Be Ivy. You’re a fluffy foal, and you still can’t believe it. You’re in a safe, warm housie, with a nice mistuh! Mummah told you there were nice humans, but you just kept finding meanie ones. First the housie you were born in, where they gave your brown brother and sister forever sleepies, and your mummah sorry-stick hurties for trying to save them. Then they took you from mummah, and put you in a scary cold pen and made you learn the Cwismas Wowdies.
They almost gave your lastest brother forever sleepies, because he doesn’t talk as good as other fluffies and has a hard time learning things, but your lastest sister had used almost all her sleepy-time to teach him. She’s so smart and so patient that those meanie humans had let him stay with you… and then tied you all to that ouchy leafy circle thing, and put you in a truck with a lot of other babies all tied to ouchy leafy circle things.
And then had been Fluffmart, where more meanie humans had bought you, and put you on their door! It had been so cold, and the little lady had been mean, always flicking you when she went in and out, and trying to get you in trouble for not saying the Cwismas Wowdies, when you did every time, you did! ‘Mewwy Cwismas!’ every time anyone entered or left the house, because you were good babies! Her daddeh had been almost nice, bringing you water, but not nice enough to even untie you when he was done with the ouchy leafy circle thing!
You and your sister had pleaded and cried at least for your brother, that Mummah had told you to take care of him… and the human-Daddeh had just put you down and walked away with his head low, muttering about not doing this shit next year. Like that helped anything! You had been so, so cold, and trying to keep your brother and sister from going forever-sleepies, with worstest, worstest heart-hurties, even worse than when they took you away from Mummah, even worse than when your brother and sister went forever-sleepies and you had to hear Mummah scream and cry… and then Daddeh Jack had found you. Picked you right up, and more than four new friends! You love Daddeh Jack. He gave you all cleanies, and nummies, and even namesies, and now you’re here in a nice, cozy fluffpile right beside him, with Holly and Spruce, and all your new friends, and Mummah Beatrice and Mummah Trooper.
It’s warm and soft and feels so safe, with everyone’s heartbeat and quiet breathing, (except for Daddeh Jack, who breathes a loud, rumbly noise, but steady), you don’t even know why you’re opening your eyes, but you do. You see Daddeh Jack, and he’s looking back at you with his green-y brown-y eyes, smiling a little. Now that you have time to look at him and you’re not so sleepy, you can see that his face has all these marks on it, that must have been worstest owwies when they were new, one his neck, his cheek, and across his nose. His big nose is bumpy and crookedy, too, and you’ve never seen a human with a nose like that. Maybe humans with crooked noses aren’t so meanie.
“Daddeh Jack?” you ask.
“Yeah, little one?” he asks back, both of you keeping your voices quiet, because everyone else is still sleepies.
“Daddeh Jack hab face owwies?”
He blinks at you like he’s confused for a second, and then touches his face with those funny, long, human fingers, smiling a little like Mummah used to do, soft and sad, even though it’s a smile. “Oh, these?”
“Yeah! Iby no wan’ Daddeh hab huwties.”
He sighs, reaching over and picking you up. It’s a little scary to swoop through the air, but he goes slowly, and soon you’re resting n his chest as he lounges back in the cushions, feeling everything rumble a little as he talks, petting you gently. “It’s okay, Ivy. None of it really hurts anymore. The bone in my nose broke, so it’s crooked and I snore, and on cold days it all aches a little, but I’m okay.”
You crawl up and give his neck huggies, since it’s the closest scar. It looks like meanie-hurties, like when one of the meanie humans had tied another of the green babies too tight to his ouchy leafy circle thing, because he thought it was funny. The human had untied the baby before he had gone forever-sleepies, and there had been a big, meanie mark on his neck, like this but redder. Another of the humans had come in and shouted a lot, but after they checked and the baby could still talk, they had put a pretty bow around his neck to hide it. You really, really hope a nice human is taking care of him right now.
“Aw, thanks, kiddo. I’m okay now, I promise.”
“What happen?” you ask, and he sighs, petting you again.
“Well… I guess the shortest way to say it is that meanie humans hurt me.”
