A Smarty On Daddy’s Driveway Pt. 5
Princess, the newly renamed Bryony, came out of her hurty no-sleep with a whine of pain. Her head was hurties. Her mouthie was hurties. And all she could smell were bad poopies. It was as repelling to Bryony as scat was to any normal animal, a signal to either run away or give bad hurties.
Then she heard poor Cloudy, newly renamed Snowberry, begging not to be given sorry hurties anymore, and all of the past twenty minutes or so came flooding back to Bryony. But to Bryony it felt like many forevers. The terror she felt made every second seem like minutes, and every minute hours. If she could articulate her jumbled thoughts, young fluffy that she was, Bryony might have wondered if it was still the same day.
At that moment however, all the poor ill-used fluffy knew was that her head hurt and her face hurt and the stink and taste of bad poopies made it all worse. Her see-places burned with the stuff, and she chuffed instinctively, trying to blow it out of her smelly-place. She vomited on her front when she realized she could taste it, the sound alerting the big meanie human she was wakies again.
—
Hugo stood up from the limp form of the whimpering shitrat at his feet at the unmistakable sound of gagging and vomiting, the hind legs of the fluffy he stood over now totally limp as if its back was broken. Its fat rump waggled from side to side as it tried to drag itself away on its forelegs.
He wanted to kick it, to stomp on it the shitrat was so pathetic and helpless at that moment, but he also didn’t want to actually break the thing. He wanted it to be able to run away back to its stinking herd and do all the work for him in telling them to fuck off.
Wordlessly, Hugo turned to make for his shed, glancing in at the still dazed filly and wrinkled his nose to see it had puked too. In the shed, he picked out his trusty shovel, its edge freshly sharpened so it cut through the thick grass of his lawn easily. Walking back to the possibly broken fluffy, he made sure the filly in the firepit saw him.
Hugo got the reaction he wanted; the stinking fluffy’s eyes immediately clearing and focusing on him. It probably didn’t know what the shovel was, but he’d be surprised if people haven’t at least driven its herd away with a broom or two. But this one’s end was shiny in the sunlight like a blade, and he raised it above his head just as the older fluffy began to squeal…
—
Cloudy hurt in a way he’s never hurt before. Except his fluffy brain was already rewriting itself to call himself Snowberry now, even after the one that had given him the name had just beat his backside raw. He tried to make poopies, hoping that would scare the meanie human away… but he was all out of poopies.
Snowberry’s forelegs shook as he tried to drag himself away, his back legging hurting too much to even try to bend them. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping the meanie human had gone away; the scary human had stopped giving Snowberry sorry hoofsies, and saw he was indeed walking away. The fluffy tried to make a break for it, whimpering as he was sorry that he was leaving Princess in the hands of the meanie.
Any ideas of heroically saving his filly friend had been beaten out of him. He knew her momma and daddy as a pretty filly and a handsome colt, having helped give them nummies when the herd had first started out under the old smarty.
He was halfway to the thick brush that bordered the backyard, having the idea if he could just get under cover the meanie human would lose track of Snowberry instantly. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the meanie was already making his way back to him, and saw the shovel he carried on his shoulder.
Unlike Bryony, he knew what a shovel was, having seen them used many times to give other fluffies forever sleepies in the other herds he’s been in. He doesn’t quite remember how many, knowing it was more than one leggy, but less than all of them. Knowing them and the dozens of other ordinary gardening tools as ‘sorry sticks’, Snowberry has seen them used to make fluffies turn into not-fluffies, spilling tummy sketties and getting boo-boo juice everywhere.
So seeing the meanie raise the sorry stick up, Snowberry screamed! His life flashed before his surprisingly long, even storied life! And that made poor Bryony scream, and he was sorry she was here to see this…
—
Walnut managed to drag the strange poopy fluffy to the nearest bush. It was still on the smarty’s land, but at least it was out of sight. The taste of fresh poopies didn’t bother her, having been made to subsist on the stuff for the better part of her life now when she wasn’t able to get away from the herd long enough to graze where she could. She might have even noticed it tasted like her herdmates’ poopies if they weren’t all mixed up, but there was something familiar in the smell and taste. But she couldn’t think of that right then.
