An Outsider's Look 2 (by TheHauntedTypewriter)

“Hey, Jimmy, we might have an issue.” Mike stood in the kitchen, hand on the counter and phone mashed against his ear. It’d been a few days since the unfortunate herd invasion, and a few days since said invasion left him with a…well not really a problem; more like a bonus…in a weird way. He didn’t really have a solid way to phrase it.

“What happened? Broke a vase over there?”

“No, one of the fluffies survived, and I decided to keep it around.”

“Huh, that’s some Star Wars shit right there; murder his family and keep him as an apprentice. Eh…it IS a him, right?”

“He is, yeah.” Mike left out the reason said herd got eaten. “But I found it and decided to take care of it, at least until it doesn’t need me anymore or something. Haven’t planned that far ahead. It’s a brown one, so its mom threw it to try and distract the coyotes.” Said fluffy was on the counter, staring up at him with that usual, wide-eyed look. Seemed the lil’ thing didn’t even care about what he said.

“Well, good for you. Why’re you callin’ me?”

“Isn’t your girlfriend a fluffy expert or something?”

“Mike, she’s what they call a…’hugboxer’…meaning, she likes the damn things a lot. Doesn’t make her an expert.”

“But has she said anything to help with this? Tips for raising and rearing a fluffy? Eating habits?”

“Shit, lemme think…oh! Yeah she did. Is the fluffy’s eyes open?”


“Then it’s probably old enough for solid food. From what she told me, most fluffies can eat most things we do, so I’d say give it some veggies and shit. Nothing fatty, else it’s gonna be a fat piece of shit that’ll beg and cry for everything.”

“Alright, think we got some fruits in the fridge—“

“And DON’T give it ‘sketti’. It’s like crack for them. Give that thing some and it’s gonna want it forever, and may get angry if you don’t give it any. And an angry fluffy’s bound to shit on whatever made it angry.”

“…duly noted.” Mike ended the call and pocketed his phone. “So…what’s your mother been feeding you?”

“Poopies…am poopie fwuffy. Mummah say poopie fwuffy num poopies.”

Mike grimaced. These things made their kids eat shit? Yet another reason to dislike fluffies. “Well, none’ve that. You’re eating fruit. You’ll probably like it.” As he spoke, Mike opened the fridge and grabbed an apple, carefully peeling it and offering a wedge to the fluffy. It took a few, hesitant sniffs before biting into it, giving an energetic nod.

“Fwuffy wike! Fank yu, ny—um…mistah mike!”

“Caught yourself. Good.” Mike offered another wedge and the fluffy devoured it all the same. By the third wedge, it didn’t accept a piece, so it was probably sated. “Welp, til then, you’re with me ‘til you’re old enough to live on your own. As fun as a fluffy’d be, I’m only here til the end of Summer, and the campus doesn’t allow pets.”

“Dat otay. Fwuffy wiww be fwine.” Damn thing was overly humble. Made things a lot easier; Mike couldn’t fathom the thought of taking care of one of the others.

“Least you’re humble. Wish the same could be said for all fluffies.”

“Wa humbwe?”

Mike sighed. “Nevermind. Anyhow, you don’t really seem to be that dirty, so…I’d say watch some TV while I get things fixed.” Carefully, Mike picked the fluffy up and headed for the living room. With a hand around the little biotoy, he realized just how light, and brittle, Granola felt. No wonder those coyotes had an easy time with the herd.

As morbid of a thought that was.

The fluffy was set on the couch, and Mike felt his phone ring.

“Yo, so I got off the line with Cecile. I’ll text some good articles over. And hey, got good news.”

“Which is?”

“Cecile’s willing to take in that brown fluffy. She knows a friend who’s been needing a stallion for a breeding farm, and you got a pretty well behaved one there, which is WAY more valuable than a store-bought or a rescue.”

“They are?”

“Apparently; had a talk with Cecile about fluffies and most owners prefer fluffies who are humble and trained. Ones who don’t spend every six minutes begging for or demanding shit. Those ones are easier to manage and, thus, easier to deal with down the road. ESPECIALLY if you can get a mare with those sort of traits, cause of the whole baby fever they work themselves into when they hit maturity.”

“Well, I’d need some help getting shit to keep him safe, then. How soon can she drop by?”

