You work for a privately owned fluffy rescue shelter, which is heavily funded by a single well-off local family.
The shelter is open 24/7 and you unfortunately got stuck covering the overnight shift. The usual college chick who works this shift called off because of a family emergency.
Right now it’s almost 12 a.m and you haven’t had anyone come in to drop off a fluffy in almost five hours.
You’re sitting in one of the many rocking chairs that are located in the lobby of the shelter. Slowly rocking back and forth as you hold a swaddled foal up against you. You’ve been trying to get this little brown runt to drink formula from a small baby bottle for what feels like forever.
“Come on little dude. I know you’ve gotta be starving.” you say this in the softest voice you can as you try rubbing the nipple of the bottle against the runt’s lips again.
One of the mare’s that the shelter took in over a month ago had finally given birth early this morning. Unfortunately though out of all ten babies only three of them weren’t stillborn. Two of which the mare immediately put upon her teats. The runt however was the last baby to be born, and was immediately rejected by it’s own mother.
Of course you made the best attempt you could to get the mare to feed the runt. You practically ripped one of the other healthy babies off of the teat it was suckling on. But when you put the runt up against the teat the poor little dude couldn’t latch on.
“Dummeh babbeh! Don’t know how to dwink miwkies!”
The comment the mare had made has really stuck with you. Honestly, if you wouldn’t get fired for it you probably would have stomped the mare’s brain to mush right then and there.
“Chirp!” the sound of the runt’s little voice snapped you out of the violent thoughts you were having.
You take a deep breath and set the formula bottle down on the floor. Continuing to rock back and forth as you glance down at the runt. It’s cuddled up against your chest, probably finding comfort in the warmth of your body and the sound of your heartbeat.
Suddenly something within you tells you to check the runts mouth. Without a second thought you take a pinky finger and push past the runt’s closed lips. Feeling around it’s very small mouth you pause when you’ve discovered what the real problem is.
A cleft palate. Of course the poor little thing couldn’t latch on to anything. The roof of it’s little mouth is too malformed. There’s barely enough room in it’s mouth for it’s tongue, no wonder it can’t get a nipple in there.
“I’m so sorry little dude.” you clutch the runt closer to you and try not to tear up. This is essentially a lost cause now. There’s no way to fix the cleft palate on a foal this small. Without surgery to fix the cleft palate this runt will never be able to latch onto anything. Which means it will basically just starve to death. Or worse…get killed by it’s very shitty mother.
You move the runt away from you now, it’s fallen asleep inside the swaddle and looks so content. There’s only one thing you can really do now but you really don’t want to have to do it.
Tears are streaming down your face now, and they’re landing softly on the blankets that make up the swaddle.
“Rest peacefully little dude.” you barely manage to choke out these words past all the tears.
With one swift movement you cover up the runt’s peaceful sleeping face with a part of the blanket. You close your own eyes, because you really don’t wanna have to watch what you’re about to do. Then quickly without any further hesitation you snap the runt’s neck.
The runt’s lifeless body feels so heavy to you now. You clutch the swaddled corpse closely to you, and with trembling legs you stand up from the rocking chair.
With eyes full of tears, and a heart that’s pounding away in your chest. You walk to the medical center part of the shelter so you can locate a biohazard container.
Unfortunately you have to dispose of the corpse in the proper way or else the shelter could get in legal trouble.
“I’m sorry.” you whisper this as you push the button to open the biohazard containers lid. You gently place the swaddled corpse into the container. Which is already almost full with the bagged bodies of the mare’s stillborn foals.
You think to yourself that at least the runt is with it’s siblings in the end, and then you turn to leave the room.
Here’s hoping that you won’t have to work this shift again anytime soon. Or see that shitty mare anytime soon.