Peaches, named for her favorite food rather than her coloration (which was dark red with a blue mane and tail), was a unicorn fluffy mare.
A rather dim-witted one, even by fluffy standards. Her owner began to suspect this about her the day after he brought her home from the shelter. He found her on her back, having apparently fallen while attempting to hop up onto the couch, thrashing her legs and shouting, “HEWP! HEWP! PEACHES WOSE FWOOW! WHEWE FWOOW GU?! DADDEH, HEWP!”
She also, unbeknownst to her owner, nearly drowned several times while drinking from her water dish; while fluffies drowning is a common stereotype, the overwhelming majority can drink from a bowl just fine. Ferals wouldn’t exist otherwise. Peaches, however, was one of those ‘special’ fluffies who was too stupid to drink without sticking her nose under the water and inhaling. Eventually, she got the idea that you were supposed to drink water, not breathe it, though she was never smart enough to simply lap the water up and continued dunking her nose under the water; she just held her breath while she drank. As best as she could, anyway.
Peaches also had a terrible time being litter trained. It took a while for the concept to sink into her feeble mind, but once it did, she became convinced that anything shaped like a litterbox (or just a square in general) was where poop was supposed to go. This resulted in her shitting on random tiles of the linoleum floor in the kitchen (laid out like a black-and-white checkerboard), a magazine left laying on the floor, in cardboard boxes, and, once, one of the couch cushions. It took nearly a month to convince her that only the litter box specifically located in her safe room and full of litter was where she was supposed to poop, but it eventually sank in.
Then she made herself sick while visiting her owner’s parents in another state; she was tied to a tree in their fenced in yard since they had no safe room, and she was expected to poop on the lawn since they also didn’t have a litter box. So she held it in for almost a week before finally losing bowel control, and it took several more days for her to recover. She was, fortunately, convinced that it was ok to poop on the grassies, so long as she didn’t eat the grassies she had just pooped on.
All went well until her owner bought a green, shag-style rug for the bathroom. It was promptly shat upon twice, the first day he owned it. She also tried eating a corner of it. The store did not believe in returns, especially from fluffy owners.
Peaches wasn’t a bad fluffy, she was very eager to please; she was just dumber than a wheelbarrow full of severed dicks that had been set on fire and rolled down a hill into an elementary school.
Have fun with that visual, it’s not going away any time soon.
So when Peaches accidentally got out of the house while her owner carried groceries in from his car, wandered off down the street, and got lost (while still in sight of her house), her owner didn’t expend a colossal amount of effort in searching for her.
Peaches was replaced by a yellow pegasus mare with tan mane and tail named Sweetie, who was clever, obedient, eager to please, and could even count to a hundred. Sweetie lived seven very happy years with her owner, who loved her very much, and gave birth to a dozen foals in three separate litters (all with her owner’s blessing), all of whom went to live with wonderful, loving owners. Sweetie was fondly remembered by her owner until his death forty years after she had passed on.
Peaches was forgotten about the day Sweetie was picked up at the shelter to replace her.
Peaches, being a domestic fluffy and extraordinarily stupid, was ill suited to surviving on her own. Fortunately, within a couple of days of getting lost, she was found by Max.
Max was a pegasus stallion, and a very expensive one. His coat was a soft khaki color, slightly darker on his back than the belly, with white dappling that made him look like a fawn. His mane and tail were a slightly darker shade of brown. Despite brown being an unpopular color for fluffies, he looked very attractive and had been specially bred for his looks. With his coloration and slim build, he’d have looked exactly like a baby deer without his wings. Max, like Sweetie, was also very clever (for a fluffy), obedient, and eager to please. Even people who normally couldn’t stand fluffies were charmed by Max’s friendly, cheerful, and intelligent disposition.
Unfortunately for Max, his owner was dating a psychotic bitch. You know the type. The sort of girl who goes through your phone and stalks every girl in your contact list (sending death threats to your female cousin because she found a photo of the two of you at Thanksgiving), gets pissed at you in real life because of something you did in a dream she had, hacks your facebook page to see if you’ve been cheating on her, goes apeshit every time you want to hang out with your friends but expects you to be cool with her going out to bars with a bunch of strange men, and so on.
One day, Psycho Bitch got it in her crazy head that her boyfriend loved Max more than he loved her. Which wasn’t too far off the mark, considering Max was loving and loveable and her only redeeming feature was that she fucked like a crazed weasel in heat. When she wasn’t withholding sex as punishment for some imagined slight, which she always refused to inform her boyfriend about (“If you don’t know why I’m mad, then I’m not telling you!”).