“Iby gib dem sowwy-hoofsies,” you grumble, hugging him again. You know you’re too little to make any difference against meanie humans, but you would if you could! How dare they do that to your daddeh, who is so kind and good? And you have given other babies sorry-hoofsies, for trying to hurt Spruce, or take his toys or his nummies. You’ve done it or Holly, too, of course, but she doesn’t need it as often.
Daddeh chuckles, his hand wrapped over your back, all safe and warm. “Aw, baby. Thank you.”
Thinking about Spruce, you have to ask, “Daddeh Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Can Daddeh pwease, pwease no sowwy stick Spwuce if make bad poopies? Can gib sowwy stick to Iby instead.”
There’s such a long, long silence that you start to get really scared, pulling yourself into a tight, trembling little ball on Daddeh’s chest. You shouldn’t have pushed your luck. He’s going to say you’re a Bad Fluffy and make you go forever-sleepies and then there won’t be anyone to protect Holly and Spruce and–
“Baby,” Daddeh says, very gently, “baby, I need you to just breathe, and calm down. I will never sorry-stick any of you for something you didn’t do on purpose. I only use it on fluffies who misbehave on purpose and have proven they don’t understand anything else.” He’s petting you again, and you start to relax.
“W-weawwy?”
“Really. I can tell that Spruce is kind of a Sensitive Baby. Not all the way,” he adds, because anyone can see that Spruce can walk and talk and eat real food, but yeah, he’s different. “It’s… hmm, spectrum is a big word for a fluffy…” You definitely don’t know what ‘spectrum’ means, and wait for Daddeh to find another word. “Okay, ‘fade’ he says, and you do kind of know what that means. He grabs a cushion that has blue on one end, fading into pink on the other. “See how this isn’t just two pieces of different colors, but one turns into the other as it goes?” he drags his fingertip along the cushion, and it makes your head hurt a little, looking at how the color changes, but you nod. “So it’s like if a normal fluffy who can do all the usual things was blue, and a Sensitive Baby who can’t walk or talk and only drinks milk is pink.”
“Spwuce am pwetty puwpwe,” you say, pointing to a spot near the blue end, which is one of your favorite colors. The idea pleases you.
“Sounds about right,” Daddeh says, “from what I’ve seen so far.” He sets the cushion aside again and stretches his arms over his head. “I was going to tiptoe out and let all of you keep napping,” he says, “but do you want to come with me?”
You nod, and Daddeh puts you into his pocket. You’re able to put your hoofsies over the top edge and peek out, looking all around the house as Daddeh goes back to the kitchen to make himself some human nummies. It’s a big sandwich on extra-crunchy bread, and he offers you a little piece, but you’re still too full. He tells you all about the different nummies on the sandwich as he eats, and it’s all interesting even if you don’t understand most of it. Once Daddeh’s done with his food, he goes to sit on a big chair-thing that’s called a couch, and uses one of the human talk-toys to send messages to his mummah and daddeh, his sister and brother, and a few friends. He shows you a picture of some other babies, and explains that one of his friends found them in the trash today, just like you. They’re extra small, the kind that go into little plastic balls, and they’re the prettiest colors! Daddeh smiles, and sends a message that he says is what you said, along with a picture of you. You stare at the picture, surprised at how red your eyes are.
“You’re a pretty fluffy,” Daddeh tells you, doing something that makes the picture disappear. “I think all of you will be pretty as you grow up.”
“Weawwy?” you ask, and suddenly you’re sniffling again, thinking about your brother and sister and how you’ll never know their true mane and tail color.
“What’s wrong?” Daddeh asks, and you sob, hugging his arm tightly.
“B-bwudda an’ sissy go, go foweba-sweepies! Hoomans caww dem shit-cowow!”
“Aw, sweetheart,” Daddeh murmurs, picking you up and cuddling you up against his heart. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. If they were anything like you, they were good fluffies.”
