Daffodil
Daffodil was a great pet, and had waited patiently for almost a full year after first asking her owner for babies. It was decided she would have one litter before she was fixed. A breeding date was arranged and, for one special afternoon, Daffodil knew what adult love felt like.
She was surely impregnated after the first coupling, but they had rented Rocket, the stud, for the whole day. They had told Daffodil that Rocket was not her forever special friend. He was not moving in with her. She should not fall in love. She would never see him again. She said she understood. She was very wrong.
The indescribable thrill of a stallion mounting her as instinct took over and she lowered the front half of her body. The feeling of warmth and security of his chest fluff on her back, and his strong legs on her sides. The sensation of her own body preparing to receive him. The dull pain overtaken by overwhelming pleasure. The rhythmic grunts of enf enf enf as the duo steadily let nature take its course. The tempo increase as climax approached. Muscles tensing, a warm sensation flooding her belly, and the stallion shouting gud feeeews to the world, declaring his complete approval of her entire existence.
It had been the best moment of her life.
After Rocket dismounted her, Daffodil nuzzled her face against his. She aggressively showered him with wicky kisses. She had never felt a sensation like this before. Rocket, having bred dozens of mares before Daffodil, was less lovestruck, but certainly appreciated the extra affection. Daffodil returned to her breeding position almost immediately, presenting herself to Rocket without any shame or decorum. The stallion explained that his nu-nu stick needed a short rest before he could go again. Daffodil proceeded to give his nu-nu stick gentle wicky kisses, his scent and pheromones completely intoxicating her. Rocket was ready for round two within minutes.
The eager duo ended up coupling eight times that afternoon. Rocket was limping out of the saferoom, a euphoric and dazed smile on his face. Daffodil stared at her stallion as he left, her wide eyes focused on every minute detail. She wanted to remember him forever. The particular shade of red of his body, and the bright and calming white of his mane and tail. The way his muscles showed as he walked slowly. The way he looked over his shoulder at her as he got into his travel box to go back to his owners house. The way he smiled at her for the very last time.
âgud-bysises Daffowdiww! Take gud care ow Wocketâs babbehs! Wocket am gun miss ou!â
She let the tears flow as she waved her front hoof at him. It was like part of her body was being removed in that moment. She knew she was going to live, but she wouldnât feel alive ever again. She comforted herself in knowing that she would be a mummah soon, and that in her children she would have part of Rocket with her for the rest of her life.
Daffodil was a good soon-mummah, and did everything her owner expected of her. When she got too plump to walk, she was happily positioned in front of her litterbox, and watched instructional videos of FluffTV all day. She looked around her saferoom, at the toysises that used to be hers. Soon they would be for her babies. It would be a new chapter of her life. She was nervous and excited.
She looked over at the far wall. She couldnât see the picture very well, but she knew it was there. She smiled. It was a picture of Rocket. Daffodil had politely asked her owner for a picture of the stallion, saying she wanted her babbehs to know what their daddeh looked like. Her owner printed out a picture of Rocket from the breeders website. It was a gorgeous glamour shot, Rocket was looking off into the distance as the camera captured his powerful body, contrasted by a background of perfectly manicured green grass and a cloudless blue sky.
She felt a twinge in her special place, and then an urge to defecate. She took a deep breath. She called out for her owner. There was no response. Daffodil didnât panic. She had rehearsed this. The FluffTV was actually currently showing a program about how a good mare should give birth. She knew what to expect. There would be some hurties. Then poopies. Then babbehs!
The hurties came and were indeed formidable. Daffodil had never experienced a uterine contraction, or anything close to it. Her body quickly and efficiently aligned the foals for entry into the world. She grit her teeth and tried not to sound foolish as she shouted BIGGEST POOPIES, making sure to exhale as much as possible. She could feel the first of her children moving through her birth canal.
She was laying on her side, as best as she could in her swollen state. She positioned her tail under her special place, wanting to provide a modicum of padding for the new arrival. She could feel the foal bursting forth from her body. The sensation was unlike anything she could imagine. She wasnât alone anymore. There was another fluffy in the room. A babbeh. Her babbeh. She cooâed out loud, talking to the babbeh, telling it not to worry, that mummah was near. She couldnât turn around to get the foal. Not yet, not until she deflated.