Originally, she’d planned to kill Max, but she was afraid she’d break a nail if she strangled him, drowning him might get her dress (which she bought by stealing her boyfriend’s credit card while he was in the emergency room after a motorcycle accident) wet, and she couldn’t think of any other ways to kill Max that weren’t messy. So she just picked him up and tossed him out the front door and locked him out.
Three hours later, she got tired of hearing his pleading, crying, and knocking, so she stuck him in the car, drove to the other side of town, and threw him into the street in front of a Chinese restaurant, figuring the cook might see him and turn him into General Tso’s Chicken. In addition to being nuttier than squirrel shit, she was also casually racist.
Max, after unsuccessfully chasing the car down, attempted to backtrack and find his way home, which he did surprisingly well at, but took a wrong turn five hours later and got hopelessly lost. He was forced to survive on his own.
His owner, discovering that the psycho bitch he was planning on dumping because she was, as has been mentioned, a psycho bitch, had discarded a pet that was both beloved and expensive, dumped her on the spot. Six cops, one restraining order, and several charges of stalking, harassment, and terroristic threats (along with the severed head of a fluffy that, thankfully, wasn’t Max, left in his mailbox) later, psycho bitch was out of the picture and Max’s owner was just as heartbroken at the loss of his fluffy as Max was at the loss of his daddeh and familiar home.
Max, being clever, adapted to life as a feral far better than Peaches did. He learned to forage, find shelter, and, after observing the interactions of other ferals with humans, discovered that unfamiliar humans were dangerous and best avoided. He never stopped trying to find his way home though, always searching for a familiar landmark.
When Max discovered Peaches sitting in the middle of the street feeling sorry for herself and completely bewildered by her situation, his nobler disposition kicked in and he scurried out into traffic and dragged her up onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding getting run over (mostly thanks to one asshole who deliberately swerved to hit him) in the process. After some discussion, it was discovered that Peaches was too stupid to understand the street was where cars were and that it was dangerous to be there.
Peaches also had difficulty understanding that things besides kibble, canned peaches, and grassies were edible, having eaten nothing else in her entire life (foalhood and milk being dim memories).
Max, realizing that Peaches was a fucking idiot (though that exact phrase would not have occurred to him, the concept was there) and incapable of looking after herself, felt whatever passed for chivalry amongst fluffies stir deep within his fuzzy breast and took it upon himself to care for her.
Which proves that even Max wasn’t all that smart.
Peaches, for her part, was just happy to have a friend. Max struggled valiantly to care for her and teach her how to survive, often surprising himself by learning new things while trying to teach Peaches.
Very little of it took. Peaches was simply too dumb, and this was all too much for her all at once. Had she been born a feral or been given time to acclimatize, she’d have eventually taken to it, but it was sink or swim. Still, Max’s efforts at teaching her how to survive did yield some positive results, but in the end he still ended up being the one who found shelter, foraged for food, and circumvented danger.
But in the fullness of time, Max and Peaches became more than just friends, one thing led to another, and Peaches got knocked up.
Max was horrified.
He knew exactly what had happened when Peaches got the “babbeh feewing” in her tummeh, and he didn’t want to bring foals into the harsh struggle for survival that he had literally been thrown into. But, it was happening, so he furrowed his brow in determination and began preparing.
He found good shelter for his family; it was an abandoned electrical junction box in an alley, just big enough for a family of fluffies to live in, and it kept them cool during the day and warm at night, and didn’t get wet when it rained. He did have to squish several spiders before he declared it habitable though.
Then he began stockpiling food. He wasn’t aware that Peaches would be immobilized during the last few days of her pregnancy as an unintended consequence of Hasbio’s genetic engineering, but he was smart enough to figure she would need extra food and that foraging was dangerous, so he should have plenty of nummies already on hand so he wouldn’t have to forage constantly. He’d already learned, from prior experience, which foods would last a long time and which would spoil quickly.
He also built a proper nest, patterned off his fluffy bed at his old home, from discarded clothing he found, and pulled out some of his fluff to make it soft and have a familiar, comforting scent for Peaches and the babies.
Peaches loved her “nyu housie”. It then took most of her pregnancy for her to catch on that she wasn’t supposed to shit inside it, but Max understood that she was about as sharp as a bowling ball and remained very patient with her.
