UPDATE: I have no idea how to create a link, but here’s some fanart from this chapter by the lovely fallenangel!
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the next few days went by with little trouble. Only a few instances required the sorry stick— either from refusing to feed certain foals or refusing to clean their bad poopies— but once those lessons were firmly implanted into Petunia’s pea brain, the rest of the week was smooth sailing. Things were near perfect. That is, until…
Early one morning, while Hazel is still asleep, the silence in the safe room is broken by the softest voice.
“Cheep… ch— mummah? Chirp!”
The little brown foal lay there with her head lifted, baby blue eyes finally open and peering around the room I search of her mother. She finds the mare and attempts to crawl closer, repeating the words “mummah” and “miwkies” as she does so.
Petunia jostles awake, excited for her first talkie babbeh, but is quickly disappointed to find out who it is. She snorts angrily, sticking her back hoof out and shoving the baby away earning a “screw!! why huwt babbeh? Babbeh wuv mummah!”.
the pleas fall on deaf ears as the mare turns away and attempts to fall back asleep, though she jolts up at another voice.
“peep… miwkies….” it’s her bestest babbeh, green eyes shimmering. Petunia is back to her sitting position, gasping and tugging the foal close.
“Bestest babbeh am tawkie babbeh now!! Su smawt!!!” she coos, allowing the baby to latch onto a teat.
Once again the brown foal attempts to grab a meal, and once again she’s shoved away with a bit more force than last time. The leathery hoof makes contact with the tiny snout. She cries out, loud enough for the baby monitor to pick it up.
Hazel jolts awake, glancing to the monitor and then throwing the covers off her. She makes her way out of her bedroom and down the stairs, opening the door to the safe room just in time to see the three colts slowly join their sisters in opening their eyes and begging for breakfast.
Petunia glances to her mother, giving a grin and holding the bestest babbeh up proudly.
“Wook, mummah!!! Bestest babbeh am taw—“ she isn’t given time to finish, the cries of her little brown foal quickly becoming hazels focus. The woman approaches the baby, scooping her up in her hand. There’s bad poopies and peepees on the floor and covering the small foal, a dribble of blood dripping from her nose.
Hazel frowns at the sight, quickly shooting daggers at the mare.
“Petunia, why is your brown foal bleeding? Hm? Where did the booboo juice come from?? And why didn’t you clean these bad poopies!?” She ends her sentence with a point to the now dirty carpet.
“Poopie babbeh made bad poopies so Fw-fwuffy gib bad babbeh wowstest huwties!!” She stuttered out, quickly averting her eyes down to her nursing baby.
The lack of her own name tells Hazel that she’s lying, and she watches as the rest of the foals are fed once “bestest babbeh” has had enough.
“Petunia, you’re going to clean this mess up while I go take care of your hurt foal. If it’s not cleaned by the time I’m back, you’re getting the sorry stick— extra for lying to me!!”
Before she can protest, Hazel leaves the room and heads to the bathroom. The little foal is still sobbing in her hands, begging for her mummah and for miwkies to stop the tummie huwties. A frown tugs on the woman’s lips.
“There there… you’ll get some milk soon. Mummah just has to clean you up and check on your owies, okay?”
The little foal lifts her head at the mention of “mummah” blue eyes filled with love and hope. “Mummah?” she coos.
Hazel nods in reply, stroking her small head with her index and middle fingers. “That’s right, I’m your mummah and I love you,” she replies, grabbing a wet wipe from the bathroom cabinet and beginning to clean her up. She’s not about to risk a bath just yet.
“Babbeh wuv mummah…” the foal coos, tiny legs clinging to Hazels thumb. Once she’s clean it’s time for her nose to be examined.
“Well, nothing too serious, so I think it’s time to get you some breakfast, hm?” the human states, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the foals head. excited chirps fill the bathroom at the promise of milk, and the two make their way back to the bathroom.
“I think I’ll name you…. S’mores…” she says as the walk in, the baby’s eyes widening. “B-babbeh hab namesies?? Babbeh wuv namesies!!!”