She felt a deep pang of sadness. She knew this wasnât wasnât natural. The babbehs daddeh was supposed to be here. Her special friend. Rocket. He should be giving her the most gentle wicky kisses, telling her how good of a mummah she was. He should gently pick up the foals, one by one, and carry them from her special place up to her face. She should be giving the foals wicky-cweanies, not yelling to them to try to remain calm as they wriggled helplessly on her tailfluff, covered in a cocktail of amniotic fluid and shit.
This was all wrong.
She tried not to cry. She knew her foals needed her, and needed her to be brave. She continued to call out to them as they cheeped softly, exiting her body one by one. She could feel them moving. She wiggled her tail, letting them know she was here. Mummah was here. Mummah loved them.
After what felt like a lifetime, Daffodil deflated. She kept her tail steady as she slowly turned around, not wanting to accidentally fling her foals in her haste to see them. She looked over her shoulder and saw them, in a haphazard heap. Their first instinctual attempt at a fluffpile. In her fluff, no less. Her heart was ablaze. She wasnât a soon-mummah anymore. She was a mummah.
Daffodil gently plucked her foals from her tail, one by one, and brought them to her forelimbs for wicky-cweanies and inspection. The order she grabbed them happened to be the reverse order of their birth, as the last foal born was at the top of the fluffpile. The first little one she grabbed was a pale yellow filly with no wings or points. It peeped as it was cleaned, and suckled happily when placed at her teat. The second little one was a pale purple filly, with tiny little wings on her back. She too let out nervous peeps as she was cleaned, and drank greedily after being placed at a teat.
Daffodil picked up the third foal. Another filly. She hadnât really considered it before, but she just assumed she would have at least one colt babbeh. She felt that pang again. The pang of sadness. The urge to see her special friend again, even if it was in the face of their shared child. A child he would never know, and who would never know him. Never know his love. His voice. His warmth. His smell. His touch.
She shook her head. She cleaned the pale blue filly, with no wings or points, and placed it at her teat, gently removing the yellow nu-wingy filly who peeped in protest. That babbeh was soon asleep against her chest fluff, its tummeh full of miwkies.
Daffodil reached back and grabbed the last foal. Her first born. She brought it to her face. She tentatively licked the biological material that covered its body. The yucky taste of excrement and afterbirth didnât even register in her mind, as she dared to hope about what she would find when she cleaned her last foal. Her tongue ran up and down its body slowly, revealing the color of itâs fluff. It was the same color red as Rocket.
She felt her tongue press up against something different as she cleaned this foal. She had been giving wickie-cweanies to its poopie place, which would help stimulate itâs bowel. Daffodil didnât know this, of course, but she followed her natural instinct. As her tongue ran up and down the foals rear end, she feltâŚ
Wumps.
She held the foal up to her face. She could see them. Tiny, newborn wumps. This babbeh, barely old enough to chirp, a spitting image of its father, had wumps. It was a boy. A colt.
Her colt.
Daffodil wept tears of joy. She lay on her side, rotating all of her fluffs on and off her teats until they were all fed and fast sleep. Daffodil gently placed the fluffs in a pile on top of a blanket she slept with every night. The warmth and smell kept the foals asleep. Daffodil dutifully cleaned her area, licking up all of the poopies and other fluids she had excreted during birth. After she was finished, she walked across the saferoom on wobbly legs. She pressed her face up against the photo of Rocket. She closed her eyes and let a tear run down her face.
âBabbeh wooks jus wike ou, Wocket. Ou wouwd habs biggest heawt happies wite nao.â
She walked slowly back to her foal pile. She snuggled up next to the four tiny miracles and closed her eyes, praying she would dream of their father.
For the following weeks, Daffodil continued to demonstrate nearly perfect mummah behavior. Her owners were shocked to find Daffodil had given birth and hadnât screamed for help, and had even cleaned up after herself. She carried her foals gingerly, often one-at-a-time in her mouth rather than all-at-once on her back. She ate her nutrient rich kibble without complaint, and made sure to stay hydrated as she had learned from FluffTV. Her foals had equal access to her milk, and were all growing up happy and healthy. They were able to crawl around, and were expected to open their eyes any day.
Daffodils human-mummah sat next to her on the floor of the saferoom, gently stroking the fluffys mane before starting a tough conversation.