She finally figured out she was supposed to poop outside only a few days before pregnancy made her immobile, and Max ended up cleaning up after her again. He was used to it by then.
Max left the nest one day to forage again, and it was then that Peaches announced, “BIGGES POOPIES!” and began grunting, straining, and crying. Eventually, she successfully foaled and a litter of four was deposited on the floor of the safe place. Peaches, being dysmally stupid, assumed she had simply taken a really satisfying shit and went to sleep. She was also, unfortunately, a deep sleeper and wasn’t awakened when her foals began chirping in hunger.
Fortunately, Max returned with a bounty of nummies shortly afterward, discovered the foals, woke Peaches by bopping her over the head, and showed her the babies. Peaches was overjoyed at first, then grossed out. Max couldn’t make her understand that she had to lick the babies clean and ended up doing it himself. Having only the vaguest memories of his own foalhood, he was slightly mystified as to how to give the foals miwkies, but Peaches’ maternal instincts kicked in and she successfully fed all four foals, much to their (and Max’s) relief.
Max doted on his babies, loving them with all his heart, and put up with Peaches deep personal stupidity by helping her with the babies. Peaches absolutely adored her babies as well and did her best to care for them, but she just so dumb that she never quite knew what to do with them.
Before long, the babies had started talking and Max taught them how to make good poopies. He also had to teach Peaches all over again, because she’d forgotten. Peaches was just getting the hang of it and was feeling quite proud of herself for figuring it out when Max was kidnapped by an abuser while foraging.
Poor Max was beaten, starved, electrocuted, waterboarded, and psychologically tormented, but he was a tough little cookie and clung to both life and sanity tenaciously.
He’d have saved himself a lot of suffering if he’d simply given in and died or cracked up like the others trapped in the basement with him.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Peaches was left to her own devices again. Which was sort of like tossing a toddler into a live minefield and expecting things to turn out well.
Peaches, oblivious that Max had been missing for several days and thinking he was still out looking for food, was quite pleased with herself for getting the whole ‘not shitting in the house’ thing and wanted to show off. So, she herded her four foals out of the electrical junction box they lived in and she had her audience for ‘gud poopies’.
“See babbehs? Dis how yoo make gud poopies!”
Peaches squatted down, grunted, and unloaded about five pounds of shit from her ass… completely burying the small khaki-colored colt that had been standing just a little too close to the demonstration. Peaches turned around and encouraged her other foals to also make good poopies, which they did, and then led them back to the nest, totally unaware that she had buried her own offspring in shit.
The poor little colt suffocated under the pile of his own mother’s shit. It was neither a quick nor pleasant death.
The next day, Peaches decided that having run out of food was a bad thing, and finally took notice of the fact that Max was taking an awfully long time coming back with nummies. So she went foraging herself, fortunately being smart enough to leave the foals at home as they were too small and foraging was dangerous.
Unfortunately, a word which gets used a lot in this story, Peaches was still a complete dumbass and brought back rotten food that Max would have rejected as being inedible. It gave the little fluffy family a terrible case of the shits, and all four of them ended up burying the dead colt under an ever deeper sea of shit, both solid and liquid.
Eventually, their bowels had finally purged themselves completely, and the little family cuddled up into a fluff pile to go to sleep.
One little filly, however, woke in the night and had to shit again. Being a good filly, she knew she had to go outside and make good poopies. It was very scary going outside alone in the dark, but she eventually worked up the courage to go; really, REALLY needing to take an epic shit helped speed the process along. She hopped out of the electrical junction box, walked a little ways from her home, squatted, and sprayed projectile shit over a foot away from her tiny, hamster-sized body, moaning and trembling with relief. Then she scooted her butt across the pavement to clean it off and returned home, pleased with herself for being a good baby and having been brave enough to go outside all on her own for the first time.
Unfortunately, a word which still has some mileage on it, she bumped the door to the box and it made a clanging sound as she returned to the nest. Her mother was also very, very stupid, and nowhere near as brave as her offspring.
“EEEEE! MUNSTA!”
Peaches reared back, spotted something scuttling across the floor in the dim light, and smashed it under her hoof. It squeaked once, then gurgled, then fell still as she kept pounding it under her hoof, screaming in terror and trying to get the monster before it got her babies. Eventually, she sensed that it was no longer a threat and curled up around her chirping, frightened foals protectively, falling into an exhausted sleep as the adrenaline wore off.
