Muffin chews on a tiny piece of a brown substance, as she prepares for the next birth, nuzzling on a stuffy friend that smells like marijuana. Muffin finds the scent oddly soothing.
Her first babbeh, light brown like his mother, but with a tiny light blue mane and tail like his father’s, is already cleaned and sucking on a teat.
The midwife mare, who has had three litters herself and knows the score, coaches Muffin through the birth, and Blueberry paces back and forth, until the midwife tells him to stop. He may be the smarty, but in this roomsie, he does what the midwife says.
The rest of the herd is anxiously waiting outside, hoping for good news. If fluffies had a god, they would be praying.
Nummies aren’t the only thing the kindly hoomins gave the herd.
Just as they were preparing to leave, Woodstock asked them if they could give some of his toysies to the herd.
Blueberry was surprised, and the hoomins were touched. Blueberry asked Woodstock why he was doing this.
“Woodstock haf manee toysies. Hewd haf nu toysies. Woodstock am westowin da bawance.”
Blueberry was amazed. That was the smartest thing he had ever heard another fluffy say, if we aren’t counting the Bone Fluff, who, let’s be frank, has an unfair advantage.
So Tommy and Maria, the couple, packed up some of Woodstock’s toysies in a boxie. When they put a rainbow-colored ball in the boxie, Woodstock nudged Blueberry and said, “Wen yu pway wif dat baww, it gun bwow yu mind.” Blueberry tried it out later. It did blow his mind. Er, not literally.
They even carried the boxie to the entrance of the warren, so the toughies didn’t have to, and from there the toughies carried the toysies inside, distributing them, and at Blueberry’s insistence, making sure everyone got a chance to play.
What Tommy and Maria didn’t realize until it was far too late is that, in their haste, and, again being frank, their slightly-intoxicated state, they didn’t check if the box was empty before packing it full of toys.
When they later discovered what had happened, they thought it was hilarious.
Blueberry soon noticed the pot brownies left in the box, and ordered the other fluffies to stay back. He remembered that only Woodstock was allowed to eat those. He decided to experiment, like a college freshman. Eating a bite, and then spending the next ten minutes staring at his hoof, moving it back and forth through the air, the king made his royal decree: “Otay, fwuffies am, uh, goin tu… uh, goin tu take da bwock bwown nummies, uh, bwown bwock nummies, tu, um, emp-tee nummies pwace, an nu fwuffy gun num dem unwess…” a giggle, “unwess Bwuesmawty… Smawtybewwy… unwess smawty Bwuebewwy say otay! Unnewstan? Gud! Nao Bwuebewwy gun git nummies. Bwuebewwy haf big tummeh owwies fow sum weason. Den mebbeh pway wif baww.”
After some further experimenting, Blueberry discovered that if he nummed only a teeny-tiny bit of the brownie, it just made him feel really relaxed, and any owwies he had didn’t feel so… owwie. He began carefully dispensing tiny fragments of brownie to any mare giving birth, and any fluffy with owwies, and rewarding the occasional fluffy who had gone above and beyond the call of duty with precious pieces of the “feew-gud nummies”, even starting to trade pieces of the brownies with other herds for anything they had and Blueberry’s herd needed, keeping track of the herd’s supplies of the stash, and wondering if he could somehow get the nice hoomins to give him some more. And thus, Blueberry unwittingly became the world’s first fluffy drug dealer, shattering a glass ceiling nobody knew even existed, and proving to be much more civil about it than his human colleagues. When a fluffy drug deal goes south, it doesn’t end with someone getting shot.
Blueberry: Drug Kingpin of the Forest. I’d watch that movie.
So, to sum it up: that brown stuff Muffin is chewing on isn’t shit.
Muffin pushes out the next babbeh, calm enough to focus, not so baked she forgets what she’s doing.
The second babbeh comes out!
She’s the opposite of her older brother. Dark blue fluff like her father, pink mane and tail like her mother’s. And tiny wings.
Muffin carefully licks the babbeh clean, placing her next to her bwuddah, and she starts sucking too.
Muffin hopes there aren’t too many babbehs to come. She’s already run out of milkie-places.
The third, and thankfully final babbeh is born. A unicorn, nearly completing the set. He’s got light blue fluff, and a dark blue mane and tail.
The herd has learned to value quality over quantity. Three good babbehs are better than six runts.
As Muffin cleans the last babbeh, she gently moves the first babbeh aside, as he chirps and peeps for a moment, before snuggling next to his bwuddah and sissie. There’ll be plenty of milkies for all of them.
As Muffin coos and starts singing a mummah song for her babbehs, and the midwife lets out a sigh of relief, Blueberry runs out to give his people the good news.
If he was human, he’d be holding a fistful of cigars right now.