Somehow, it really helps to hear Daddeh say that. You cry a little, but manage to stop. It won’t help anything, and a whole new housie is so interesting. Daddeh has all kinds of pictures and things that are like nothing you’ve ever seen. All the places before the ouchy leafy circle thing were ugly and bare, and the meanie human housie where they just left you all on the door was all colorful and shiny. It’s less shiny here, and much quieter and dimmer, but it feels warmer. There’s still a Cwismas Twee, with colored lights and pretty bubbles and boxes on it, and lots of pictures on the walls. You like the pictures on the walls. Some of them have wordies on them like humans can make, and Daddeh says that some of them are bands that he likes, groups of humans who make music. Lots of the other ones are just pretty colors. Some of them are just smears like a fluffy would make, and he says that is exactly what they are. You’ve never been allowed to make a picture before, and you wiggle in his arms with excitement at the idea that you might get to, here.
“You like the idea of painting?” he asks, and you nod.
“Yes! Wub pwetty cowows!”
He chuckles. “Yeah, me too.” He carries you over to a bigger one, that’s mostly purple. “See? I made this one.”
“Iby wub puwpwe!” you tell him, so excited to have this in common. “Puwpwe am Iby fabowitest cowow!”
“Yeah? That’ll make Beatrice happy to hear.”
“Beatwice-Mummah am pwetty,” you say, because it’s true, she’s one of the prettiest fluffies you’ve ever seen. Even with no leggies. It had actually taken you a while to notice, since they get around so well on their little stumpies. It’s weird that they have no leggies, though, because taking leggies is so mean, and Daddeh Jack is a nice human daddeh. Your thinkie-place kind of hurts, trying to reconcile it. “Daddeh?” He makes a little noise to show that he’s listening, tucking you back into his pocket as he goes back to the couch, picking up his talk-toy to do some human magic on it. “Why Beatwice-Mummah an’ Twoopah-Mummah hab nu weggies?” you ask.
Daddeh Jack sighs, human fingers sliding over the front of the talk-toy. “Meanie humans hurt them, too.” You shiver, remembering the sound of the shovel coming down again, and Mummah’s screaming. “I promise, most humans aren’t like that,” he says, “and I won’t let anyone hurt you. Or Holly, or Spruce, or any of you.”
“Otay, Daddeh,” you say softly, feeling better as he strokes your fluff.
“Here,” he says, and shows you the talk-toy. “See?” And you do see. It’s showing a picture of fluffies, and as you look closer, you realize it’s the saferoom, with your sister and your brother and everyone. They’re mostly still asleep, but Trooper-Mummah is starting to wiggle her little stumpies and blink her eyes, while Shadow stretches and yawns. Then Berry hops to his feet so fast it makes you jump, and then giggle.
Daddeh chuckles as Leaf jumps up just as fast. “Those two have a lot of energy, don’t they?” You nod, giggling again. “Let’s go check on everyone,” he says, and you take another ride in his pocket, back to the saferoom. It’s good that you do, you suddenly realize that you need to make poopies! Really, really bad, and you squirm with the discomfort as you tug at the bathrobe with your teeth as Daddeh opens the door. “Daddeh! Daddeh!”
“Yes, pumpkin?” he says, quiet because almost everyone is still asleep. He’s still taking big human steps toward the pen, so you’re gonna make it. You hope.
“Nee’ make poopies!” you squeak, and Daddeh moves quicker, not so quick it makes you dizzy, but then you’re right in the pen, and he puts you down in the litterbox.
You sigh in relief, and let out the biggest poopies you’ve ever made in your life. All those nummies after only a little bit of nummies-drink for so long must be why, and by the time you’re finished, Leaf, Berry, and Sugar are all in the litterbox with you. Spruce doesn’t make it in time and makes poopies on the floor. You’re finished, so you’re free to run to his side as he starts to cry and pee, letting out the rest of the poopies as scaredy-poopies, trying to say sorry and beg Daddeh for no hurties, but too upset to form the words well enough for most fluffies, let alone a human, to understand.
“Hey,” Daddeh says, getting down on the floor in front of Spruce, as Beatrice-Mummah wakes the rest of the way up and comes run-bouncing over on her stumpies, Trooper-Mummah guiding the other foals to the litterbox. “No hurties, Spruce. Daddy promises.” Of course Spruce can’t stop crying right away, but he does get a bit quieter, and starts sucking on his hoofsie the way he has done ever since the meanie humans took you away from Mummah. “I know you didn’t mean to,” Daddeh says.
