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Two weeks ago, Rhombeck, the leader of the Talbot City wolfpack and CEO of the pack’s corporation, said that he wanted to give up his position because Susan, his human administrative assistant, is pregnant.
Rhombeck thinks his cousin (and our wereduck hero Tom’s adopted brother) Bryan would make a good choice to take over.
Susan and Tom still think he’s being hasty about quitting:
“If I don’t step down, they’ll put me down—it’s possible they won’t wait for an official challenge,” Rhombeck told her, “and there’s no question that they’ll come after you to get to me; I can’t risk that.”
“Who’re they?” I asked.
Rhombeck held up fingers, one by one. “People who hate my family, or humans, or the corporation, or me.”
“Disgruntled ex-girlfriends,” Susan said.
Opportunists, specieists, rabble rousers, traditionalists, competitors,” Rhombeck said, ignoring her. “Take your choice.”
“I don’t suppose artificial insemination would be an acceptable solution?” I asked. “I can think of eight or nine ladies who would love to be your purebred puppymama.”
Susan snorted and raised her eyebrow at Rhombeck.
Maybe I went too far. Did I go too far?