âWeâre really proud of you, Daffodil. I hope you know that.â
âTankou mummah, Daffowdiww ams pwoud to be gud mummah fuw hew babbehs.â
âDo you remember the talk we had? Months ago? When we agreed to let you have babies?â
âYus. Daffowdiww wemember dat Daffowdiww ams habs tu gu tu ductuw an habs babbeh-pwace taken fwum tummeh.â
âThatâs right, youâll need to be spayed. But we also talked about how we would have to give the babies away, right?â
Daffodils heart sank. She remembered the conversation. She wasnât going to be petulant and argue. She knew her owners told her they only wanted one pet fluffy, and that her babbehs would be adopted out to other owner-mummahs.
âDaffowdiww nu means to cwy mummah, but ams habs biggest heawt-huwties if babbehs gu awayâŚâ
âI know, girl⌠I know⌠I read something in a book once, a book about animals. It really stuck with me. âNature is especially cruel to mothersâ. Do you understand what that means?â
âDaffowdiww nu tink suâŚâ
âIt means that⌠being a momma is hard. And unfair. If youâre a good mom, and you raise your kids right⌠they leave you. Your reward for all your hard work is an empty nest. Even if we kept all your babies with us, which we canât, they would grow up. They would stop needing your milk. Your hugs. Your kisses. They would be adults that are looking to make their own families. To be mummahs and daddehs themselves. They wonât need you anymore.â
The words were cruel but Daffodil instinctively knew them to be true. After all, she didnât need her own mother. She could barely remember what her own mother looked like. And that didnât make her sad, it just seemed⌠natural.
âThis had been quite a journey for you, having babies and raising them so well. But if we want to find good homes for them, itâll be easier when they are little babies versus grown adults. Does that make sense?â
âBuh babbehs ams stiww widdew! Nu open see-pwaces yet!â
âRight. And when they do⌠itâll be time for them to go.â
Daffodil cried. She apologized to her owner again, not ever wanting to be a bad mummah or a bad fluffy. Her mummah stroked her mane and continued to speak softly.
âYou want your babbehs to go to the best families, right? The best families tend to look for babies, not adult fluffs. Just like how we adopted you when you were little. Thatâs just how it is.â
Daffodil couldnât reconcile the conflicting ideals her mind held to be true. She understood in her mind that it was okay for fluffs to be taken from their mothers, because she herself was taken from her own mother. She also understood that nature made her a mummah and gave her miwkies to feed and love her babbehs, until they decided they were ready to leave. She felt lost and scared and confused. She closed her eyes and sniffed her babies. She looked up at the picture of Rocket on the wall. She didnât want to say goodbye to any of her fluffs, butâŚ
She looked down at her colt. She plucked him from the fluffpile and set him apart. He crawled about happily, following his sense of smell back towards her. She smiled warmly, talking softly, telling him how handsome he was. She was very particular not to call him her bestest babbeh, but did tell him he was her spechuw widdew cowt.
Her owner noticed the striking resemblance between the father and colt.
âHe looks just like his daddy, doesnât he?â
âYus. Daffowdiww finks he ams vewy handsum widdew cowt. Daffowdiww wish Wocket couwd see handsum babbeh.â
âYou still think about Rocket?â
âYus. Aww da times. Daffowdiww miss Wocket vewy much.â Daffodil didnât normally complain or ask to see her special friend, but since her mummah had asked, she continued: âCan Daffowdiww see Wocket again? Nu fuw babbehs, buh fow⌠jus to pway? Wud gibs biggest heawt happies.â
âI can reach out to his owner and see if Rocket would be able to come over and see his foals. They are all so pretty. It might be a good photo opportunity for marketing purposes. And who knows, maybe Rockets owner will want to adopt your special little colt! He could be a breeding stallion, just like his daddy!â
Daffodil perked right up. She hadnât expected such a string of good news from her mummah. She could see Rocket again? Rocket could visit her and see all her babbehs? And Rocket could take her her spechuw widdew cowt home with him? What a wonderful turn of events! Daffodil smiled happily and thanked her mummuh. She continued to dote on her four foals, being careful not to show any favoritism. She also knew not to name them, as that was a special privilege for their new owners. Thankfully, she could just call them by their colors and that worked out well enough.
Over the next few days, the foals opened their eyes. This jumpstarted their speech and their motor functions. Foals were standing on wobbly legs, shakily trotting around the saferoom. The peeps and chirps were replaced with words and phrases. Mummuah. Miwkies. Wub. Hugs. The things most near and dear to a foal.
