Lion Head Mesa with the warmth of the sun

the little man heard a record scratch, and it was his own brain grinding to a halt.

marry?!

"o-oh. no." he was stunned, head lightly shaking. one paw raised, then it lowered, and the other did the same, as if his limbs had just learned to do so. "ah don- a-a-ah mean, ah m fond o' 'er, she's diviiiintelligent! but she ain't no- she's naw--" his mouth opened and closed.

he was speechless.

this lasted a moment.

"um, ehm, a-ah mean," the neb laughed a little, and adjusted his collar with a paw. "lis'en, your grace, your perfection- 'nless ahm th' one bein' proposed to, or if your th' one arranging matters, ah prefer t' nawt be so forward. so," he exhaled. "if ah've your permission', les' jest leave it at mesh-kuh-net fer now, n if she don't punt me off the mesa in a coupl'a months, we'll see if the... other option's viable."

in his mind he was calculating; how many wives per square inch of himself is he permitted to have?