“She’s currently on vacation with her family, so…bout a month. By then, she’ll be back home and that fluffy’ll be grown and easy to manage. I’ll throw some cash your way to help you get things started, but from there…well the internet’ll be your best friend. Til then…”

The call ended. Mike scowled and tucked his phone away. A few texts came in and he clicked each link, skimming the articles and getting a general understanding of what he needed: a safe room, litter box, some fluffy-safe toys and other things. His brother sent him two-hundred bucks, so Mike assumed the stuff was pricy. He’d grab whatever was cheapest and hope for the best. Granola didn’t demand or want much, so that saved him a headache.

Speaking of Granola, the small foal was already asleep on the couch. At least he was easy to manage so far…so that was good. So, it was time to take a quick trip to the store, and hope the foal didn’t wake up while he was gone. Or, worse, the remnants of those fluffies came back. He counted eight bodies when he got outside, but hopefully the other four got snapped up by wolves or something.

A cruel thought, but…he didn’t want those things coming back. He wasn’t sure if fluffies could seek revenge, and he didn’t plan on inviting the chance.

“Wook mistah mike! Fwuffy wun aftew bawky fwiend!”

Mike watched as Granola tried, and failed, to catch Sparky. It’d been a few days since he “adopted” the fluffy. He converted his old room into a pseudo safe room, and from his time with Granola he learned a few things.

Fluffies were pretty fucking stupid.

Several times through the day, he heard Granola crying his eyes out, thinking he was trapped in a box, only for Mike to find the fluffy had simply pressed himself against a corner, and was too terrified to turn away. There were many more, but they paled in stupidity to that. Those incidents made him look it up and, yeah, fluffies as a whole were VERY dumb creatures; below toddler intelligence, really. As he expected, feral fluffies were much dumber than regular ones, too, prone to dying to cars rolling by, eating expired food and dying that way, or even singing their god-awful songs and attracting both predators and devious people.

With all that, Mike wondered how fluffies even survived in the wild, only to remember they both bred and matured insanely quickly; for every ten fluffies that died at least fifty more were born to replace them.

A harrowing thought. Meant that, if enough of those things were allowed to breed, they could potentially overrun a city. Might have to declare open season on them, then!

He didn’t entertain that thought long. As annoying as they were, he’d rather not kill them directly. Indirectly…well he already did that, didn’t he?

“Mistah mike! Wook!” He glanced up. This time, Granola wasn’t trying to show off to him, but instead pointing a hoof at the fence.

A fence where a fluffy worked its way in. Another one? Fucking hell.

Mike got up. He heard Sparky run back to the house, hopefully sensing the possible conflict. He approached the hole in the fence just in time for the fluffy to work itself through. On closer inspection, he saw it had bright red coloration and a violet mane. Reminded him of yogurt, for some reason, but that was besides the point.

“Hewwo nice mistah!” It squealed in their usual high-pitched voice. “Yu be nyu daddeh for mummah an babbehs!”

“…what?” Sure enough, he counted eight tufts on her back: her foals. They were all snoring peacefully, though he saw one shared the exact same coloration as her. Seemed like an omen. “No, I’m not—”

“SCREEEE!!! POOPIE BABBEH!!!” She screeched at Granola, prompting the smaller fluffy to step back, wincing from her words. “Daddeh! Wy yu hav poopie babbeh?! Dey bad!”

“That’s not your business.” Despite it all, Mike tried to remain civil. He was damn sure not letting the mare stay in his backyard. He was surprised she couldn’t smell the lingering blood of the others and read the room, so to speak.

“Hmph! Poopie babbeh nee fowevah sweepies! Nu gu! Nao gib sketti for mummah an bestest babbeh!” She screeched up at him. Mike remained stoic.

He reached down to pick Granola up and tuck the foal under his arm. “Stay right there and you get some ‘sketti’.” With that, he turned away to head for the patio, setting down the brown fluffy.

He felt wetness against his arm. Shit, did Granola pee—

Mike quickly realized he was crying. “Mistah Mike…wy fwuffy hate Gwanowa?” He asked.

“…dunno. But don’t sweat. You’re alright, and a friend’s coming in a month to take you to a happy place, right? So, cheer up.” He planned to tell Granola about the arrangement later on, but…well now was a good time.

Granola sniffed and nodded. “Fank yu, mistah Mike…bu wha fwuffy do nao?”

“Wait. Lemme make a call.” He opened the door for him and Sparky, letting them both inside so he could both keep an eye on the mare, who disobeyed his orders and waltzed into the yard, and to yank out his phone and dial up his brother.


“Jimmy, got another mare in the yard. Mare with foals. Advice?”

“You mean aside from a shovel?”

“…no. Gimme a non-lethal way to handle this, alright?”

“Fine fine…augh…she’s got a ‘bestest babbeh’, right? It’s usually a foal that’s her favorite color or, more commonly, the same color as her.”

