“Send the next patient in.”
My nurse walks in holding a smiling blue unicorn under his armpits. He’s a mature stallion, probably a rescue. His fluff is clean and he’s healthy, but he’s got the hooves of a feral. He slept rough for a long time, probably years. He’s loved now, though. He’s safe now. No more hurties.
“Hewwo nice mistah! Nyu fwend? Bwian wub nyu fwend, ou wanna meet Bwian daddeh? Bwian wiww intwodoos, nu wowwy.” Shit. He’s a talker. That makes my job a lot harder.
See, Brian is a fully…intact fluffy. It’s another reason I suspect he’s a rescue, most sold fluffies are castrated to keep numbers low. We specialize in fixing mature fluffies here. Fluffies who already have a basic understanding of the world and what is being taken from them. Their owners bring them here so they don’t have depressed pets after the procedure.
See I’m not a veterinarian. I’m a psychologist. I talk with them. Prepare them for the procedure. Help them come to terms with what’s to come. Then, following the procedure, I debrief them, help them grieve, and when they’re ready I bring them to the Good Friends room. We keep a hodgepodge of neutered fluffies of all ages back there, hand picked to be the friendliest and smartest. They’ll help him heal.
But that’s the end. This is the beginning.
I help the polite gentleman into the soft nest on my desk. It puts him at chest level with me and I lean in close so we’re face to face. “Hi there Brian, my name is Doctor Matthew. Do you know why you’re here?” He gleefully shakes his head. “Nupe! Bwian hab nu idea at aww! Su escited!” Man, he is really cute. I don’t blame the owner, it’s my job and I don’t want to kill his vibe. Poor little dude.
I review the paperwork for Brian one more time to refresh. He’s having his testes removed so he can be registered with the GP vet. Owner hasn’t prepped him, wants him to feel like the removal was his fault. Good. These at least require some critical thinking. Help get my gears turning since I gave up coffee for Lent.
It may sound cruel, but the request is the sign of a caring owner. See, being a fluffy is kinda just inherently unfair by default. You are an intelligent being with thoughts and feelings that, when compared to other life forms, are basically the same as humans. Despite this, your life is chaos beyond your control. You have no rights and daily your entire species has to suffer indignities that would turn even monsters like Pinochet copy-paper white were they visited upon humans. Now you’re going to lose your ability to reproduce because that ability is inconvenient to the species who bred you as chimeric slave beasts.
But if you think losing your balls is how you escaped…
I don’t hate fluffies, honest. This is my entire job, I couldn’t do it if I didn’t love the optimistic little bastards. Brian has a daddeh who loves him a whole lot, and that daddeh is no more in control of this than Brian is. He needs this procedure done or he can’t register his pet. That means no vet services from reputable or even licensed professionals. No help finding him if he’s lost, no GPS chipping, no certified Fluffcare, nothing. He has no choice either.
Neither do we. This is the service we provide. Brian is going to try to convince me to leave him intact, and I’m going to find his arguments compelling and deeply sympathetic. But just as his role is to be mutilated and his owner’s is to facilitate it, mine is to bring him to acceptance. We are all locked in these roles, held in place by the invisible chains which bind all mankind. I cannot find work more fulfilling because I have bills that must be paid. I would prefer to work at a Fluffcare as a standard fluffy therapist, but that pays shit and I have to pay off my student debt. Being a vet used to be pretty surefire, but fluffies fundamentally changed the animal companion market.
I don’t care about the market. I don’t care what’s in or out of fashion, what’s profitable and what’s not. I care about helping those who need it. But Capital is among the strongest chains which bind us, so I can’t do the work I want. There aren’t enough non-fluffy pets anymore to warrant veterinary practices at the scale they once existed. Fluffies are easier to work on in a lot of ways, and their legal gray area means certifications mean jack shit.
