“To-day am dah-day!” Toby, the stallion in the kennel next to yours sang.
You giggled into your morning kibble about it, Toby sang his silly song every morning. He told you once he learned it in someplace called a shelter, a place where lots of sad fluffies waited for their mummahs and daddehs to find them. You weren’t really sure how that was different from the fluffy store you lived in, but he seemed sure they were different places. The song would help him find a nice human to take him home, someone to be well and truly his.
A store-bred fluffy, you’d never know anything else. Unbeknownst to you, your litter was an accident, the FluffMart you were born in was wildly unprepared to deal with a pregnant mare. You were born in an aspen chip filled kennel in the middle of the night, so there were no workers to stop your mother from rejecting you for the crime of being grey. When they realized in the morning they bottle fed you as often as they remembered to. Those workers being mostly minimum wage teenagers you were forgotten often. The only proper care you received was when the district manager heard you chirping in pain, hoof wedged into the door of the cage after being kicked away from your mother’s teats.
You didn’t really remember it, but he took sympathy on you and got you medical care. Your front hoof couldn’t be saved, but you were transferred to a location that could care for you. After that you were shuffled between stores, watching other, prettier fluffies go to happy homes while you sat alone in your kennel. Your mane grew in a pale, pastel pink which didn’t help your adoption chances. Eventually one of the workers started calling you Limpy, and the name stuck.
At this most recent location, you met Toby. Toby was a muddy yellow with a neon blue mane. Not something humans or other fluffies thought was pretty either. Toby had lived a much harder life than you, a rejected feral foal that subsisted on his herd’s shit until they were trapped by pest control. His herd was obstinate and demanding but Toby was so polite to the workers they brought him to the shelter instead of wherever his herd went.
Toby was bright and kind, singing his hopeful song about how today was the day he would find a home every morning. You arrived quiet and somewhat broken down but it didn’t take long for his hopeful cheer to rub off on you.
“Yuu tink dat wady wook nicey?” Toby asked, pointing out a well dressed woman speaking to one of the workers.
“Hmm… mabbeh!”
Both of you sat up quickly as the workers led the woman over to the kennels.
“These are the only two we have left, unfortunately.”
“Oh, I was hoping for better colors…”
“Gwey am pwetty cowwow!” Toby chirped. “Gwey am guud wif’ wotsa cowwows! An’ Wimpy hab’ pwetty mane!”
You looked at Toby, confused. Why was he talking you up instead of trying to get the lady’s attention? He waved his hooves back to the woman, pushing your attention back to her.
“Wimpy, huh?”
“Limpy.” The worker corrected. “She’s discounted due to the amputation.”
“Ah.” The woman leaned in to scrutinize you. “Good with kids?”
“Wub wittow humans!” You said, which was true. You liked how they would play with you while the fluffy they picked was being packaged up. You liked how they would talk to you before their parents pulled them away to better fluffies.
“You know, I’ll take her. We’ll give her a try.”
Your heart stopped.
“…Weawwy?!”
“If you can be a good friend for my son, yeah.”
“I’ll get her packed up and meet you at the register, then! Feel free to browse for anything else you’ll need.”
“Toby su happies fo yu, fwend!” He stretched his hooves out along the shared mesh wall, a hug-like gesture you reciprocated.
“Wai Toby nu ask wady tu be Toby nyu mummah?” You asked.
“Nice wady wan’ pwetty fwuffy, she jus’ nu knu’ Wimpy am pwetty. Toby wan’ nice housie fo’ fwend tuu!”
“Cmon, girl. Time to go.” The worker unlatched your cage from the back, reaching in for you.
“Tank’oo! Nebah fo’get bestest fwend Toby!!” You called as you were set into a cardboard travel box.
Toby waved until the box closed up above you. You were vibrating with joy, it was finally your turn! A home, a good home for you! Peeking out from one of the airholes you could see nice supplies your mummah gathered, kibble and a fluffy bed and toys! All for you!
You didn’t mind the shaking of the box as you were carried out of the store, or the cold air sending a chill through your fluff. You were going home!
Softly, so quietly so that not you or any of the workers in the store heard, Toby sang a different song.
“To-day iz nu dah-day fo’ me, to-mowwow am ‘nuddah day.”
Hi.
Limpy’s story is continued here. I’m also still probably doing more from my Christmas Resquests if you want to get in on that before the post closes.
Toby’s story is far from over. I usually finish these things with a sort of closer, a finale that comes from me just to draw the collection to the close. This year I couldn’t quite decide how I wanted it to go, though. Vote and tell me how Toby’s story should end, I’ll go with the top answer at the end of the 24th.
- Tragedy
- Indifference
- Rescue
- Abuse
- Adoption