“She mentioned one, yeah, and it’s the same color as her.”

“Snatch it and hold it away from her. Ferals got this weird tick where they pick a favorite foal and DO NOT let anything happen to it. They’ll even sacrifice other kids to predators and the like just to deter them from eating that one.”

Mike scowled. Favoritism like that just brews bad manners down the road. “And then what?”

“Wait. She’ll get desperate fast. She’ll beg and cry, yeah, then threaten you, then try offering her other babies as ‘tribute’ to get you to let go of it. Wait until she’s at that phase, then CHUCK the bastard out the yard. She’ll go tearing after it.”

Mike was puzzled at that. Sounded pretty fucking cruel, but it sounded non-lethal. Just what he was looking for. “And that’ll work? What if she comes back?”

“Out it goes again. I had to do this once or twice when a mare got in the yard and refused to get the message. They’re dumb as fuck, and won’t make the connection that you’ll keep throwing the foal until the sixth or seventh time, and by then they’ll be too exhausted to do anything about it. But, honestly, it’s a flip of the coin.”

“Flip of the coin?”

“Yep. She either gets the foal back, decides it’s not worth it and leaves, or she doesn’t get it back and spends an hour of three crying and wailing in sadness. As depressing as the latter is, it won’t last. When stripped of their favorite baby, most feral mothers just care for the others, though she may grow scornful of you.”

“And will that be an issue?”

“Nope. By then she’ll make the connection: go into your yard, she risks losing another baby, and she’ll actively avoid it, or try waiting ‘til you’re asleep, but with Sparky around, she won’t get in without the same shit happening.” Once again, Sparky helped out. Mike found that relieving.

“I’ll see what I can do then, Jimmy. Thanks.” He ended the call and headed for the mare. She was on her side, letting her foals feed from her weird crotch tits and…singing an inconsistent song. Mike wasn’t a musician, but even he knew she was off-key and out of tune, and he only took Choir to impress an exchange student!

Still. Mike reached her and took a quick look for the “bestest babbeh”. Sure enough, it was clamped to her nipple, hungrily suckling away. The rest were nearby, giving off bird-like chirps and peeps from distress. Was their mother badly feeding them? That just justified his next actions.

With a quick swipe, he plucked the foal from the nipple and held it up. The small critter had a belly full of milk, and from fear released a small sputter of shit and piss that, with a careful angling, he avoided.

The mare snapped to attention. “NUU!!! NU TAK BESTESH BABBEH!!!” She rolled onto her legs and pawed at his leg, already desperate to get him to release her chosen offspring. Mike remained unmoved. Her desperate act turned to anger, as she snorted and puffed her cheeks up. “Dummeh daddeh! Wet bestest babbeh gu, ou ge sowwy poopies!” And there was the threat he was dreading. Regardless, he remained unshaken as she turned and raised her tail. Mike took a step to the right and the squirt of diarrhea struck the ground. It smelled absolutely ghastly, but he did his best to ignore it and stay focused. The mare turned and saw her attack had no effort. Tears quickly welled up in her eyes and she started to beat at his shin again, openly crying. “Huuu huuu…daddeh nu giv bestest babbeh! Tak othew babbehs! Dey nu goo!” And, as Jimmy said, she was offering her other children in tribute.

He reared his arm back and tossed the foal over the fence and into the grass outside. The second it was out, the mare went tearing after it, pushing herself through the fence to get to it, though she left behind the others. They continued to peep and chirp helplessly. Mike felt a little bad for them, but he already had Granola, and they still looked at the age where they needed their mother’s milk…no matter how bad of a mother she was.

Speaking of their mother, she crawled right back into the fence, with the foal on her back. Mike didn’t even give her the option to speak; he grabbed the foal and tossed it again, resulting in her sobbing and chasing after it.

It became a twisted game of fetch after a while. Every time she came back into the yard Mike tossed it away and she went chasing after it. Each time she wormed her fat body through the hole in the fence, Mike realized it was getting a bit wider, and there were tufts of hair attached to it. She was hurting herself to get in each time, yet she seemed that dead set on him being her “new daddy” and taking care of her.

He had to commend her for her perseverance…but…he needed her gone all the same.

Mike held the squirming foal once again. The exhausted mother panted and huffed, flopped on her side and gasping as if she ran a marathon. “Huuu…wy daddeh nu giv babbeh…she onwy a wittwe babbeh…”

“I want you out my yard. Don’t come back and you can have her.”