The next morning, she spotted the little filly, mashed into a paste, and wailed in sorrow for over an hour. She never realized she had committed infanticide and thought that the monster had gotten the filly. The sad, broken little corpse was deposited outside, separated from her deceased brother by several inches of shit. She was soon buried under shit herself, as Peaches was never bright enough to vary where she pooped like Max had been in order to avoid detection by predators.
Peaches managed not to kill her two remaining foals over the next several days, though she did a terrible job of finding nummies for herself; as a result she had little milk to give her babies. Fortunately, she only had two now, so they managed to just barely skate by on what they got.
Max, being a survivor, eventually came back, having chewed his way through the plastic cage his abuser had kept him in while the man was tweaking upstairs, climbed a bookshelf, and slipped out the basement window. When he returned, he had a broken tooth, bloody nose, a black eye, bruises all over his body, a couple of cracked ribs, scorch marks on his scrotum from when his abuser had hooked a car battery to his testicles, and his rectum was incredibly sore from the novelty Vladimir Putin buttplug that had been shoved into it repeatedly, but he was more or less intact. His first thought, upon his escape, was of his family.
He knew exactly how stupid Peaches was, and he worried for his children.
He found Peaches and the two surviving foals, heard Peaches story of how a monster had killed the poor filly, found the corpse half-buried in shit, and put two-and-two together. He never found out what happened to the colt, but he suspected Peaches’ stupidity was involved. She never even noticed he was missing.
Max had a difficult time getting used to Peaches terrible stupidity after having been away from it for over a week while he was tortured, and found he no longer had the patience for it. After tolerating her thickheadedness for a couple of days, Max decided it was time to leave; Peaches was just too stupid, and if he stuck around taking care of her she would eventually drag him down with her. She’d already managed to lose or kill off half of their offspring while left to her own devices.
So, that night, after feeding Peaches an abundance of wonderful nummies to ensure she produced as much milk as possible, he ensured that both foals drank until their bellies bulged before they all went to sleep in a fluff pile. Shortly after they’d all gone to sleep, Max awoke, nudged both babies awake, and made them drink as much miwkies as their little bellies could hold, confident that Peaches would remain asleep and oblivious throughout the entire process. Once both babies were full, Max carefully placed them on his back and left the nest, never looking back.
By early morning, he’d managed to walk a couple of miles to a fluffy shelter he’d spotted while out foraging, and curled up under a bench nearby, keeping his babies warm as they slept through the night while he stayed awake to watch for monsters. Fearing what might happen, he had never approached the place, even though it was full of other fluffies, but now he was desperate to save his babies from what would surely be their deaths if they remained on the street with their mother. Eventually, the sun came up and the shelter was opened, and Max carried his babies to the door and pounded on the glass with his hoof.
“Hewwo! Fwuffy name am Max! Max am wosted! Meanie wady tuk Max away fwum daddeh! Pwease hewp Max fine daddeh! Pwease hewp Max’s babbehs! Dey jus widdwe chiwpy babbehs, nee miwkies an wuv!”
Lacking a nursing mare to act as a surrogate, the shelter staff let the foals stay with Max in a separate cage and bottle fed them. Given Max’s behavior and story of having been stolen from his owner and then getting lost, as well as his unique fluff that made him very valuable, they assumed correctly that he was a domestic fluffy. They also assumed that his injuries were caused by whoever had stolen him, which they can be forgiven for assuming since Max never elaborated on how he’d gotten hurt or how long he’d been living on the streets. Max, though wary of mistreatment, was very tolerant and understanding toward the staff, keeping the babies calm while they were bathed, letting them feed them, and so on, but upon hearing one of the staff suggest separating the foals from Max he bit hard enough to draw blood.
He spent several hours in the sorry box, completely silent, but he kept his babies.
The next day, a different shift came in to work at the shelter, heard Max’s story, and asked why nobody had checked to see if an obviously expensive fluffy with a prior owner had been chipped.
Peaches isn’t the only dumbass in this story.
Max was indeed chipped, his owner was contacted, and after a tearful reunion Max finally got to go home again, bringing his two surviving babies with him. Both foals grew up into healthy, mature fluffies with wonderful personalities, and fortunately shared their father’s brains rather than their mother’s.
Poor Peaches awoke to discover that she was all alone in the world, wandered the streets for days calling for Max and her babies, and was eventually turned into a red smear on the asphalt by a semi truck that came along while she was drinking from a puddle in the street and trying not to inhale water.
The gods may look after fools, but they help most those who help themselves.
