September 10, 1885
Seathl:

        “I don’t like this one little bit, Greg.”
        At the Alaskan Husky’s words the Rain Coast canine looked up at him crossly.  “Dammit, Natuk, you think I like it any better?  We’ve been independent three months, we’ve resumed trading with Canada and they still haven’t sent the Army after us.”  The President of the Republic (unwilling, but voted in by acclamation) smoothed his light brown headfur back and sighed.
        Realization of the daunting task ahead of them had driven three members of the Assembly to resign the day after the declaration of independence.  With the help of the others, though, the Rain Coast was slowly getting on its feet.  A constitution was being drafted.
        A rather astounding document that was guaranteed to ruffle some feathers and pelts.
        Natuk, recently appointed the envoy to Rain Coast by a federation of the Alaskan cantons, straightened his vest and sat down, crossing his legs casually.  “If anything happens, you know you have our support, Greg.”
        “Yes, and New Haven’s,” Montgomery said.
        The Husky nodded.  “Apart from that try by the British Columbia police back in August there’s been no sign that Canada’s trying to get you.  Do you still have the border closed?”
        “We reopened at a few points,” the President replied.  “The good thing about being independent is we can set trade policies.  A lot of the towns across the straits need our business – and we need theirs, too.  So, business is going well at any rate, and there’re some agreements with a company down in San Francisco and another in Portland.”  He smiled gamely.  “We’ll manage, so long as Canada doesn’t make a real effort.”


Ottawa, Canada:

        “I’m sorry, Prime Minister,” the colonel said, “but we have no force in the area large enough capable of suppressing this latest rebellion.  Although we caught Riel, the Army troops, police and militia are still chasing his followers.”
        Sir John MacDonald sighed wearily and motioned the officer to leave.  Ever since ex-Governor Hanrattie had come back to Ottawa Parliament had been listening to his calls for an armed response to the Rain Coast problem.
        Followed by hanging parties the length and breadth of the province, the fox understood.
        Well, Hanrattie had been pacified by placing him in a quiet office job where he could retire in peace.  What to do about his previous residence was another matter.


September 18
Washington, DC
United States of America:

        The previous week’s edition of Harper’s Weekly showed a personification of the United States as Columbia, a statuesque and imperious bald eagle femme, gowned in white with a star-spangled sash across her chest.  She wore the traditional Liberty Cap and was wielding a sword and shield as she faced down a thuggish-looking lion.
        Also in the picture and obviously under Columbia’s protection was a pretty lynx dressed as an Indian princess.  The caption read, “Protecting the weak.”

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        Although done in pencil, the Nast cartoon got straight to the point and didn’t pull any punches, Lucas Danforth reflected sourly.  The aide to the President opened the current edition of the magazine.
        Yes, there it was, on Page Four.
        Another cartoon by the inimitable Mr. Nast, this one showing a portly mastiff in a suit with a walrus mustache and a solemn expression, standing in the doorway of the White House and gazing down at a crying kitten in a basket.  A card pinned to the basket read RCR.  Columbia, this time sans sword and shield, was gesturing toward a gathering of storm clouds in one corner.
        To drive the point home, the lightning in the storm cloud resembled the Union Jack of Great Britain.  The caption read, “Will you turn away from the foundling, Mr. President?”
        The bobcat winced.  That was bound to sting a bit when the President read it.

        Grover Cleveland growled as he read the cartoon, and growled louder as he read the accompanying editorial.  “Blast!” he exclaimed, tossing the magazine onto a table beside his chair.  “Can’t those people at Harper’s realize I’ve got my paws full with the tariff legislation?  The Republicans are blocking everything and if I take my attention off things for – for foreign adventures, they’ll have my hide in an instant.”
        Danforth nodded.  “Well, sir, they do have a point – “
        “Who?  The Republicans?”
        “Not them, sir – Harper’s. Think of it:  Here’s a democracy, a republic like ourselves, that just broke away from Britain.”  Danforth smiled.  “And less than a month before our own Independence Day.”
        “Hmm.  I can see you’re on Nast’s side,” Cleveland grumbled.  The grandfather clock chimed the hour, and the heavy-set mastiff looked down at the paperwork on his desk, then at the offending magazine.  “Lunchtime.  Come with me, Lucas.  You look like you could use something to eat.”
        Danforth raised an eyebrow.  He was thin as a rail, a tribute to his athletic build and active lifestyle.  Nevertheless he nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

