Just after 7:30pm, the front door on a large townhouse in the southern Meadowlands creaked open. It's owner strode in and, with great purpose, made their way down the entryway hall, shedding the trappings of the day. A coat found its usual hook. The briefcase and lunch cooler that made the same commute every day with their owner landed in their respective spots on the runner table and the kitchen counter.

The mammal in question did not touch their work tie. The mammal who was the target of their interest didn't like it when the tie was removed for them. That was hers. She didn't care what else was removed on the way from the door to where she was, but the tie stayed. It was one of her requests that he considered sacred.

A svelte, yet muscular, aardwolf was standing at the counter. Before he could even brush her neck ruff with his muzzle, she preempted him.

"I can hear it in your step. Which one is it, this time, baby? Clawhauser, Lupesson, Savage, WildeHopps, Higgins, Wolford or Sandpaw?"

"The first four." Bogo rumbled into his wife's neck. "They're impossible, the lot of them. And what is "WildeHopps", exactly?"

"You know I talk to Clawhauser. It's his word for those two."

"Fitting enough. They are joined at the hip."

"Only a matter of time on that one, baby." She commented, letting loose a bray of laughter.

Bogo smiled despite himself. He loved her laugh. She wasn't a hyena, but her laugh got her mistaken for one constantly. "You too? Can't I escape the madness that swirls around them in my own home?"

"Awww! It's so cute seeing you keep your police chief persona at home," she commented while wrapping her paw around her favorite garment. She pulled him down to rub noses before continuing. "You enjoy the gossip and drama as much as Clawhauser."

"I would love to say yes, but after today..."

"Oh, no. It was a bad one...?"

"Very. You may hear Clawhauser add "Savage" to that before long."

That made her pause as she worked to pull her husband's tie free of its knot. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

"It could mean a dozen things. All of them are a PR nightmare and I've already have one of those to deal with."

"I heard about the EweTube clip. Is it really as bad as the newsreaders say?"

"It's worse. Take the juiciest bits of every rumor and roll them into one, then double it."

"Ooh…" Her eyes practically lit up. Sometimes he worried that she and Clawhauser were talking too much.

"This isn't going to be fun," he admonished lightly.

"Come on. Sit down and have some kimchi chips, while I make you a ginger rum."

"You spoil me."

"I do. Far too often. Shall I stop?"

"Not on your life." That earned him another bray of the laugh he treasured.

Before long, the bowl of kimchi chips was empty, the cocktail was mostly gone and dinner plates were used and piled in the sink, soaking. The muscles in Adrian Bogo's neck were finally unknotting under the ministrations of his wife's paws and life was less miserable.

He loved his work and he loved his wife. He had enjoyed both, for all their respective difficulties, nowhere near long enough. His work gave him purpose and fulfillment, while his home was his sanctuary. It helped that she was a superb massage therapist and physical trainer with the Meadowlands Therapy Center. His job allowed her to work part time, which made life for both of them much easier.

There was one little proclivity of hers that did frustrate him and it wasn't her laugh. Bogo loved and cherished her laugh. The thing was, she was just a touch vindictive. She wasn't cruel, or even very mean, except when it came to one specific thing. Him.

It came up every year. It'd be soon. Right around Migration Season, the annual Basho.

The Basho was a reimagining of the ancient spring and autumn sumo competitions that took place in the eastern Pandani archipelago. The system of competition had been adopted as a way to unify the various competitions that occurred around the mating seasons that coincided with seasonal migration. The highly ritualized event had been adopted by the elders of the various herd species around the founding of the city, to replace the violent, sometimes bloody and occasionally scandalous battles that occurred around mating seasons. The various species competing for space to even compete among their own ended up causing more chaos than the competitions themselves, so the original competition grew and become somewhat diluted as society grew less tolerant of bloodsports. Now, it was closer to an Olympic style series of events.

In the decades since the founding of the event, the ritualized battle-centric format had fallen off and the competition had become a combination of different, more moderate, elements. Some combat remained, but they were more sideshows for the main event. Now, it was mostly for bragging rights. Instead of stylized trial by combat, there were various tests of strength, dexterity, appearance, intelligence and various other measures of desirability and, in some cases, combat. There was the official, ceremonial headbutt at the opening and closing ceremonies, but that was about it. For any combat-based events, a bow, or boxers' handshake had become the norm. Other species had also gained the ability to use it as a backdrop for their own events, such as the Annual Lapidae Boxing Tournament and the Outback Survival Run.