Walnut stared down at the fluffy, wondering if he was forever sleepies… but then the poopy fluffy gave a shallow inhale through his mouthie before letting it back out in a snort, one half-open eye rolled up into its socket in not-sleepies.
Looking around, she figured this spot was okay for the fluffy to stay in. The smell should repel any meowy or barky monsters, so Walnut left the injured fluffy to scuttle around the Anderson’s home to their backyard. Her arrival was unnoticed for the most part.
Walnut had returned to find the herd was the same stinky mess they had departed from the meanie human’s place. She felt the rare cruel joy at the sound of their discomfort… until she realized she’ll have to be the one to give everyone licky cleanies.
Just then the big scary toughy Melon noticed Walnut, staring out at her from his little barky house. “Dummeh poopeh mawe, gif speshow fwend wicky cweanies.” He demanded.
Walnut shook as she froze in place, staring at the pair of eyes looking at her out of the shade of the barky house. Melon glared at her, but pretty Periwinkle looked back out at her, looking worried about something. “Am… am not dummeh poopy mawe. Am Wawnut.” She says quietly.
Just then, in the other barky munster house, the smarty’s special friend Dragonfruit cried out and gives one of the mares surrounding her a smack on the nose. They were her friends and were trying to give her huggies to feel better, the one struck crying out and sitting down with a squeak of surprise holding her nose. Then there were two mares who needed huggies to feel better. So Walnut’s declaration of her name wasn’t heard by the others.
Melon’s big muddy eyes narrowed, Periwinkle looked back and forth between the toughy and the poopy anxiously. Being one of the few domestics in the herd, she still believed that fluffies should be friends and be nice to each other. Though being Melon’s special friend gave her lots of heart happies, the reality of living in a feral herd was pretty hard for the gentle soon-momma.
“Wat did dummeh say.” Melon says, lifting his bulk and stepping out of the barky monster house.
“A-Am– Am Wawnut, not poopy…” Walnut started… but remembering the unknown poopy fluff in the front yard, but also forgetting that she had seen Melon and other fluffies turning the corner to make for the backyard of the house. Maybe they had missed the new fluffy, so she pipes up, “But know whewe nyu poopeh fwuffy is. Can gif wicky cweanies.” She offers.
The big toughy turned his head to give the apparently named poopy fluffy a hard side eye. Their herd typically didn’t name their poopy fluffies, or allow them to name themselves, a way of leaving them unpersoned and completely disposable compared to the rest of the herd. But they knew at some deep instinctual level if a momma or daddy named them, then that made them… recognizable.
Melon also came to the conclusion if this poopy mare was named, then the sound of the vroom vroom monster behind them was the mister that lived in the dummy leggy fluffy’s housie. Did he name this dummy fluffy? Was she his fluffy now? He would rather not find out.
“Whewe am poopy fwuffy?” He asks after a long pause. Dragonfruit and the other mare were still carrying on, so the attention wasn’t on the pair of them.
Walnut had sat down in the long pause her leggies have gotten tired in all the excitement of the day. She stands back up, “By da vwoom vwoom munsta pwace! Com wif!” She says, eager to turn the scary fluffy’s attention away from her for once.
The poopy fluffy turned and led the big toughy back to the front yard, leading him back to the bush she had left the stranger. The strange poopy fluff was still in not-sleepies, snorting and breathing funny as before. Hard, shallow breaths, like he had hurties.
Melon commanded the newly named ‘Walnut’ to drag the fluffy out, then stared down at the banished smarty. Having been led back to him, the big fluffy began formulating a plan to cut off a loose end and snip a potential problem in the bud.
“Gif poopy wicky cweanies.” He orders. And unlike before, with the big toughy standing right above her, Walnut immediately does as she’s instructed… and pauses when seeing that the stallion wasn’t a poopy at all, but instead had a bright green color like the herd smarty did.
