“I’m sorry Sam, I really am.” Officer Freedman said, holding his hat in his hands. “There’s just not a case here.”
You are Sam, owner of what was once a large herd of fluffies. Right now youre sitting in an examination room with a bandaged Bluebell on your lap, petting her as best you can through the layers of gauze.
“But Clover saw them!” You protested.
“He saw three humans. He can’t give us names or real descriptions. And even if he could… Nothing of value was lost.”
You stared at him, slack jawed for a moment. “Nothing of value?! What about my herd?!”
“They were ferals, Sam. In this county they’re actually less than worthless, you can get paid to kill feral herds.”
“But… But the barn!”
“A fire hazard on its own, from what I heard.” The officer gave you a pitying look. “Face it Sam, there’s nothing we can do. If we take this to court, at best, it will get thrown out for a lack of evidence. On the off chance the judge is a huge fan of feral fluffies they might get a few weeks community service for the barn, but most likely you’re going to end up with a fine yourself for not tearing down that old barn AND end up paying the kids legal fees.”
You started to protest when the exam room door opened.
“Oooookay! We got the discharge paperwork all-” a young man in pastel pink scrubs stopped in the doorway, taking in the tension in the room. “Uhm. I can come back in a minute…”
“Nah, we’re all done here.” Freedman said, leaning down to scratch Bluebell under the chin. She cooed, stirred from her drugged up haze. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do, and don’t be afraid to call if anyone else gives you trouble. You still got my card, dontcha?”
“Yes.” You had it on your kitchen counter, next to the landline. It’s future home was in the trashcan, with all the other useless things in your house.
“Call me anytime Sam. I want to help, I really do.”
You didn’t bother to reply. Useless cops. Is this where your tax dollars went? He gave you one last pitying look and left down the hall.
“… So,” the vet tech started, “little Bluebell will need these meds twice a day with food. Keep to soft, simple things like oatmeal.” He set a pill bottle on the table, and held up a large bottle of thick purple liquid. “These are the pain meds, these are a little dangerous. She can have up to four doses a day, at least three hours apart.” You reached for the bottle but he pulled it back, friendly smile suddenly gone. "Do not leave this anywhere other fluffies could get to it. It is sweet and grape flavored, and this is enough to kill at least two full sized fluffies."
“… Should you be giving this to me?”
“We don’t usually give this big a bottle at once. We don’t normally see fluffies that are this injured, or owners that care this much.” His smile returned, and he set the bottle down with a small syringe. “There’s a mark on there, draw it up to the line and have her suck it out. She loves the stuff, don’t you girl?”
“Wub… puwpwe… juicies…” Bluebell croaked, lifting her head slightly. You winced at the dry rasp of her voice.
“Anything else?”
“You have an appointment next week to get her bandages changed, but other than that make sure she rests and drinks lots of water.”
You helped Bluebell settle into a low cardboard box lined with puppy pads. The vets were kind to her as you paid the bill, telling her how brave she was but she just laid with her chin resting on the corner of the box.
“Fluffies respond strongly to pain meds,” the woman at the desk assured you, “she’ll be more alert when they wear off a bit.”
Looking down at her as you situated the box on your passenger seat, you weren’t sure this was just woozyness. She stared blankly forward the entire drive home.
“When we get home, do you want me to set you up on the porch so everyone can come say hi?” You asked.
“…nu.” She whispered.
“Okay. You can… take your time. We’ll get you set up in the living room then.”
She didn’t reply. You drove the rest of the way home in silence, wondering if therapists for fluffies existed.
Back at your farm, you set Bluebell up on the couch with some sesame street playing. Clover and Lilac were excited to see her, you reminded them to be gentle with her while you went out to tell the rest of the barn. Normally on your walk over there would be fluffies playing in the pasture, running and laughing even on an overcast day like today. The silence was unnerving. No tiny voices calling your name. No songs sung to chirpy foals. Just a row of wooden markers on the bare earth where the barn once was.
You shook your head to clear it. You were coming with good news! Bluebell was back, and the herd could finally heal fully. You pushed open the door to the new barn open. “Hey fluffies! I’ve got some good news!”
Your herd was standing in a circle on the linoleum floor, their heads spun to you with confusion and fear on their faces.
“Is… something wrong?”
“Sunshine is bein’ meanie!” Cried Leah, a green unicorn with a yellow mane. She sat in the center of the herd, across from a puffed-cheeked Sunshine.
“Fwuffies nu wisten to Smawty!” Sunshine replied, stomping his hoof.
Outside you heard the first pattering of rain. “What… did you just call yourself?” You asked, your throat suddenly dry.
“Smawty am-” Sunshine turned to you, meeting your gaze and quickly deflating his cheeks. “Sunshine am… in chawge. Wike Bwuebeww.” He looked around to the fluffies gathered. None met his gaze, they looked at you, at each other, at their own hooves.
“No.” You didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Of all fucking days!
“Buh-”
“NO.” The fluffies flinched at your booming voice. “You are NOT in charge. Bluebell is back from the vet, and when she’s ready to come back out she will be resuming her role as leader.”
“Nu!” Sunshine shouted. “Dis am Smawty’s hewd nao! Gib… gib wowstest huwties!”
The fluffies gasped as he rushed at you, wings outspread and head lowered as if he had a horn to gore you with. You dumped hay out of a small crate and held it out, scooping him up as he ran into it.
“Sunshine has been very bad.” You stated calmly. Sunshine began to scream as he realized he was trapped. “He will have to go away while I figure out how to make him a nice fluffy again.” You scanned the room for any other signs of rebellion, but your herd seemed horrified with his actions. Good. You weren’t sure you were able to handle any more problems today.
Where did you go wrong, you wondered as you walked back across the pasture. Sunshine was throwing himself against the sides of the crate, trying to bite at your fingers and kick through the boards. This wasn’t the pegasus that you coaxed back into the bath, the young stallion that ran scared from songbirds, the friendly fluffy that played with Ranger. What changed? It wasn’t like you could ask him, unfortunately.
You set the crate down in your garage. Sunshine, still calling himself Smarty, screamed threats as you shut the door, leaving him in darkness. You would deal with him eventually, once your other tasks had been taken care of.