So I’m forced to do work I find distateful because the work I want became redundant and the work I’d be okay with isn’t profitable enough to force whatever grinning sack of coins runs that particular shelter to pay me more than starvation wages to do it. They can just wildly underpay teenagers, sell them some line about how minimum wage jobs are an onramp to real careers before sending them off to a thankless dead end nothing position that hollows out anyone with a shred of empathy within weeks. Imagine a daycare where one of the kids confides in you that his father savagely beats him, starves him, emotionally abuses him, and more. Now imagine that you not only can’t help that kid but the horrors he’s suffering are perfectly legal. Then imagine you’re being paid $10 an hour for it. Have fun with whatever drug habit you adopt to cope with hearing toddlers beg you to save them from people you’re being paid to be pleasant towards.
But hey, not like I can fix it from here. I’m not gonna end Capitalism by stalling at my job. Not this job, anyway. Fortunately Brian spaced out humming to himself so my extended dead eyed stare went unnoticed. “Your daddeh,” I say as he snaps back to me “brought you here so I could see if you are healthy.” He cocks his head. “Wat meen?” I nod. “Healthy means you’re not sick. He wants you to live a long time.” This satisfies his curiosity as he settles a bit.
“I’ve just got to take a look at you. Stand still so I can take my measurements.” I sorta fondle him all over with my gloved hands. Want him to feel like I’m actually doing something while I look for a way to seal the deal. I brush his balls kinda rough and he let’s out an “Ow!” I stop. “Did that hurt?” He turns back and nods over his shoulder, a look of worry on his chubbt face. “Mm-hm, mm-hm! Bwian wumps hab huwties. Nee enfie piwwow. Nice mista hab enfie piwwow fow gud Bwian?” Great. He’s fucked pillows. At least he’s not-
“Unwess…hab pwetty mawe?”
Shit.
“Because Bwian awso wan babbehs an speciaw fwend an famiwy. Mm-hm. Yep. Dat’s wat Bwian am wooking fow, wong tewm.”
Well shit.
“Oh? Have you asked your daddeh for these things?” He nods again, still looking over his shoulder. “Yup! Daddeh teww Bwian ‘Nu gunna hab gud huggies wif mawes Bwian, nu wan mowe fwuffies.’ Dat jus daddeh bein siwwy doe. Ou knu siwwy? Siwwy wike ‘ha ha’ wike jokies?” I rub my sinuses. The precocious ones are cute as hell, but they can be frustrating sometimes. “Your daddeh is trying to protect you, you know. That’s why he can’t let you have babbehs.”
The smile faded slowly, but thoroughly. “Wat…wat mean?” I smile as forced and cold as I can. “Your daddeh knows that if you have babbehs, scary humans will come hurt your daddeh and take you away. He’s afraid of them and doesn’t want you to be. That’s why he doesn’t tell you.” Sure, it’s a tall tale. But the dawning look of defiance on the young Stallion’s face tells me he’s buying it. He wouldn’t get angry if he wasn’t.
He puffs his cheeks and lightly stamps his front hooves. "Nu! Doctew hoomin am bigges dummeh! Daddeh nu hab scawedies ub nuffin!" Perfect. He’s getting defensive. That means I’m playing Bad Cop this round. If he’s going to be brave, I’m going to let him. And that bravery, or it’s eventual failure, will get me his hilariously bouncy balls.
That’s something I think we as a culture don’t address enough. Fluffy balls are hysterical. They’re weirdly prominent and they bounce when they walk and you can kinda half assedly swat at them to freak them out. Honestly, the fact a fluffy with balls is so vulnerable is half the reason folks forgo castration. Either because it makes them cuter, or because it’s a medium for pain.
I slowly stand and loom over Brian. By now he’s noticed that the desk he’s on has walls everywhere but the front, where I am. Tears welling up in his eyes, he’s holding firm. Standing his ground. Or maybe frozen from fear?
“Well? Gonna run?”
“Nu haftu. Bwian gif wowstest huwties tu dummeh.”
