floor made up of
equal parts marble and chrome described gleaming swirls around a trio of colossal,
half-melted, porcelain and bronze devices. They glistened with graceful curves and an
excess of shiny protuberances and burnished fixtures as if advertising the existence of a
plumbers' heaven. When I first checked in and the bell captain showed me the sanitation
alcove, the differences among the three devices had made me think of the kind of bathroom
Goldilocks might have stumbled upon, assuming that the bears Goldilocks hung out with
were actually the oversized saurian aliens that this particular suite had been intended for.
Reggie was stuck in what I'd come to think of as the 'baby bear' throne; a commode-like
device with levers, foot pedals, and what looked suspiciously like a parking brake, and the
only one of the three apparati that came even closes to accomodating a human-sized user.
The top of my buffalo dog's head stuck out above the immense porcelain rim. His normally
springy ringlets of hair lay soaked and plastered flat, defining the shape of his skull. The
moment Reggie's big, soulful eyes locked onto mine, he upgraded his yowl to a series of
accusatory barks, blaming me for his current predicament.
The rim of the bowl caught me just above waist high; roughly circular, it had a diameter of
nearly a meter. I leaned in and peered down into the toilet to assess the situation. Most of
Reggie's torso lay underwater, and his hind legs had disappeared into the narrow aperture at
the bottom that curved out of sight like the tail end of a reverse suction cornucopia. His
forelegs splashed just above the waterline, as his front paws scrambled frantically for
purchase on the bowl's nearly frictionless surface interior.
suit's parlor to the accompaniment of my buffalo dog crying out like a toy siren. He was
nowhere in sight. The sound came from beyond the bedroom, from the obsidian alcoves I'd
come to think of as the suite's bathroom. Something in that wail signaled more than minor
discomfort over a lumpy pillow or annoyance that he'd eaten all of the treats I'd left out for
him. I heard real distress and I instantly forgot all about my presumed groupie. I bolted into
the bedroom and the sanitation complex beyond. That's when I found Reggie in the toilet.
Only, it wasn't quite a toilet. The area opening off the bedroom consisted of a series of
alcoves scooped from a wall of black, polished stone. A mosaic on the floor made up of
equal parts marble and chrome described gleaming swirls around a trio of colossal,
half-melted, porcelain and bronze devices. They glistened with graceful curves and an
excess of shiny protuberances and burnished fixtures as if advertising the existence of a
plumbers' heaven. When I first checked in and the bell captain showed me the sanitation
alcove, the differences among the three devices had made me think of the kind of bathroom
Goldilocks might have stumbled upon, assuming that the bears Goldilocks hung out with
were actually the oversized saurian aliens that this particular suite had been intended for.
Reggie was stuck in what I'd come to think of as the 'baby bear' throne; a commode-like
device with levers, foot pedals, and what looked suspiciously like a parking brake, and the
only one of the three apparati that came even closes to accomodating a human-sized user.
The top of my buffalo dog's head stuck out above the immense porcelain rim. His normally
springy ringlets of hair lay soaked and plastered flat, defining the shape of his skull. The
moment Reggie's big, soulful eyes locked onto mine, he upgraded his yowl to a series of
accusatory barks, blaming me for his current predicament.
The rim of the bowl caught me just above waist high; roughly circular, it had a diameter of
nearly a meter. I leaned in and peered down into the toilet to assess the situation. Most of
Reggie's torso lay underwater, and his hind legs had disappeared into the narrow aperture at
the bottom that curved out of sight like the tail end of a reverse suction cornucopia. His
forelegs splashed just above the waterline, as his front paws scrambled frantically for
purchase on the bowl's nearly frictionless surface interior.