“Buw…nyu daddeh! Wy nu gib housie and toysies and sketti?! Wy nu wuv fwuffy!??” She was trying to guilt him. He wasn’t buying it. “Wy can’ mummah sway wit babbehs?”

“Because there’s too many of you. I already have Granola. I can’t take care of you all too.” He wasn’t even sure she understood.

“B-B-Bu…mummah gew wid of othew babbhehs!”

Wait what—

A spray of blood on the ground told Mike what she was doing. In one fell swoop, the mare brought her hoof down on one of the other foals, gibbing and splattering it like a packet of ketchup! One by one, she set about slaughtering her own brood, crushing them quickly with her hooves, all while she sobbed and cried. Mike was…well for lack of a better word, absolutely disgusted. He knew she was desperate, but to kill her own children to make room? Just…wow. And he wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to stop it either; not like he could, anyhow. By the time he had an answer, the last foal was dead, leaving its mostly crushed head on display, staring up at him with a milky, undeveloped eye.

“Nao gib sketti, mummah tak cawe ou ottew babbehs!” She declared, still sobbing. Mike just…tossed the foal out the yard again. Hopefully this time she just stayed out cause—

Something caught the foal and flew off. A falcon shot by, carrying the chirping foal into the woods and, no doubt, to its death.

Mike just watched on with perplexity as the bird escaped with its quarry, whereas the mare wailed in despair, beating her hooves on the ground as he slowly backed away. See, now he felt bad. Her whole brood got wiped out…much of it because of her but that was besides the point.

“Huuuuu…bad mummah…mummah nu hab babbehs weft…wan die…wan die…” She sobbed to herself. Mike did his best to remain stone-faced, but he had to admit it was fucked situation all around. So, he inched away, dialed Jimmy up, and headed for the patio.

“Yo, did it work?”

“…no.” Mike admitted. “I let it slip that there wasn’t enough room for her, so she got the ‘good’ idea to kill the others. And then a falcon grabbed the last foal.”

“Holy shit that’s…wow. Must’ve been feral for quite some time, then. They’re the only ones that’d get desperate enough to actually kill their own foals just for a chance at a good life. Most would bargain a lot and, potentially, just assume it’s not worth the effort. So…shit…”

“Any ideas what to do now? She’s saying ‘wan die’ now.”

“Ohhhh…she’s entered the ‘wan die’ phase…there’s not much that you can do, there. Takes a lot of trauma to get a fluffy to that phase, and when they do, they don’t come out ‘til they get what they want; death. So…best thing you can do is either take care of it yourself, or let something else, cause there’s not much that can be done for her now unless she’s still got her wits.”

The call ended and Mike frowned. He felt semi-responsible for what happened…so he needed to try something.

“You, fluffy.” She stopped sobbing and looked back at him. “Look…I’m sorry about all that, but…you can stay with me for a bit.”

“Huu…nyu dadd—”

“I’m not your daddy.” He corrected. “You’ll be with me for a month, til a friend comes to pick up and the other one up. On that note, you are NOT to disrespect him at all, understand? You two are equals, got it?” She nodded. “Good…then let’s go. You’ll get a bath, and I’ll make some calls.” He had a hunch he’d regret taking in another fluffy, especially a feral mare, but like he told Granola, it’d be only for a month, and if she decided to a bitch or cause issues, he could toss her out.

So…it’d probably work out. So long as more fluffies didn’t show up. But, like with all things, Mike had a sneaking suspicion his troubles were just beginning.

[So, after eons of delay, here’s the sequel. Not very big, but still neat. Just an average guy slowly delving into the world of fluffies and what to do. Honestly, wasn’t sure what to do for this chapter, so I opted for a bad mummah, as it’s another common theme I see.

I plan to work on the third installment soon. See where that goes. So, for now, take care and thanks for reading!]


Oh boy. There’s gonna be a lot of abuse between bitch mare and Granola. I look forward to it!


I’ll have to see. Big shocker, despite my time spent lurking, I dunno how bitch mares respond to brown foals that aren’t theirs.


Usually badly. Bad to any brown fluffy, theirs or not.


I may need to restructure part 3, then.


at least was she hot? did you get a home run?


Prob not. Y’know how it is when you do something to impress a girl: it either works, or it doesn’t but then you get a new hobby.


Not bad. The guy seems to be losing a few brain cells since last chapter though, letting the feral mare stay. She’s already shown hostility towards the brown fluffy he has.

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Tis mostly guilt. Guilt makes anyone act funky.


Would have fix that damn fence if i where him, drag the bitxh mare pour the coyote lure on her have the pack off with her. :triumph:

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