"What've you got there?" Mogey asked, gesturing at the long paper bag cradled in Smush's arm.
"A medium-bodied pinot noir," his pal replied. "Don't you know Mr. and Mrs. Oakenbock are major oenophiles?"
"Smush!" Mogey scolded. "You know I'm not judgmental about what people get up to in the privacy of their own homes."
"No, Mogey - it means they're obsessed with wine. And you'd best pretend you are too! We need everything to go perfectly tonight to convince the Oakenbocks to sell us their back pasture."
"Ah yes," Mogey said dreamily, "it's going to be donkey heaven out there."
The pals reached the Oakenbock estate and were admitted merrily by Mrs. Oakenbock. "Oh, please," she said, bustling down the front hall, "call me Boken."
"Boken Oakenbock?" Mogey queried. Smush stomped on his pal's foot.
"You boys have a seat with my husband while I pour some of this delicious wine," Mrs. Oakenbock said.
"Welcome, welcome," beckoned Mr. Oakenbock from a large sectional couch. "Please, call me Hoken."
"Hoken and Boken Oakenbock?" Mogey exclaimed. Smush stomped on his other foot.
"Indeed," said Hoken Oakenbock as he accepted a glass of wine from his wife and took a sip. "Delightful!" he announced. Mogey and Smush sampled their own glasses.
"Grapey," Mogey agreed, with a sputtering cough.
"A fellow vino enthusiast!" Hoken responded, clapping Mogey on the back. "What's your favorite bottle, young man?"
"I would have to say..." Mogey began, when he caught sight of Smush widening his eyes significantly and remembered the seriousness of the situation, "Baja Blast?"
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