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Whiskey. Before I had my first taste in the sunset years of college, I'd never really seen myself as someone who would enjoy alcohol. Cheap beer was too bitter, microbrews too kitschy, wine too expensive, and vodka too strong. Nothing really wet my whistle until I met the love of my life: Frelly Nurnbocker.

Admittedly it was an arranged relationship since my mother introduced me to him on a hot summer's day when I'd come home to visit, but I was nonetheless won over by the long-dead wolf's southern charms. He was always there for me, to soothe me after those difficult days when I needed it most, and today was certainly one that could be made better with a little alcohol.

Even after I'd played bad cop with Pyle, the buck still had the nerve to turn in his eval 15 minutes late. It was a complete joke, with every review being the exact same gleaming report I knew was complete bullshit. I imagine he brushed it off all day and finally got around to it with ten minutes to spare, throwing it together to show his lack of respect, laziness, or to piss me off. Probably all three, knowing that asshat.

Frelly's magic brew sat cradled in my arms as I sprawled across the porch swing. With a practiced motion I popped the top off of the fresh bottle to give the open end a hello kiss. He returned the favor with a savory brown river flowing over my waiting tongue, making its way down my gullet smooth as glass. A satisfied sigh left me as I returned the bottle to my lap, basking in the pleasant afterglow of flavor.

Jesus Christ, why don't you just put a ring on that thing already and change your last name to Nurnbocker?

Is it such a crime to take pleasure from a stiff drink?

With the way you're talking it sounds like you've got a whiskey fetish.

Do not! I just...really like the way he-IT takes the edge off. And how it tastes. The subtlety of the wood flavoring mixing with the spicy mash, served ice cold...mmhmm...

I wonder what your sisters are doing right now. Probably being responsible mothers and wives by making dinner for their families, ensuring the safety and health of their children, and maintaining their relationships with their husbands. Meanwhile, your sorry ass is sitting here having sexual fantasies about a glass bottle. Maybe you should take a few notes from that rabbit family across the way; at least they seem to have their shit together.

My eyes moved to the house across the street, with its spotless red siding, white trim, pruned bushes, and expertly mowed lawn. There were a few little bunnies scampering around the yard, far too involved with their little game to notice me or the watchful eye of Mrs. Hansen. Her eyes intently followed their every move, poised to jump in the moment she heard one of her babies was in trouble. One of them was sitting in her arms, probably no older than a year, also watching its kin with curiosity.

So what's your point? That I'm a terrible person because I drink and smoke instead of popping out a litter of kittens to raise?

No. My point is, it takes maturity and discipline to create a family, two qualities you obviously lack. Let me put it this way: if it weren't for your siblings, I'd be worried about the Futzler bloodline drying up in the tobacco-reeking ditch that is you.

Hey, maybe I just don't want kids right now. I'm fine as I am. Let Charlene and Carie enjoy their little balls of boogers and energy, I'll just keep to the quiet life thank you.

Really? I could've sworn you were moping just this morning about how you hated your current routine, how you're a total waste compared to them. You've used that same excuse for years now, Kelly. At this rate, you'll be giving rain checks until you've got a foot in the grave; hell, Sam and Rodney will probably adopt a kitten before your picky ass settles down.

Between an idle swig of Frelly's brew and my internal bickering, the tall eared head of Mr. Hansen had poked around the screen door. I couldn't quite make out what he said, but I assumed he was calling the family in for dinner. His wife held the door open and the four bunnies walked through single-file, with the couple sharing a brief kiss before following their offspring into the house.

The dining area was located in the front of the house, easily visible through their expansive bay window from where I was sitting. Mr. Hansen set the table and took his seat at the head, with the rest of the family occupying the remaining chairs. They bowed their heads and clasped their paws together in prayer, a sight reminiscent of the Thanksgivings and Christmases from my childhood.

Soon the six brown heads lifted and arms quickly reached forth for their bountiful feast. Between the gentle smiles and inaudible conversations, they all just seemed so...content to simply be with each other. Even from my peeping distance I could feel the warmth radiating from the room, and I couldn't help wanting to be a part of it, to be able to wrap myself up with the warm fuzzies of a family I had a paw in creating.

But, my buzzed brain reasoned, I already know someone who can give me those fuzzies, and I don't even gotta have kids with 'im to do it.

With a grin spread across my muzzle I stared into the ink printed eyes of Frellard Nurnbocker IV, once more bringing the business end of the bottle to my lips. I closed my eyes, ready for the big finishing flood of whiskey...

...only to be greeted with the final drop lazily rolling onto my tongue, not even enough to swallow. I backed off of him, and was disappointingly greeted by clear glass.

Heh, looks like your friend there finished prematurely.

That may be so, buuuut I'm still satisfied, soooo therrrrrre fucker.

Buuuut YOU also have work tomorrow, dumbass.

Shit.