“Daddeh nu huwt babbehs,” Beatrice-Mummah adds, licking the top of Spruce’s head. “Spwuce am gud babbeh.”
By now, you’re close enough to hug Spruce. He has poopies all over his tail, and your mouth cringes at the thought of giving him lickie-cleanies, but you’ve always done it when someone has to. “It am otay,” you tell the others, hugging Spruce as he sniffles to a stop. Daddeh not shouting, and the huggies from you and the soothing lickies from Beatrice-Mummah, are all helping him feel better, and now Holly can come running over from the litterbox. She’s ready to take a sorry-sticking for Spruce, but Daddeh tells her that no one is getting hurt, and takes you all downstairs to the bathroom to wash you off again. At least you don’t get as wet, this time. Spruce cries a little more at the water, but realizes that it’s warm when he touches it, and relaxes again.
“It’s okay, little fluffies,” Daddeh croons, washing the smeared poopies off of everyone, “no sorry-sticking for accidents. No hitting at all unless you won’t learn any other way. Spruce, do you ever mean to be bad?”
“N-N-nu, D-duh-daddeh,” Spruce says.
“Then it’s accidents,” Daddeh says, and picks all three of you up again. He takes you back to the saferoom pen and sits on the floor, setting you down to run and play, which you do, because Spruce might not think or talk as fast as a normal fluffy, but he’s only a runs a little funny, and does it really fast. Leaf, Sugar, and Merlot have a game of huggie-tag going, and you’ve never had this much room to play, ever! Or so many friends to play with, especially when Shadow and Snowflake join in. Berry is busy talking to Daddeh, who is holding him in both cupped hands and looking down at him with a soft smile on his face. Mummah-Trooper and Mummah-Beatrice watch over you and keep all of you from bumping into too many things or running into each other too hard, until everyone starts running out of breath. Then Mama-Beatrice flops down and gives everyone huggies, while Mama-Trooper goes to a little box and pushes a button, and a whole black part of the wall turns into TV!
“Don’ wowwy, Daddeh,” she says, as Daddeh looks up from petting Beatrice, “no Cinnamummah.”
You mean to ask what Cinnamummah even is, but you get distracted by the funny monster-friends telling you about something called a ‘triangle’. You go over and cuddle in between Spruce and Sugar, with Holly on Spruce’s other side to keep him safe. Past Holly is Snowflake, who doesn’t say much, but seems very nice.
“Why Daddeh cawe what on TeeBee?” Merlot asks.
“Bad TV makes humans and fluffies stupid,” Daddeh says. He’s puffing up the different beds, making sure that all of them are comfortable. “It’s my job to take care of you until we can find you all new human daddies and mamas, and that includes making sure you don’t turn stupid.”
You want to stay with Daddeh Jack, though. And you have to stay with Holly and Spruce! You run to Daddeh Jack, eyes full of tears. “Daddeh Jack, Daddeh Jack!”
He looks over at you, and then reaches to give you upsies. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Pwease nu make Iby gu ‘way fwom Howwy an’ Spwuce!”
“Oh, I’d never do that, honey. No, no, brothers and sisters and bestest friends stay together unless there’s no other way, and then they have to be able to visit.”
“T-Tank ‘ou, Daddeh Jack,” you say, still sniffling, but calming down as he cuddles you.
“It’s okay, little one,” he says, and gives you nice, warm huggies. “Now, let’s just calm down and watch some FluffTV, huh?”
Be Jack Harris. You’re a guy with nine fluffy foals in various stages of sleepiness piled in and around his lap, watching a truly inane program called Fwens Go Tea Party, your two mares guiding each other through the exercises they do every day to keep their stumps strong enough for them to be active pillows. You’ve made sure the regimen is more of a fun game for the two to play together, so they’re staying in great shape. You might still be single and your beat-up face might hurt, but there are way, way worse ways you could be spending Boxing Day.
