Dew curled up on her comfortable little cushion bed and patiently gave wicky-cweanies to all of her chirpies. Four in all. The dark blue and white furred mare was a first time mother, clearly exhausted, but the love in her eyes made it apparent that rest was the further thing from her mind. Once the icky stuff was cleared off from her babbehs, she got a good look at them. Three males: Dark brown and grey speckled, algae green, the last being a rather dull orange. Then there was the female. Soft purple, wispy wings on her back. A teensy tiny little nub of a horn.
âWub aw yew babbehs. Mummah wub yew. Mummah wub babbehs, babbehs wub mummah, am biggesâ happeh famiwy!â Getting over onto her side so all her precious little ones could attach at her teats, she felt a wave of pure joy wash over her think-place. This was the best day ever.
This was not an uncommon scene in any Fluffmart across the country. Just another mare popping out a bunch of foals in a tiny open-air pen, surrounded by all sorts of products and others of their kind. As Dew drifted off to sleep though, she thought it felt very special.
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âFinally pop, Dew? Letâs take a look.â It was the next morning and someone the mummah was very accustomed to had come over to the pen where her and the newly arrived babbehs were. Reaching down to pick up one of the chirpies, the mare shook her head.
âPwease be cawefuw! Dey am wittew babbehs omwy!â Such concern. Yup, almost about to cry. The Fluffmart employee, named Brock, who despite being a middle-aged man stuck in a go nowhere job had better things to do than senselessly abuse product. Gently tugging the orange male off of one of his motherâs teats, Brock brought up for inspection. Yeah. Most of these were absolutely shit. It was going to be next to impossible to move them. Not like he was going to tell Dew that, though. Putting the chirpy back down after itâd started fussing (and piddled on his hand), he would began to point out the different foals.
âHis name is Buster.â Indicating the orange one.
âErrâŚeughâŚ.that one is Forrest.â That was directed to the brown and grey chirpy, the employee knowing he might as well chuck that little waste of milk right into the trashcan.
âThatâs Al.â Said to the green one. Hey, he had to name so many of these a week that he was allowed to take the piss.
âAnd that.â To the pretty little purple alicorn. That one would go fast, no problem at all. He was almost tempted to hold it back for breeding but to be honest? Brock didnât give a shit. âThatâs Candy.â
Crossing his arms and giving Dew a stern look, Brock nodded down to the chirpies. âI know you love all your babies but Candy is the best. Do you understand me? Make sure sheâs taken care of and learns all you can teach her.â The other ones, for all he cared, could get sat on or neglected. The alicorn was what would sell and the others were just being kept around so Dew didnât go into a depression and stop producing milk.
Dew gave a goofy smile. Looked down to all of her chirpies. âMummah wub aw babbehs buh Candy babbeh am bestest babbeh!â Yup. Turning to empty out her water dish and clear some of the soiled woodchips from the pen, Brock knew she would be good to raise them just how they needed to be.
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Time flew by as it does. For fluffies it might have seemed like an eternity but the little chirpies who suckled milk all day eventually opened their eyes. Soon after that they were crawling around, seemingly days later they were babbling at one another excitedly and scampering about on hooves which still shook slightly from the exercise.
One day, Dew gently took candy away from her brothers and shooed them away so the two of them could have a talk. Just by themselves! A special talk. Looking to her foal with bright eyes, Dew leaned over to rub her nose against the babbeh.
âCandy am bestest babbeh. Mummah am haf tu weab babbehs.â Brock had explained this to her in the kindest words he could. She was a breeder mare now, but she was a good fluffy.
âBestest babbeh? Mummah weabinâ? Nu wub anymowe?â Asking this with tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, Candy didnât want her mummah to ever leave. Mummah wubs babbehs, babbehs wub mummah! Thatâs how the song went.
âWub babbehs fowebbah! Nu am faiwâŚbuh mummah hab babbehs. Anâ babbehs am hab housie wif toysies ân skettis.â Thatâs what Dew had been told anyways. Maybe the only reason why she was agreeing so gently to the idea of being taken away from her children.
Continuing on, Dew nudged Candy gently with one hoof. âBestest babbeh neeâ hewp bwuddahs finâ nyu housies tu. Otay?â The foals werenât ready to go home with anyone just yet but several people had been by to play with them. Especially Candy though.