One afternoon, Daffodil was laying on her side nursing her yellow and purple fillies. Her blue filly and her special little colt were sitting on their rumps, looking up at her smiling face, asking a million different questions. The foals were currently pointing to things and asking their mother what they were pointing at.
âMummah wut ams?â
âDems awe weggies!â
âMummah wut ams?â
âDats ou taiw!â
âMummah wut ams?â
âDat ams mummahs mane!â
âMummah wut ams?â
âDems awe see-pwacesâ
âMummah wut ams?â
âSiwwy widdew fiwwy, ou awedy asked dat! Dats ou taiw!â
âMummah wut ams?â
âOoo! Dems ams bewy spechuw! Dems ams widdew cowts widdew wumps! Wumps ams wut makes ou a cowt!â
âBabbeh ams⌠cowt?â
âYus! Babbeh wif wumps ams cowt. Babbehs wif odah kind of spechuw pwace am fiwwy. Colts ams be daddehs. Fiwwies ams be mummahs.â
The two fillies nursing on Daffodil unlatched and joined in on the impromptu anatomy lesson. All four foals gather in a group in front of their mother and inspect each other closely.
âSee babbehs, yewwow babbeh an puwpew babbeh and bwue babbeh ams habs da same spechuw pwace as mummah. Dat means ou ams gun be mawes soon, and maybe eben mummahs wun day!â
The colt had the mental capacity to realize his body was different than his sisters.
âMummah, babbeh nu am mawe?â he asked.
âNuu, ou ams widdew cowt! Ou wumps mean ou am gonna be a stawwion!â Daffodil said that word with such dramatic emphasis that her four children truly believed it to be magical.
âMummah, wuh am wumps fow?â the colt asked innocently.
âWeww, wumps am fow da moss im-pow-tant fing dat any stawwion can do: spechuw-huggies.â
The foals eyes lit up, spellbound at the secret knowledge they were becoming privy to.
âWen ou fwuffs nu am babbehs nu mowe, wen ou ams mawes and stawwion, ou ams gon find a spechuw fwend. Fwuffs dat wan babbehs togevuh do spechuw huggies, an den da mawe becomes a soon-mummah, an den a mummuh!â
âHow du spechuw hugs?â the blue filly asked.
Daffodil laughed softly at the silly little foal, eager for knowledge.
âNuu ams wowwy widdew bwue fiwwy, ou nu nee tu knu dat wite nao. Mummah wiww teww ou mowe wen da timesies ams wite.â
Daffodil was suddenly hit with a pang of sadness. She likely would not be the one to have that talk with her children. By the time they were ready to learn about their special places, they would probably already be with their new mummahs and daddehs. Daffodil tried to keep a smile on her face, but deep down she feel the reoccurring nagging feeling that things were all wrong, and that her life wasnât natural. She should be the one to talk to her growing foals about adulthood. She should tell her fillies how to act as a mare, and Rocket should be teaching her colt how to be a good stallion.
She sighed heavily. It had been many days since her owner suggested bringing Rocket over for another playdate. Daffodil had tried not to annoy her owner, but she desperately wanted to know if that was still going to happen. She got her babbehs gathered into a small playpen within the saferoom and then headed off to find her owner. She was in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
âMummah, Daffowdiww nu wans to bovvuh ou wen ou ams busy, buh⌠can ask ou sumfing?â
âSure thing Daffodil, whatâs up?â
Daffodil took a deep breath and decided to get right to the point.
âAms Wocket gun come fuw pway? An tu see da babbehs?â
âOh, thatâs right! I sent an email to the breeder a few days ago. I donât know that Iâve gotten a response yet. Here, let me check.â The woman pulled out her phone and scrolled through some emails. âOkay, yeah, he sent me a message earlier today. Asked me to give him a call.â
Daffodil stares at her mummuh. Itâs clear the fluffy doesnât want to impose or be a nuisance, but she also clearly doesnât want to have the issue be forgotten once again.
