Continued from Part 3
The smarty was back in the laundry sink with the cable ran through the cover. It had gotten surprisingly quiet; I only heard the occasional “Hu-hu-hu”. The wretch had finally started giving up hope. The mare was back to watching FluffTV after using her litterbox once more. She was becoming surprisingly easy to take care of. I don’t know if was that the nicer fluffies were treated poorly by the other fluffies or if the poor treatment from the other fluffies made fluffies nicer. Either way, this mare was not the typical irritant like so many ferals.
The monitor displayed “BABIES!” and displayed many colored foals playing and dancing. The mare went still. Tears started running from her eyes as she started sobbing. This was very peculiar as this portion of FluffTV was made to encourage spontaneous breeding. Fluffies were normally delighted at the sight of foals. Something was most definitely wrong. I softly stroked her mane, asking “What’s wrong? You don’t like babies?”
“Hu-hu-hu!” she sobbed. “Poopie had babbehs. Smawtie said poopies nu guwd mummahs. Took bestest babbehs and gave to smawtie’s speshow fwen.” She sobbed some more. “Den smawtie use poopie babbeh for enfies. Poopie babbeh took fowevah sweepies. Am wostest mummah. Hu-hu-hu.”
This made my blood boil. I knew these creatures were stupid but cruelty could not be excused; especially when their maternal instinct was so hardwired. I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. I had plenty of room and could accommodate foals. If I was lucky, I might end up with some sellable ones. I also had a stallion. I just had to make sure he wouldn’t hurt the mare. I had an idea. It was time to get creative……
After some impromptu wood work I made a pair of what I dubbed “enfie trainers.” I took some squares of wood and put a long wood nail through each; it created what looked like two oversized tacks. To be sure they would go in I filed the points just a little more. I took them by the smarty’s sink, placing them next to a bottle of isopropyl alcohol with the cap popped off. I didn’t want the poor smarty to get infected, of course.
I lifted the lid to the sink, looking down at the smarty. It looked up at me, eyes wide. “Nu mowe huwties…… smawtie wan out!” it pleaded.
“But smarty…” I chided. “Doesn’t the poopy deserve bad enfies? She ate your spaghetti that I gave to you….”
Realization came over the smarty’s face. It was far too stupid that it was never going to get any spaghetti. “DAS WITE!” it exclaimed. “Dummeh poopie mus get bad enfies fow eatin smawtie’s sketties!” I nodded in feigned agreement.
“You still have your horn leashed. Roll over, I’ll fix it so your enfies are better….” I told it.
He looked up at me. It narrowed its eyes, but laid down on its side. “Nu twicks, dummeh. Ou will get fowevah sweepies….”
Oh no. Not those. I grabbed one of its hooves tightly and gently poured some of the alcohol on it. I didn’t want to slather it until it was too late. Holding its hoof tightly as I lifted it I grabbed one of the trainers and drove the nail beneath the hoof.
The reaction was immediate. It voided its bowels and bladder into the sink as it skreeed itself silly. “Wostest hoofsie hewties!!! Nu wan!!!” It tried desperately to get free. I splashed a little alcohol into the sink as I lowered it on its back. This had the desired effect as the alcohol burned at the gash on its back. It was far too ungrateful that its wounds were being treated. It spasmed in pain, unable to think clearly as I grabbed the other hoof and added the trainer to the other hoof in the same fashion.
After letting it squeal in pain I hosed it off in lukewarm water. When it was clean enough, I had set it up in the same area as before. I let the leash be a little higher, though, and it created quite the predicament. It now had to choose between how much weight it was going to have on its horn and the trainers. If it put too much weight on the trainers the nails would press in deeper inside its hooves; if it lifted its hooves it would bear all the front weight on its horn. I enjoyed a moment of watching it frantically trying to right itself to an acceptable amount of pain. As I let it get its bearings, I walked over to the mare.
I gently scratched her behind her ears as she cooed happily. “I have a surprise…” I told her. She looked up at me, curiously. “If you want to be a mother I will help you. You can live here with me and I will keep you and your foals safe. They will be fed, warm, and when they grow big I will make sure they get good homes with people who will take care of them.” I gently stroked her back as I said this, watching her eyes grow big and almost teary.
“Poopie can be mummah?!” she cried. “Ou will be nyu daddeh?” I nodded, patting her head. “Poopie pwease wan nice howsie and babbehs! Das all poopie wan!!” Still with the good manners. Having gone this far, I couldn’t say no. That would be cruel.
“You will be a mother; I’m sure you will be a good one. However, I don’t have room for a special friend. I’ve convinced the smarty to give you babies, though….” I picked her up and brought her to the smarty who had finally found just the right position to get the least amount of pain.
Too bad. I yanked on the chain, lifting it up by its horn. I was thanked with a loud skreeee. “Go on…” I told the mare. “Have him give you babies. I won’t let him hurt you…”
She turned to present herself to the smarty, cautiously backing up. “Speshow huggies?” She asked the smarty as it squirmed on the line. When she got close, it brought its trainers on her back. It now had to make sure it was gentle with mare or it would get the nails deeper in its hooves. I might have to patent this; an enfie toy for mares!
I held the fence energizer up so the smarty could see it. “If you hurt her, ‘smarty’, you’re going to get the hurties again……” It was far too stupid to realize that that I could potentially zap the mare as well. It realized it was going to have a fun enough time mating with her in this predicament it didn’t even want to try making the situation worse.
I felt somewhat perverted enjoying this spectacle. I rationalized that I was simply doing what any other breeder might do albeit in a much more sadistic fashion. Still, the mare was going to have her babies and she would know what a good life was going to be. The smarty, however, had so much to worry about it wasn’t able to enjoy the “guwd fewes”. Such a pity……