âO-Otay. Am be bestest babbeh âfo mummah anâ hewp bwuddahs tu.â Agreeing to this, she didnât really know how sheâd accomplish this. It was a tall order for a creature who was still trying to finesse eating kibble.
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A few days later Brock had come for Dew. Lifting the mare out from her pen without announcing it, she looked down sadly to all of her babbehs. Not even able to get huggies or say goodbye. Brock knew that was for the best though. Right back to being bred, producing more foals. This was a business after all. The foals had been asleep when she was taken away but waking up, stretching and yawning in their fluffpile, the three males began to freak out.
âMummah? WEWE MUMMAH!?â Forrest said with tears in his eyes. This was the first time sheâd ever been away in his short life. He could still smell her but she was nowhere to be found.
âMunstah get mummah? Make mummah nummies?â Inquired Buster with a look of fear in his eyes. Scrabbling down into the woodchips that served as their litter, he hid his face away as if not seeing a potential munstah would save him.
âNnghhâŚpoopies.â Al mumbled, shitting on the litter and going over to the kibble tray.
Puffing out her cheeks, Candy climbed up on top of the tallest thing she could find. Which was just a wooden block but it still made her brothers pay attention.
âMummah say Candy am bestesâ babbeh anâ tu hewp bwuddahs! Anâ mummah nu am hewe naow!ââ What did being a bestest mean? It meant making good poopies, sharing toys, being happy, never demanding, no being a smarty. Thatâs what mummah had told her over the last few days.
By now Forrest had erupted into full bawling. Pitching himself to the floor, kicking his hooves up and down. Peeping and chirping. âWAAANNNN MUMMMAAAHHHH!â He cried out as the full wave of sadness finally hit him. Candy hopped down from the block she was on carefully and made her way over to him, wrapped him up in a hug.
âHuggies âfo bwuddah. Am huwties gu way?â Sniffling and with his face dribbling with mucus, Forrest nodded a bit. Huggies really did make everything better even if it still hurt. Giving a flitter of her wings, Candy left his side to get on over to Buster.
âBusteh! Nu am hab scawdies. It am otay. Munstah nu am hewe.â At least she hoped not. Stamping a tiny hoof down, Candy huffed.
âSissy gib wowstest huwties tu munstah! Su nu scawdies!â Looking to Candy, the orange foal felt his fears begin to evaporate. So brave!
Last was Al who didnât seem all that concerned with mummah being gone in the first place. Why not? Candy didnât really know. After stuffing his face with kibble he was content to lift his tail and grunt, trying to make poopies again. Scampering over to him, she gently took him by the ear with her mouth and gave tugs until they were over at the littertray. Nudging him with her horn so he crawled into it.
âPooooooooooooooooopies.â Al said with an incredibly moronic expression of bliss upon his face, doing his business as Candy stood by. Back turned to him.
âYew make poopies in witteh-tway! Nu bad poopies!â
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As they grew up, all of the fluffies each developed things they loved to do or were particularly âskilledâ at. Candy did her best to try and teach them the things they were supposed to do, but even she was still a babbeh and had difficulties with it.
Forrest loved espowinâ everywhere. Brock had put paper towel tubes and little plastic domes for him to play around in and heâd often be squeezed into a tight area or trying to climb over stuff.
âCawfuw bwutha! Dat am suuuu high!â Candy said in shock one day after heâd climbed up onto a little igloo shaped plastic house. Their water dish was right underneath and she had a good reason to be concerned. Wawa was BAD for fluffies!
âAm espowinâ babbeh!â He announced after diving down and splashing right into the water dish. Stamping his hooves and happily splishing it out all over the woodchips lining their space.
Buster, on the other hand, was super good at dancies! Each time Brock turned on the corner television mounted on the wall that always played FluffTV, he would get up and start boogying down.
âWook! Babbeh am dancinâ babbeh!â Giggling and moving his front limbs around like a spastic was actually very impressive. His sissy thought so anyways!
âBusteh am su gud at dancies! He am be on FwuffTeebee!â She said while cheering as he mimicked what he saw on screen.
