Pen breeders. That’s what they were calling them. As Martha pushed the foal collection cart down the aisle between the pens, the fluffy mares in each one cowered in fear, pleading in their squeaky toddler voices to be allowed to keep their brood. Martha rolled her deep brown eyes as she walked past a pregnant mare who, despite her offspring still being “tummeh babbehs”, was begging; “Pwease nu take babbehs, tu widdwe nee’ mummah.” why did fluffies have to be so stupid?
M-26 was the first mare that was scheduled to have her foals collected. It was a day later than usual, as there had been a snowstorm the day before that had suspended operations at the breeding centre for the day. “N-nice wady…” M-26 stammered, “tiem fo’ babbehs tu gu awweady?” the lime green pegasus’ lavender eyes spilled over with tears that dripped into her pink mane as she said it. Martha put a fake sympathetic smile on her pale face, and said, “Yes, it’s time.”
The mare sobbed as she rounded up her foals. As she did this she said thing to them, such as: “Mummah wub ‘ou…”, “Be gud babbeh fo’ nyu mummah ow daddeh…”, and “Nu fite wit udda babbehs on da cawt…” Martha did a double take when she heard that last one. M-26 was a breeding mare because she was good at raising foals to be well behaved, and if she was having trouble with one of her foals being aggressive, the foal in question was likely unsalvageable.
Once all of the foals were gathered near Martha at the front of the pen, the young brunette began lifting them into the cart. After placing three foals in the cart there where only two left in the pen, a filly that looked like a tiny replica of the mother, and a unicorn colt who had a red mane, coat, and eyes. Suspecting M-26 had fallen into the trap of having a “bestest babbeh”, Martha cautiously reached for the filly.
Suddenly, the red colt lunged at his sister and bit her ear hard. “SCREEE!” cried the filly as M-26 wept fresh tears. The mare remembered from her own foalhood what happened to violent foals at this breeding centre.
Martha forced the colt’s jaw open to free the filly. Fortunately, she wasn’t hurt, but she was very upset, “Wai bwudda am meanie?” the filly whimpered. Martha didn’t respond, she just placed the foal in the cart with her three nice siblings, and crammed the violent brat into a jar with airholes in the lid. The little red hellspawn tried to give Martha sorry poopies from inside the jar, but just ended up getting covered in refuse himself.
With the jar in the cart, Martha checked her schedule. ‘The good news is, only one other mare has foals ready for collection today.’ she thought to herself, ‘The bad news is, it’s M-52, AKA, Ms Grouchy McSmartypants…’
As Martha walked further down the aisle, she braced herself for an unpleasant encounter with the most infamous mare the centre had as breeding stock.