ââŚOkay Daffodil, Iâll call him right now. My hands are kinda full, so Iâll put it on speakerphone. Try to be quiet and just listen, okay?â
âYus mummah.â
The woman pressed her phone a few times before laying it on the counter. Her hands were covered in dinner ingredients, and she continued to prepare the meal while her phone loudly projected the ringing sounds of the outgoing call. After about four rings, a male voice said âHello.â
âHey, Mr. Howard? This is Ms. Greene. We had your fluffy, Rocket, come⌠uh, âstudâ I guess is the right term, our mare a few months ago. I sent you an email earlier-â
âYes maâam, I remember you folks. Rocket couldnât stop talking about how much fun he had with your fluffy, Daffodil right?â
Daffodil perked up. She understood the context well enough. That man must be Rockets daddeh. And he said that Rocket has been talking about her! That must mean Rocket still thinks about her, in the way she thinks about him. Her emotions were raw. A part of her that she had thought dead was now surging with life.
âYeah, we sent the email because Daffodil had her foals and⌠they really are really pretty. We thought that a little family reunion would make for some good pictures, both for your business and for our family.â
âOh, well⌠that is a pretty neat idea-â
âNow, truth be told, Daffodil also really just wants to see Rocket again. I think sheâs got a pretty serious crush on your stallion. I wouldnât expect Rocket to, um⌠âstudâ her again, and I will arrange to have her spayed before any playdates, of course-â
Daffodil was nervous. She knew that being spayed meant her mummah would take her to a doctor and have her tummeh-babbeh-pwace taken out. She knew she wouldnât feel the same afterwards. Being an adult fluffy without the ability to make babbehs felt⌠unnatural. But she suppressed the urge to complain, listening intently to the conversation about her beloved Rocket.
âMaâam, that wonât be necessary.â
âExcuse me?â
âThis meeting⌠it canât happen. Iâm so sorry.â
Daffodil froze. She felt sick. She could tell by the way the man was speaking that this decision was not up for debate. She was once again being told she would never see Rocket, ever again. She had so many questions. Before she could even complete a thought, the conversation continued.
âOh? Um, okay. May I ask why not? If Itâs about payment, I assure you that you would be compensated for the time-â
âMaâam, Iâd love to have a fluffy family reunion photo session, it would help the business a great deal, but the thing is, Rocketâs dead.â
Daffodil must have heard that part incorrectly. She took a deep breath, her denial far stronger than she would ever comprehend, and continued to listen.
âOh my God, thatâs terrible, Iâm so sorryâŚâ Ms. Greene looked over at Daffodil, knowing the fluffy was listening and trying to process what she was hearing. Ms. Greene began to clean her hands, wanting to take her phone off speakerphone. She wasnât fast enough.
âYeah, a damn raccoon got into some of the pens the other night. Those things are vicious. And our stallions are all in-tact males, too brave for their own good! We have camera footage of the whole ordeal, itâs just horrific. Poor Rocket tried to fight, and all that earned him was a painful death. Damn thing nearly ripped his whole head off-â
âOh God, thatâs- thatâs just, awful!â Ms. Greene stared at Daffodil as she reached out to silence her phone. Daffodil listened intently, sure that she misunderstood what she thought she heard. She listened to her owners half of the remainder of the conversation. It was a lot of apologies, vague condolences and well-wishes. Daffodil stared dumbly at her owner, waiting for the good news.
The phone call ended. Ms. Greene was still in the middle of making dinner. She walked to Daffodil and knelt down. She was never one to mince words, more of a rip-the-bandage type. She looked at her fluffy pet, took a deep breath, and delivered the bad news.
âDaffodil, Iâm really sorry sweetie, but Rocket died. He canât come see the foals.â
Daffodil didnât react at all. She didnât believe her owner, but she certainly didnât want to call her a liar. She didnât know what to do. She stared, waiting for the tears to come, for the bad feelings, the worst heart hurties. But nothing came. Nothing at all. And somehow, that was⌠worse. She felt as if the spark in her body that made her her was extinguished, and she was going through the motions, purposelessly.
âhuu⌠otay mummah.â Daffodil said softly, walking back towards the saferoom. She quietly tiptoed into the room, over the tiny baby-gate that was just small enough to block babbehs from escaping. She walked towards her foals, who were contentedly snuggled in a pile on her favorite blanket, inside a tiny playpen. She gently plucked her colt from the pen. She placed him on the ground and then lay on her belly. The fillies chirped and protested softly from inside the pen. The colt was confused, and sat on his rump, staring at his mummah.