Walnut was getting the idea that a lot has happened in the time she had been separated from the herd. But before she can think more about it, Melon commands, “Keep wickies!” He gives her a cuff on the ear for good measure, scrambling her thoughts so all she focused on was cleaning the fluffy.
Walnut eventually cleans the poopies on the fluffy’s face almost entirely, and was now sucking poopies from his bright orange mane, her eyes scrunched shut in concentration. She didn’t see the big toughy’s hoof swing at her a second time, knocking her over onto her side with a yelp of pain.
Before Walnut was realizing what was happening, Melon was standing on the unconscious smarty’s neck with both huggy legs. He rocked up and down as he leaned down, putting more and more pressure on the smarty’s neck. Though unconscious, the smarty kicked his good hind leg, struggling to live as his neck creaked, windpipe already squeezed closed, making him snort and gag, the smarty’s tongue squeezed out of his mouth as his eyelids fluttered…
Crunch.
Walnut didn’t understand what she was looking at. The smarty had stopped moving, and his head was now bent at an angle she didn’t recognize as normal to a fluffy. Did… did the herd’s toughy just gave their smarty forever sleepies?
Walnut looked up at Melon with a look of confusion, who only grinned back down at her with a cruel smile. Then he was on her, using the smarty’s neck as a gruesome springboard and pinning the poopy fluffy down. She squealed in alarm, starting to thrash, trying to get away! But like Lime before her, Melon grabbed Walnut by the scruff and mauled her like a scary barky monster, giving her tummies sorry hoofsies, knocking the wind out of her. Walnut goes still under him, though her huggy legs pushed against him, bracing herself.
Melon shook Walnut for a few more seconds to make sure the fight was out of the poopy mare, then pins down ontop of the mare between his hearty place and huggy leggies, making sure she tries not to make a break for it. “Fwuffies!” He yells in his squeaky voice, “Fwuffies com tu toughy! Find smawty!”
He calls a few more times before the herd starts trickling into the front yard, investigating the scene that some of them had just left. What they found was a scene they didn’t understand. But some recognized that the still fluffy lying apart from the toughy and the poopy mare was their smarty, covered in poopies like the rest of them were.
When Melon determined there was enough of an audience, he yelled, “Toughy find smawty, dummeh poopy mawe gif fowebah sweepies!” The declaration had its intended effect, his audience gasping in shock. Recognition of the corpse lying on the lawn set in, but not recognition that it was the same poopy fluffy they had only earlier mobbed and left on the front yard for meowy monsters to give forever sleepies. They didn’t remember, but Melon did.
“Toughy gif dummeh poopy mawe fowebah sweepies!” He declares next. His muddy eyes shone with that same cruel glint as he steps back from the mare and reared up on his hind legs, the mare still stunned from the false accusation, making a perfect target for hoofsies. What Melon didn’t see was everyone’s eyes rising far above and past his head.
“Jesus fuckin’ wept aren’t you a big motherfucker.” Came a voice a big gruff voice behind Melon. He gasped as he was suddenly grabbed by the scruff and hoisted into the air, grunting as he was being strangled by his own weight. Scardy poopies came spraying ineffectually out of his ass onto the lawn as he kicked and flailed, but the grip remained strong.
“Nuh uh uh, none of that now, you big bitch.” The voice says again, a snapping sound somewhere and a shiny hurty stick came into Melon’s view, it’s glittering point coming close to his eye. Melon stopped struggling, but his back legs still kicked, nose flaring as he struggled to breathe.
Walnut stared up at the big meanie human holding up the meanier toughy by the scruff like a big baby fluffy. The human’s not-fur was covered in poopies. He looked like he was going to give Melon hurties with the little shiny sorry stick, but his green eyes rolled away from Melon and down at her in a way she’s never seen before. Like he was a scary barky monster and not just meanie human anymore.
“Hello again Walnut.”