Al. Well. He didnât actually do much. If he was good at anything, it was pooping. Trudging over to the food dish and stuffing his cheeks full of kibble, eating until he was bloated, then waiting until he had to make poopies. At least he did it in the littertray.
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âWow! Honey, look at this precious alicorn!â More people had been coming over to see the foals lately since they were finally old enough to go home with someone. They were largely interested in Candy though. Mummah said to help her brothers find a new home though, so she was doing her best to try and do so.
âHewwo mummah ân daddeh! Am CandyâŚwook at bwudda. He am dancie babbeh!â Candy pointed a hoof down to Buster who was doing his best little crazy dance, tail wagging around and hooves up in the air like he was one of those people in a gospel church.
âBestest dancies âfo yew! Yaaaaayyy! DANCIE BABBEH!â Buster continued to spaz out in earnest. Looking to her husband, a kindly looking middle-aged woman bent down to gently scoop Buster up. Ran a single index finger against the top of his head.
âOur daughter will love you. She loves to dance and has so much energy!â Buster looked down to his sissy, now hugging on the hand heâd been lifted up with.
âBye sissy! Wub yew! Wub yew bwuddahs!â With that, the couple were gone. It was perhaps the quickest sale the store had ever seen. No begging or anything. Feeling incredibly proud of herself, all the purple filly could do was smile.
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Another day, another person very interested in the foals. It was a young man this time, a somewhat distant look on his face.
âAll my girlfriend wants for her birthday is a fluffy but you guys are kind of boring.â Was what he said, and Candy shook her head. This new daddeh with a backwards baseball hat had to hear all about Forrest!
âWook at bwuddah! He am espowinâ babbeh!â Hearing his name, Forrest poked out of a toilet paper tube heâd been hiding away in. Small woodchips were caught up in his mane which was finally starting to come up.
âHeâs kind of uglyâŚâ The guy said, narrowing his eyes.
This caused Candy to shake her head vehemently. âNuu-huu-huuu! Aw babbehs am pwetty babbehs! Mummahs ân daddehs wub aw babbehs, fwuffies am âfo wub!â
The guy gave a roll of his eyes, looked down to the price tags which were next to their individual names and prices, decided to select Forrest. Much cheaper than Candy was.
âYouâd better be right. If I donât get a blowy out of her for this, Iâm coming back here to kick your ass.â
Forrest cheered and waggled around as he was carried away. âYaaayyy! Nyu mummah ân daddeh!â
Waving a front hoof out, Candy called out: âSu many heawt happies!â
Forrest and the man never came back, so the filly was pretty sure he got whatever a blowy was. HEAWT HAPPIES!
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No matter how hard Candy had tried, she could not get anyone to bring Al home with them. Whatâd he do? Gud poopies. What did he like? Gud poopies.
âUhmmâŚbwuddah, yew neeâ be wots ob fun! Mummahs ân daddehs wub gud poopies. Anâ pwayin. Dancies!â
Trying to get him to dance around was hopeless. Ditto for even playing with any toys. All he did was stuff himself full of kibble and stink the place up. Sure it was in the right place but you had to have more personality than making poop.
âPooooopies.â Was all he said to almost any attempt to get him to do anything. Other than poop, sometimes he liked to lick the glass of the enclosure they were in. The fluffy could sit there for hours just lapping his tongue against it and drooling with an absent look on his face.
It all seemed hopeless but eventually there was an old mummah. She was so so old! The elderly woman had to use a big metal thing to make walkies with and her hands quivered slightly when they were at rest.
âOoohhh arenât you adorable? Pretty little fluffies.â Reaching a hand in to pet them, Al just sat there licking the glass. Candy hugged up against one of her withered fingers and looked up to the mummah with big eyes that were full of love.
âNyu mummah, pwease hab bwuddah âfo bestest nyu housie. He am vewy gud fwuffy! HeâŚhe su gud at poopies!â
At hearing âpoopiesâ, Al looked up and trudged off to the litterbox. Stood there. Grunted. Farted with such force that his tail blew out from behind him. The old woman giggled, eyes seeming younger for a moment.
âLook at him! Heâs so proud to be able to do it. I love him.â Glancing down to the tag with his information, she gave a warm smile and him up out of the enclosure.