Daffodil lay prone, legs folded to her sides, chin on the floor, and stared at the colt. She barely blinked. She breathed slowly, in and out, waiting for the sadness to overtake her. The colt looked at her. He didnât know if this was a game. He didnât talk, afraid he might spoil an important moment. His mummah had taught him to be patient after all.
He waited, looking at Daffodils somber face. Then he noticed something. Something small, in the corner of his mummahs eye. The light barely glinted off of the smallest trace of what he knews as sad-wawas coming from his mummahs see-pwaces. Was his mother sad? That made him sad. He wanted to make her happy. But what could he do, he was only a little baby. Then he had an idea. He didnât know much, but he knew, deep down, that huggies could make everything better.
The colt stumbled towards his mother on shaking legs. At her face, he reared up onto his hind legs, and spread his front legs wide. He tipped forwards into his mothers snout, giving her the biggest hug his small frame would allow for. He felt his mummah start to shake. She wasnât quiet anymore. She was crying.
A lot.
It was a rough night. Daffodil was inconsolable. She tried her best to control her emotions, especially when her owner came in because all the foals were crying. Daffodil apologized repeatedly, not wanting to be in trouble for being a bad mummah. Ms. Greene tried to console her, explaining that Daffodil was allowed to grieve, and that she should cry as much as she needed to. Daffodil tried her hardest to smile at her foals, and to nurse them and give them the best hugs, but she couldnât stop crying. Her foals, seeing their mother crying, were hysterical. If their mother was this sad, surely something awful had happened.
It was decided that Daffodil would have one night away from her foals. It would give her time to process her emotions. It didnât make her a bad mother, not at all, she just needed a little help. Her foals would get softened kibble for dinner, and could nurse on their mother first thing in the morning. Ms. Green took the playpen from the saferoom, and moved it to her bedroom. It was only for one night. She returned to Daffodil and gave a gentle hug, telling the depressed mare to try to get some rest.
âHuu huuuu mummah, pwease⌠bwing back wittew babbehs. Ams habs biggest heawt huwties, wan see babbehs. Wan see wittew cowt dat wook wike WocketâŚâ
âIâm not going to do that Daffodil.â
âHuuuhuuuâ
âYou need some rest. Trust me, this is whatâs best for you. Your foals will be fine without you for the night. You need to take care of yourself. Watch some FluffTV, play with some toys, and try to get some sleep.â
The fluffy fell silent. Ms. Greene figured her words had resonated with the mare, and she left the saferoom to tend to the foals. Daffodil was alone. The saferoom was silent. She wasnât even scared, she was too sad to be scared. She wished she had her foals, but they were taken by her owner.
Just like they would be taken forever.
This realization touched her heart like a white hot branding iron. This would be her reality soon. Her owner would take her foals from her. She would be all alone. It was bad enough she would never see Rocket again, but soon she would never see her children again. She would be all alone, forever. Childless and single, with nothing to fill her time other than TV shows, toys, and snack food. This isnât natural her mind screamed at her. Rocket should have stayed with her after he gave special hugs. He should have been there with her, every day, and told her how good of a mummah she would be. He should have helped move her when she got too swollen to walk. He should have nuzzled her and given her kissies when she was giving birth. He should have helped her clean and care for the foals. They should have named the foals together, not waited for a human owner to do so. They should keep the foals until they were adults, ready to set off and find a herd of their own. This⌠this⌠isnât natural.
Daffodil hated her life. She couldnât bear the thought of living this way. What a meaningless existence. What a terrible fate. She didnât know what she did to deserve it, but she didnât want to suffer any long. She cried softly as she walked over towards her food and water dish, and the picture of Rocket that was affixed to the wall. She thought of Rocket as she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the picture. She mumbled softly.
âDa yewwow fiwwy ams named Sunshine⌠huhuu⌠da puwpew fiwwy ams named Wiwac⌠huuhuhuhuu⌠da bwue fiwwy ams named SkyâŚâ
She gasped in a ragged breath before finishing.
âAn⌠ouw wittew cowt⌠ouw spechuw wittew cowt⌠ams named Wocket. Jus wike hims daddeh. Daffowdiww wubs bowf Wockets suu muchiesâŚâ
Daffodil didnât wait to finish sobbing before doing what she knew had to be done. She lay down on her belly, placed her face in her water dish, and went forever sleepies.