People complain that there’s no way to grab a primed and ready fluffy that won’t either cover you in shit or maim them in the struggle, but those people are just unimaginative. Fluffy teeth can’t hurt you. Bruises are possible on the elderly, but that’s about it. While he blusters I reach towards his face. He moves to bite my hand and I jam my thumb into his teeth, pushing it back to stretch the corner of his mouth. Not enough to tear, but enough to hurt. I hold it for a few seconds. While I do, I slowly tighten my other fingers on the side of his face. Again, not enough to do damage. But after a few seconds of this pressure I feel him go limp. Not fully ragdolled mind you, but the fight goes out of him.
I’ve done this before. Seen this before. He holds out as long as he can, squinting back the tears, but he breathes out, stops mashing his teeth on my thumb, and quits struggling. Opening his big green eyes, his gaze meets mine through tears. An unspoken request.
I grant it, gently setting him down. He scrambles back to the corner of the desk as I bring up the front barrier. No need to keep him from realizing he’s trapped now. Having retreated, he hides behind his bushy tail and glares at me while licking his fluff. He’s a groomer. That’s his nervous tic. Good.
“As I was saying, your daddeh can’t protect you from us. If you have babbehs, I will personally come to your house and smash them. I’ll crush them and feed them to you. Believe it.” His face morphs from rage to revulsion at my threat. “Nebba! Daddeh nebba wet aww dat happen tu Bestest Bwian! Daddeh awways pwotecc!” I smirk and grab a tub of talcum powder. I scooped a pinch up an dropped it on him, eliciting a coughing and sneezing fit. I seize the opportunity to grandstand.
“You stupid poopy dummy! Your daddeh will not save you! Your daddeh can not save you! If you have babbehs, I will kill them and make you eat them.” He manages to interject despite the coughing “Bu…kaff…but daddeh wiww-” I take up a nearby sorry stick Jr. and lash him across the snout with it. He squeals in fear moreso than in pain, the thing barely left a welt. But it’s loud and scary and it does sting, so…
“SCREEEE! NUUUU! NU HUWTIES SMEWW PWACE! DADDEH! DADDEH! SABE BWIAN!”
“I’LL BEAT YOUR DADDEH TO DEATH WITH A BASEBALL BAT AND MAKE YOU WATCH. I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU SAY.”
The lights seem to dim and focus around me. He quivers in awe. “N…nu! N…nu huwt…nu huwt daddeh!” I grab him by the throat, careful to put pressure everywhere but his artery and his windpipe. He immediately starts wriggling and struggling, twisting his fat little body back and forth, kicking his legs impotently in the air trying desperately to push off of empty air.
I flick him in the nose. He squeaks and thrashes harder. I flick him again. He squeaks and thrashes harder. I flick him a third time, then a fourth time without giving him a chance to react. By the time he gets his senses and starts thrashing again, I’m up to six. After the seventh, I feel him submit. His eyes again go to mine. “Don’t want me to hurt your daddeh? Don’t have babbehs.” He actually finds the juice for a few more frustrated kicks. "Dat nu faiw! Bwian hab wump huwties aww time! Onwy gunna feew bettew wen hab famiwy! Enfie piwwow nu 'nuff nu mowe!" He starts crying. Pissing too. Lovely.
“Bwian nu wan daddeh hab huwties, but if Bwian nu hab babbehs, Bwian nu knu wat gunna du! Wumps huwties wowstest ebba, an Bwian nu can take nu mowe! Huuuuuuu…” I laugh good and hard in his face. When it looks like he feels sufficiently disregarded and mocked, I stop. "Brian, as long as you have your special lumps, they’re going to get worse and worse. In a few days, you won’t even care that I’m killing your daddeh. All you’ll care about is good feels." I spit in his face, but he doesn’t get angry. He cries more, but it’s silent.
“Munstah wite. Wumps awways hab owwies fowebba. Nu can wiv wif owwies. Nu wan daddeh hab huwties.” He squints his eyes as if something might change, but nothing does and the moment passes.
“Munstah take wumps away. Nu wan wump huwties nu mowe. Nu wan daddeh hab scawedies. Den meanie hoomin nebba gib huwties tu daddeh ow gud Bwian nebba gain.” He’s not asking. He’s telling. Perfect. God I’m good.
