Pierrot was facing a dilemma.
He prided himself on his herd, filled with pretty fluffies personally picked out by his own hoof. Now, some may question his decision to turn away any fluffy marred with ugly colors or scars or messed-up fur (AKA any fluffy that would know how to survive on the streets), and others may question his penchant for picking out fluffies he liked then adding them to the herd whether they liked it or not, but nobody could deny that he had the prettiest herd ever.
It was also a herd very ill-prepared for survival, sometimes losing half a dozen members to anything from fluffy traps to shopkeepers in need of new stock to an irate owner taking their fluffy back home, but as far as Pierrot was concerned that was a natural consequence of herd life.
Now, sometimes mares in his herd had babies. He would inspect each baby personally to look for ugly colors or scars, so some mares who were less understanding would hide their ugly babies from him. But babies grew up, and no mare could hide its offspring forever.
These facts were what lead to the current situation, where Pierrot was staring down the ugliest yet most beautiful foal he had ever seen. By all means it was a poopie baby, a dark brown color he would normally kick out of the herd. However, it had grown old enough for its mane color to appear, and …
It had the rarest and most beautiful mane and tail he had ever seen, a shimmering rainbow. Even its wings were tipped with a multitude of pretty colors. And to make things worse, its purple eyes matched his fur perfectly.
Now to a human, the foal mostly looked like it was wearing a ridiculous clown wig, but for Pierrot the word “clown” didn’t exist. All he knew was that it was a poopie baby, so he should throw it out, but doing so felt like it’d be throwing out a really pretty fluffy. If only it’d had an ugly mane, or a fur color that wasn’t dark brown, the decision would be so easy.
“Am Smawty bwoken?” whispered the foal’s mother, who had watched Pierrot stare unblinkingly at her baby for nearly half a minute.
“Smawty bwoken,” the mare next to her nodded. “Babbeh tuu pwetty.”
It took several more seconds for Pierrot to register the whispering, and he finally tore his gaze from the paradoxical foal to find most of the herd was by now staring at him. He looked back at the rainbow poopy baby, feeling an increasing pressure to say something. He had to either accept or reject the baby, right now. It was his herd, and it was for pretty fluffies only, and brown was decidedly not a pretty color.
But rainbow was.
But poopie baby. Brown baby.
With rainbow.
…
Pierrot turned and ran.
With no clear answer either way, the rainbow poopie baby was allowed to stay. Pierrot always pretended not to see it, avoiding any questions of whether the baby was supposed to stay with the herd or not, until the rest of the herd began thinking he was afraid of the little foal. He wasn’t, of course, and he assured anyone who asked of this fact. While still ignoring any further questions on the matter.
As stated, Pierrot was facing a dilemma, and he actively refused to make a decision.
