Dummeh Mummah
by Ambitiousleather8309
In the unlikely event a human were to stumble upon the little herd of fluffy ponies in the forest, they might notice first the xxl fluffy mare with the giant fucking nail in her forehead. Above her enormous clouded blind eyes and amidst her soft curls it stood, like a bent and rusting unicorn horn. Her existence was a clear example of really good luck, really bad luck, or a higher power with a fucked up sense of humor.
With the soft mint green of her fluff and her deep brown mane and tail, she definitely had an insular and uncreative name like “Mocha Peppa” or “Mint Chip Swirl” when she lived with humans, but now, among fluffykind, she was just “Dummeh Mummah.”
A human observer might wonder so many things. How the fuck is she even alive with a head injury like that? Why is there an xxl alone in the woods; those are expensive? How does she walk with giant crotch tits like that? The answers of course being: xxl’s are sturdy, no one knows how she got here, and about as well as you would walk carrying two grapefruit in your ballsack.
Even if Dummeh Mummah was blind, could not speak, and often accidentally shat on everything; the long legged, derped mare had several advantages:
Firstly, XXL’s are so heavily genetically modified that their scent deters most predators. Imagine being so artificial and unnatural that a bear goes “Hell naw, that’s creepy, I’m not eating that.” Even in the wilderness, the smaller, hasbio standard fluffy ponies were relatively safe in her aura of what-the-fuckery.
Secondly, even as badly derped as she was, she could still sorta function, follow simple directions, and had enough muscle coordination to not squash chirpies underfoot. The fluffies could maneuver her with gentle head butts and tugging on her mane and tail, like steering a pony parade float, or a very dumb military tank. This is important for the third and most valuable thing Dummeh Mummah had:
Milkies.
Dummeh Mummah was a very happy ambulatory milk bag, as well. She even had a little mummah song of sorts, rhythmic snorts and whimpers that were something like music. The drooling, vacant eyed creature had a single brain cell left and it was for “her” babbehs, her herd.
Dummeh mummah didn’t care if she ate yucky grass or tree bark or twigs, she had tougher teeth and a stronger jaw for chewing hard things. At the worst of the cold times Dummeh mummah even ate poopies to provide enough milk for all her babies.
There were 5 pairs of special friends in the herd at the moment, and probably twenty foals of varying ages. depending on the time of year and the competence of the smarty leader, there were as many as one hundred or as few as a lone survivor tending to dummeh mummah. Fluffy pony dynasties rose and fell under her swinging, drooping teats. Ferocious fluffy battles could war all around her and Dummeh mummah would grunt in distress at the noises and hug the babies close.
And so the years passed for the lone xxl in the woods with her adoptive fluffy family.
Eventually she would become an elderly pony, no longer have milk, become slow and feeble. If she were no longer useful a bad smarty might just abandon her to die alone. but perhaps a good smarty will be looking after dummeh mummah even after her teeth fall out and she needs someone to chew her food for her.
Perhaps this imaginary good smarty wakes up to much huuhuu-ing as they realize their beloved Dummeh Mummah went forever sleepies in the middle of their fluffpile, dying peacefully in the night with a fully tummy and deeply loved. maybe this good smarty covered her corpse with leaves and flowers before moving on.
Nothing can be known for certain, except that an xxl skull was found in an abandoned nest, with a nail in it. the wound had healed over several years, and the xxl fluffy lived to an unusually old age.