        Lunch was New England clam chowder, and was served in a small room off of the Oval Office.  The President and his aide were joined by two others, one of them the current Secretary of War, William Endicott.  The lean hound sat as Cleveland sat down, and the two aides seated themselves.
        “William,” Cleveland said while he tucked his napkin into his shirt collar, “young Danforth here’s been holding forth about the Rain Coast Republic again, and I’m sure you’ve seen what they’re saying in the press.  Tell me, how ready is the Army if it comes to us facing down the British or the Canadians?”
        Endicott sat back and blew a sigh through pursed lips.  “Grover, the Army will do what it has to, of course, but we’re busy fighting Indians.  However, we do have soldiers at the Presidio who might be useful, as well as the Marines.  You’d have to ask the Navy about them,” he added with a smile.
        “I might just ask Whitney.”  There was a pause as servants brought out the soup and served each of them.  Cleveland sampled a spoonful and beamed.  “Delicious,” and the servants retreated.
        Danforth cleared his throat softly.  “I point out, sir, that both Alaska and New Haven have already recognized the Rain Coast.”
        “Where’d you hear that?”
        “From a friend I have in Secretary Bayard’s office,” the bobcat replied.  “New Haven’s already sent an ambassador.  It comes down to whether we want a country like New Haven to dictate our foreign policy – or your menu.  Sir.”
        Cleveland paused in the act of sprinkling pepper on his soup to glare at his subordinate.  “William, I do believe I have a mutiny in the ranks.  What do you think I should do, or should I ask Tom Bayard about it?”
        The austere hound finished his spoonful of soup and touched his napkin to his lips before replying, “If you want my opinion, Grover, I’d say invoke the Monroe Doctrine.”
        “Really.”
        “Yes, really.  We already claim to protect the entire Western Hemisphere.”  Endicott had another spoonful and asked, “The real question is for you to answer, Grover – what are you going to do?”
        The President of the United States frowned at his soup.  “Pass the salt,” he said, and as Danforth obeyed he added, “send word around to State that if Tom Bayard isn’t busy to come call on me this afternoon.”
        “Yes, sir.”


London, England
September 22:

        The message was a simple note, sent as an aide memoire from the U.S. Department of State to the Foreign Offices of the Dominion of Canada and Great Britain.  There was no threat implied in the note, just a simple statement of facts.
        “If they want war, we’ll burn Washington again,” a feline aide said, and quickly subsided at a glare from his porcine superior.  “Prime Minister, we should do something about this.  How can any dog of a Republic dare to dictate to us what we can or can’t do anywhere in the world?”
        Robert Gascoyne-Cecil, Marquess of Salisbury and currently both Prime Minister and Foreign Minister (he had the authority and the experience to handle both jobs) stabbed his secretary with another glare.  “In one word, Talbot:  Canada.  Before we could send enough troops, the Americans would be in Ottawa.”  The boar brushed a paw down his expansive beard before adding, “And I think MacDonald realizes it.”
        Three days later a diplomatic note was transmitted to the American Ambassador to the Court of St. James:  Great Britain would respect the Monroe Doctrine and would not intervene.


Ottawa
September 27:

        “Salisbury’s decided not to intervene,” MacDonald told his Cabinet at their morning meeting, “and, gentlemen, we have a huge problem already in dealing with the results of the late rebellion.  I say let the Rain Coast go.”  The fox smiled thinly.  “As dependent on us as they are, they’ll never amount to much.”


Seathl
October 7:

        As usual, the Clarion lived up to its name by trumpeting the news:  YANKEES RECOGNIZE NEW NEIGHBOR.  While the edition was sold in the streets a member of the Assembly bought a copy to show around to his fellows, and one of them went to tell the President.
        It seemed that for the first time in weeks, Greg Montgomery smiled.  He reread the article (as well as the note his Foreign Secretary had delivered to his home that night), then stood up and collected his hat and coat.
        “Where are you going, Greg?” the younger canine asked.
        Montgomery paused.  “Well, Don, I think the first thing I’m going to do is go to church.  Someone needs to be thanked.  Then I’m going to Tanner’s and have a drink before I go home and hug my wife and kids.”  With that, he walked out of the office.


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