Hazel grins and nods, only looking away when Petunia gives a huff at the idea. “Why poopie babbeh get namesies befowe bestest babbeh!!” she protests angrily, receiving a smack. The “owies” are ignored, taking this opportunity to let S’mores nurse while Petunia is distracted.
“Your other babies would already have had names had you not hurt your baby and refused to feed her you stupid bitch,” she huffs, free hand holding the mares back legs down so she can’t kick the foal away.
“And I see you didn’t clean up that mess yet!! You’re getting the sorry stick once I take care of your babies!!”
Hazel is done with this stupid mare and her attitude. Once S’mores is old enough to be without milk, she’s out of there.
When she’s sure her little baby has had enough— the big clue being her fat little tummy— hazel places her in the nest with her siblings. Her hand snatches out and grasps Petunia’s neck by the scruff, yanking her up and ignoring the protests. Her nose is shoved against the carpet, right into the tiny pile of feces. There’s no relenting to her grasp, kicks and cries ignored as she forces to remain there until she caves and begins to lock it clean.
“Good. Now while you’re doing that, I think your other foals deserve names.”
Leaving the mare there to sob and clean, Hazel approaches the fluff pile.
“Alright babies, let’s see— the yellow colt will be Merengue, the dark blue will be Huckleberry, and the blue-gray will be Açaí,” she grins, all three colts jumping about in glee. They’re repeating their names and greeting each other, being sure to include S’mores in the excitement. The baby blue filly sits there still, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“Wat am bestest babbehs namesies?” she chirps, eyes big and anticipating.
Hazel cringes at the words. Looks like mummah got to her first— well, whatever. Hazel wasn’t planning on dealing with her much longer either. With a hum, she taps her chin as she thinks, then gives a grin.
“Your name is Poopie.”
the foal’s face drops considerably, eyes filling with tears at the name. Petunia’s face mirrors this, sitting up from her cleaning to protest.
“Dat am bestest babbeh, nu poopie babbeh!!!”
“Too bad. Her name is Poopie and that’s that.”
Petunia opens her mouth to protest, but quickly closes it and decided to comfort her foal instead.
“Alright, since you’re all talkie babies now, you need to use the litterbox. I expect your mummah will teach you how, otherwise she’ll get the sorry stick!” she glaring at the mare who shirks away.
Speaking of sorry stick— “ that’s right! You still need to be punished for earlier. Remember, you hurt your babbeh, lied to your mummah and didn’t clean up the and poopies!! That’s thirty lashes!!”
Petunia bursts into a sob, immediately trying to run to the furthest corner of the room. Hazel manages to snatch her up before she’s gets very far, however.
“Nu!!! Nu wan!! Nu huwt mummah, Nu wan sowwy stick!!! Am gud fwuffy!!”
The crying earns her a rough shaking in Hazel’a hand before she plopped unceremoniously onto a nearby table. It’s high enough off the ground that Petunia wouldn’t die from falling but would serious avoid jumping off.
The cries are continually ignored as the woman approaches a closet and retrieves a simple sorry stick— it’s more like a horse whip than anything. It’s not enough to break the skin, but enough to cause a serious sting.
Without another word, the fluffys neck is once again helps down with one hand, her flank being mercilessly beaten with the other.
“You’re a bad BAD fluffy!! The worst fluffy ever!!! You give mummah biggest heart hurties!!” She calls out, nearly screaming it to overpower Petunia’s screeches.
“…29 and 30!” She finally counts down, ceasing the beating and setting the stick aside.
“I hope you learned your lesson!! And that all of you—“ she turns her head to see the foals huddled together in their nest, sobbing and chirping softly to each other. “— now know why you should always be a GOOD fluffy. You don’t want the sorry stick like your BAD MUMMAH!”
they all nod in agreement, still huu-huuing as they do so.
“Good,” hazel begins, setting the mare down once more. “Teach then good poopies, Petunia, or it’s twenty more lashes.”
there’s no argument or protests, just a shaky nod and sniffle. “P-petwunia p-pwomise mummah…. Be g-gud fwuffy….”
and with that, Hazel left the safe room, ready to prepare her own breakfast.