âCome on, Al. I can tell youâre a good boy.â
That was it! All of her brothers were gone!
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To say Brock was impressed was an understatement. Candy had babbled about getting her brothers houses, and heâd wrote it off as a fanciful flight of a fluffyâs imagination. Yet all of those foals with their bad colors were gone. Honestly he didnât want his boss to find out. Shit, she could be employee of the month with a feat like that.
âNice mistah! Candy am finâ bwuddahs nyu housies! Yaaaayyyyy!â Brock just smiled, reached a hand down to rub a hand at her head.
âGood girl. Now itâs your turn.â
That didnât take very long at all, either. Just an hour later, a family of three walked in. A nice looking daddeh in a flannel shirt, a mummah who wore a very pretty dress, a little mummah who was in a skirt and a shirt with some fluffy cartoon character on it. The little girl bounced around the store and was practically LOSING HER MIND over everything.
âMom! Dadddyyy! Look!â They had come up on Candyâs enclosure. Standing proudly at attention, the purple filly gave a tweening buzz of her wings.
âHewwo! Candy am Candy! Wub yew!â Not begging for skettis, or huggies, or a nyu housie. Being good just like Dew had said before she was taken away. The daddeh reached into the enclosure, pulled Candy out from her litter and toys.
âHere, Melody. Be careful with her.â The nice man put Candy in the little mummahâs hands. Looking to her, the filly was almost dumbstruck. It felt so good to be in this situation. The warmth of a humanâs hands. How she, just a widdew fwuffy, was looked at with such awe and happiness. Melody obviously wanted a fluffy. For a moment, things flashed through Candyâs think-place. Playing with toys. Being curled up and napping with the girl. Eating skettis together. It was such a nice thing. Yet the warmth disappeared. Watching with silent horror, Candy watched as her potential nyu mummahâs hands were getting further away. Falling. She was falling! Giving a desperate beat of her wings, the fluffy didnât lift away from the danger of the floor. Instead, she plummeted down.
Her weggies were cracked and angled out in different directions. In fact, she could see something poking out of one. A jagged white thing. With dazed confusion, she looked up to what should have been her new mummah.
âH-Hewp fwuffyâŚhewp bestest babbehâŚhab huwties! Scawdies! Pwease hewp babbeh!â Did she have hurties? She must, yet she didnât feel anything. Nothing at all. Couldnât move her weggies. Couldnât even turn her head to look around. There was no pain, there was no sensation at all.
âEww! MOM! IT POOPED!â Candy couldnât see, but sheâd made poopies on the floor. It smelled so bad. Beginning to cry, all she felt was shame at doing such a thing. That was one of the worst things a fluffy could do.
âPWEASW WUB CANDY! PWEASE! WAN MUMMAH TU!â If she could, sheâd be waggling her arms out for help. Instead she had to watch with helplessness as the family walked away.
How long did Candy lay there? She didnât know. It wasnât until closing time when Brock finally started making the rounds to check everything out and found the poor thing in a puddle of her own shit, limbs splayed out, some bones clearly visible.
âPwease nice mistah. Neeâ huggies âfo be better. Pwease. Twy anâ be bestest babbeh abin. Sowwy âfo poopies.â Tears ran down her cheeks. Brock lifted her up by her wispy mane which hadnât even had time to fully grow in yet.
Candy was flicked through the air like a piece of balled up trash toward a garbage can. âEEEEEEEE!â She squealed, weggies limply flapping around the air. Did she land in the garbage? Not the first time. Instead she caught the rim of it, hung there for a moment, plopped to the floor. Brock rolled his eyes
âSorry, bestest baby. Usually you guys are more aerodynamic.â Lifting the filly up and finding her still alive albeit with most of her little babbeh teeth scattered on the ground after sheâd fallen off the trash lid, he tossed her into to the garbage.
âHuuhuuâŚnuuâŚyew weab bestest babbehâŚâ Candy whimpered as she found herself surrounded by empty kibble bags, dirty litter, and fluffies who had died.
âNyu mummah? Nice mistah? Fwuffy heweâŚweab fwuffy in twashiesâŚâ She called out, though the lights had been turned off. They wouldnât forget the bestest babbeh, would they?
something rare in you 
,excellent story ,as always a delight to read it .