I feign surprise. “Well I…take…off your special lumps? I’m not sure I understand.” I set him back down gently. He sighs, frustrated with my blockheadedness. “Dummeh munstah hab wotsa owwie toysies? Hab doctah hoomins fow gif gud pokey huwties tu fwuffies? Take Bwian wumps. Den Bwian…huuuuuuu den Bwian nebba hab babbehs…”
Bingo. I hit the silent alarm below the desk. When I hear the chime, I know the surgeon is scrubbed and ready. Brian looks at me as I gesture for a nurse to come and get him. “Munstah? Wai nu wet Bwian hab babbehs? Wai gunna gib huwties unwess nu hab wumps?” I ruffle his hair. It’s all I’ve wanted to do this whole time, his mop top is just delightful and he’s a good boy. I hate having to be so mean with him. I’d have liked to talk instead.
“Because you scare us.” He cocks his head, he doesn’t follow. “Because there are already so many of you. Because for generations liars and monsters have tried to convince humans that the world isn’t big enough for everyone, even though that’s a lie.” Hopefully I can recapture him with the pivot. He seems clever. “Because right now, we’re stronger than you. Bigger, smarter, and more durable. When someone tries to keep there from being more humans, other humans have always come to the rescue. Even when it’s too late, even when it’s not enough. Even when doing so just guarantees that neither will die alone.” I gently stroke his cheek as a tear rolls down it. His fluff is all still damp with tears. “Because when someone tries to keep there from being more fluffies, only fluffies come to the rescue.” He starts to nod.
“An’ fwuffies nu can du nuffin’ tu meanie hoomins.” His lower lip juts out making this perfect little pouting face. “Fwuffies onwy toysies. Nebba gunna nebba be bettew…” I scratch behind his ears. Fluffies love it, but it’s also one of their weird endorphin release triggers. “No. Not never. Just not yet. One day you’ll surpass us. Then we will beg you for mercy.” He laughs. Christ he’s emotionally resilient.
“Dat siwwy. Munstah su siwwy.” I chuckle back. “A long time ago there were big monsters. They were giant lizards called dinosaurs, and they were as big as a house.” His expression tells me he’s not familiar. “They were everywhere for hundreds of millions of years. That’s more forevers than anyone can count. Humans have only been here a few dozen thousand. Barely any forevers.” He smiles at that. “But wha happun tu big scawy wizzawds?” I shrug. “Nobody knows. One day they just couldn’t go on. The sky was so meanie to them and they couldn’t find any nummies. Nobody’s sure why. All we know is that when they were around, humans were just dummy rat monsters. Dinosaurs could kill us by accident just walking around. They’d find whole human herds and eat everyone. It was that way for many many forevers.” My nurse has arrived but the patient is transfixed. “Wait! Munstah! Teww fwuffy wat happun! Wan heaw west of stowy!”
“You were made as well as we could make you. The very things that make people afraid of you guarantee that you’ll still be here long after the last humans have gone.” I ruffle his hair again as the nurse picks him up. “But only if good fluffies like you believe.” He smiles. Actually smiles. Christ. I know I’m gonna get an earful from Chuck, heartless prick. I’ll buy him lunch to shut him up. I’ll fill their heads with whatever “ridiculous notions” I like.
As Brian enters the operating room, I depart to the lobby where his owner has been watching from behind the one way mirror. He reaches out to shake my hand, a look of bewilderment on his face. “Christ alive if you’d bet me a million bucks that you’d get him to come up with it and suggest it I’d have lost my ass.” Good. Some owners get uncomfortable. “What’s important is that he had agency in it. Or feels he did, at least. That will make healing from the psychological trauma far simpler.”
The man turns to leave before wheeling around at the last moment. “Oh! One other thing. What was all that shit about dinosaurs and fluffies replacing us and whatever?” I just grin at him. “Poor guy had to lose his nuts today. Had to lose a lot of his future as he understood it.”
“I wanted to give him a new one.”