The basement of the breeding centre, as always, was alive with sound of sobbing pillowfluffs. Between that and the constant chirping from the newborn pen in the corner, a constant din rang throughout the room. Between the half dozen stallions hanging in their semen collection harnesses on the walls, and the thirty mares lined up on the birthing shelves, the breeding pillows had nothing to comfort them.
Unlike the leg-bearing breeders upstairs, most of the breeding pillows were former domestics that had displeased their owners in one way or another. From a handful of fluffies that had pooped on the floor one to many times, to one stallion who had tried to rape the neighbors show mare, to seven mares whose demands for babies had led their owners to leave them to an ironic fate, and to several fluffies who had simply grown up and weren’t seen as cute anymore. Indeed, these fluffies knew what they had lost.
It wasn’t as if the mental health of the pillowfluffs mattered, as they where just there to provide large amounts of low quality foals to sell in bulk. It didn’t matter that one-in-six out of all the foals were either runts or stillbirths. The incinerator had been a good investment.
Ethan had just finished moving some chirpies to the newborn pen when he realized that the mare he’d taken the foals from hadn’t screamed “BIGGEST POOPIES!” when he’d induced her labor. He went back to check on her, and sure enough… “wan die…” she was in the loop. He grabbed the mare and tossed her into the garbage.
There was no salvaging her now.