The main event was voluntary and highly selective. In order to even qualify there were extensive application processes, including medical checks, financial prospects, intelligence and personality tests, all designed to measure the desirability of the competitors. While many things had changed over the years, one thing had not. While the Basho was a competition and had been tamed a bit as society had changed, the basic driving force behind it was the same: to prove the desirability of the males. The competition was open to any migratory herd species, where males competed for the title of Bull of the Year. Part beauty pageant, part strong mammal competition, with a hefty dose of pomp and circumstance, it was the height of ruminant and migratory society. The Bull of the Year was considered the most eligible bachelor in the city and was therefore in very high demand. This was supported by the fact that the final judging was done by the popular vote of the female populace.

The sticking point for Mrs. Jessica Bogo was that her husband had earned that title the year he had married her. He had subsequently been invited back to compete the following year; an honor accorded only to bachelor competitors. It was an intentional snub to their marriage and to her.

That first year, he had seen her well and truly angry for the first time. In her rage, she had stumbled upon an ingenious way to get revenge. She told him to compete. It took several days of "convincing", but he had eventually given in and competed for a second year, winning neatly. Throughout the competition, the elders had attempted to "guide him" into choosing a more suitable bride and when he refused, they had condescendingly replied "next year you will." They had played this game, the elders growing more impatient and Bogo growing increasingly satisfied with their displeasure for four years.

The fifth year, no invitation appeared, so Mrs. Bogo sent her husband off to demand his place as reigning Bull, which he did. The elders had no grounds to deny him, as they considered him unattached and both Bogos took great delight in rubbing their snouts in it, which they did that year and for another two after. To date, no other male had held the title for seven consecutive years.

It was glorious fun and accomplished several things at once. First, and most satisfyingly to the Bogos, it snubbed the Elders right back for the nastiness they had been shown. Secondly, Jessica Bogo had gotten an extraordinary thrill from seeing her husband win year after year and come home to her. It had done wonders for their marriage. Thirdly, it had raised his level of visibility on the city's social radar, which in turn opened doors. Seven victories in a row was far more than significant and the value in his accomplishments were seen by more than just the females in the Migratory community. Much to Jessica's disappointment, when her husband had gained the rank Captain in the ZPD, he had opted to step aside as reigning Bull to throw himself into getting his position of Chief.

That was eight years ago. I wonder if she'll ask again, this year.

"Honey…"

He couldn't restrain his smile. "I'm not competing, this year, Jess."

"But why not?"

"Honestly, I don't have the time. Now, what did we agree?"

"We let the bastards stew until you retire, then all bets are off."

"Think I can win it again?"

"I think if you do, you'll be mayor."

"Gods, no."

"You're right. You're too blunt for city politics. Commissioner?"

They cape buffalo gave a slow grin. "That's more like it."

"That's two years, Love."

"Only two?"

"Cheeky. You probably know it to the hour."

"One year, ten months, eleven days, nineteen hours and… uh… thirty two minutes. Ahem... roughly."

"Not that you're counting, or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"So, what are you going to do instead?"

"The same thing we've done every year, baby. Clean up in the office pool." The expression on her face caused his ears to flick. "What?"

"Baby, we don't need the money. You're too good at it. If you play, no one will stay in. Why don't you skip it this year."

"I know that tone. You're up to something."

"Well…"

"Come on. No keeping secrets."

"Well, I had a thought. Why don't you coach someone to the win?"

"Coach them… You mean, hand it to them."

"I suppose so, yes."

"And which deserving mammal have you decided should receive this honor? Clawhauser. Of course. Ok. Why?"

"I need a reason?"

"You always have one."

"Oh, fine. I want to do your other wife a solid."

"Oh, gods… that "work wife" thing again? Ugh. Fine. But if he wins, you're "guiding" him to do something other than spend it all on donuts."

"Deal."

He could tell something was still bothering her. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, really. I wish he'd find himself a nice girl. Then, I wouldn't have to guide anything. Or a guy. Either way…"

"Don't say it like that. He's still young. Give the kitten a chance."

"Oh, so speaks the old bull."

"You better run cub, before this old bull shows you how young he is!"

"Eep!"

And they were off, running!

Wildehopps, Clawhauser and the Basho could wait. That was insanity that lived outside his home. Here and now, only one thing mattered and that was best left to your imagination.