Pokey was a smarty. No, THE smarty. His herd was a small one, numbering perhaps 20 in a medium sized city. You may not find that number to be impressive, though it was: This was a multi-generational group. One which had been led by his own direct descendants for who knew how long.
This scrappy brown and green unicorn had been passed down with the collected knowledge of those who led this group before him. Each of them with their own experiences, their own slight advantage.
Wanted to know the best place for nummies? Of course he knew. It wasnât in the sad alleyways where other ferals lingered around. No. Those places were dangerous. Pokey knew where to find good nummies though.
Need to make sure those nummies were safe? One of his daddehs from fowebba ago had learned that if you watched other fluffies eat it first, youâd know if it would give sickies or not.
Want for shelter? Cardboard boxes werenât great. Neither were some of the storm drains that others went into. Pokey was smart though. He knew if a fwuffy went to certain houses, the humans wouldnât know or care as long as they moved along the next bwight times.
His herd loved and respected him. Smarties were so important, but he was special. Just like those before him, he showed his peers the way forward.
+++++
Stepping along with one of his fellow nummy finders, Pokey raised a hoof to her. Stopping along the sidewalk, she gave a tilt of her head.
This fellow nummy finder was a mono periwinkle hued mare by the name of Myrtle. Unlike most of the herd, she hadnât originally lived out here. No, sheâd lived inside of a nice housie and sometimes told stories about how nice it was.
Not originally being a part of their group, she wasnât very accustomed to survival out here and it was for the best that she shadowed Pokey so he could keep an eye out for her.
âWry stoppies, fwend?â She asked impatiently,looking out ahead. A cluster of ferals were packed around several dishes of strange looking food out in front of a shop. Even from over here, she could smell it. It was sweet. In fact, it smelled like vanilla pudding!
Narrowing his eyes, the smarty puffed his cheeks out. âDis am nyu fing. Neeâ be cawefuw! Nyu fings scawy.â
That was true. If you were to act too quickly, youâd get lots of huwties and owwies. Good smarties knew to be patient and at first watch. So he did, taking a mental inventory of the fluffies who were participating in the food.
Whining at his side, Myrtle nudged up on him. âBuh wan nummies!â
Even though those nummies smelled very nice, Pokey knew better. They needed to be safe for now.
âPokey know wewe nummies am.â He told her, leading Myrtle off from the shopfronts and into an abandoned lot. Overgrown with weeds, though there were lots of nummies in the form of dandelions. They didnât taste very nice but there were lots of the little yellow flowers everywhere!
Blinking, Myrtle followed along with her leader and watched with a dumbfounded expression as he plucked up various dandelions and carefully tucked them back into the tangle of his fluff where theyâd be safe. When needed, he could shake his coat fiercely and cast them right back down to the ground.
âBuh! Dun wan gwassy nummies! Wan sweetie nummies!â She bemoaned the menu choice. Huffed. Plopped down to the tangle of weeds below and begin flailing her hooves around like a brat.
ââŚâ Pokey didnât pay her any mind. Instead, he just went right about collecting more dandelions. He didnât understand why she acted this way. Housie fwends always acted this way.
Myrtle didnât take to being ignored very well and screeched. âWook at Mytew! Naow, dummeh! Pwease?â Sniffling from her position on the ground, she just continued to be ignored. Finally after a few moments of having a tantrum, she just got back up to her hooves and helped Pokey collect nummies. She still hated them but the stallion didnât care at all.
++++++
As they were making their way back to their current nest, Myrtle pranced in front of her leader with springs of her hooves.
âWawawa! Am singinâ songy and hab nummies! Teehee!â Not a care in the world. Watching with horror as she approached the street, Pokey shot up and got his mouth around the tattered pink collar still wrung around her neck from the previous life. Myrtle jerked in place, looking confused. Just then, a big red truck roared past them. Right in the place where she would have been had she continued to frolic about without any concern.
Releasing her collar with a huff, Pokey her a hoof to the side. âDummeh! Neeâ wook boof ways!â That was another important piece of smarty knowledge cultivated by his family. Myrtle gave him a look of confusion before he demonstrated, looking one way for a long moment before turning his head the other way to ensure there were no other vwoomies coming along. Once satisfied that the way was clear, he crossed the street.
Of course Myrtle was deeply impressed by this. Smarties wereâŚwell, smart! He didnât even need a housie with a mummah or a daddeh, did he?
The pair meandered down the sidewalk for a ways before veering off the street and toward where their current nest was. It was a foreign place, but that was intentional. Pokey said that fwuffies needed to always moving their nestie or meanies would come for them.
This place was the storm cellar of an abandoned house. A large steel door in the backyard had been left open by some negligent force which allowed the small herd to use it for their benefit. Hopping down onto the clammy, cool concrete steps that led down into relative darkness the pair would meet a clamor of voices.
Enough light shone down from the open door to allow for relatively fine sight once their see-pwaces adjusted, and Pokey took a moment to allow himself to do so.
Familiar faces came through the darkness.
âPokeh!â Announced a big yellow and red stallion named Blaze. This was another fluffy from a housie, though heâd been out here for much longer than Myrtle had. Accepting a hug from Blaze, he looked out across the rest of the area.
Not all of the herd had returned yet but more than a few were here. Laid out on scraps of cardboard or fabric which they carried to and fro each time they moved nests. Small peeps and cheeps came from the only two mummahs present, each babbling happily of their foals.
âHewwo Bwaze.â Pokey said with a smile, going over to the nummy pile. Others had returned with food but it needed to be assessed by their leader first. Nudging a half-eaten cheeseburger with his snout, he found that it smelled funny. Off. If one of the fluffies here ate it, they would get sickies. Shoving the burger off into a discard pile, a pile of berries joined it. These were small things that looked promising but if you ate them itâd give you buwny poopies and then fowebbah sweepies.
Stepping up to Pokey, a dull red and brown mare named Kissy gave him an appreciate hug. This was his sissy! Not a smarty like him, though he wubbed her a lot.
âDank yew bwudda âfo bestest hewp.â She told him as she did every day, watching as her littermate shook off his collection of dandelions to drift down into the pile of other nummies.
+++++
Once nummies were gathered, they stayed down in the cellar and chatted amongst one another. Played. Had fun. Though it was dark and somewhat scawy down here, it was also cool. While the heat of summer baked other strays up above, they were down here living with what amounted to natural air conditioning.
As each fluffy chose their spot to lay down at or went to the fluffpile in the center of the room, Myrte walked up to Pokey and nudged him a bit.
âHewwo. Wan be spechaw fwend? Hab babbehs wif Mytew?â She asked with a flutter of eyelashes. This was a nightly occurrence.
As heâd explained to her many times before, he would do so again. âNu. Omwy sum babbehs. Babbehs neeâ nummies.â He explained. Just as his ancestors had come to find out and shared along their line, it was bad for every mare to have babbehs. Itâs what every fluffy wanted, but it would cause huwties. The entire herd could have huwties if every fwuff did what they wanted.
A disappointed snort but as with all things, Myrtle would agree to what he said. After all, he was the smarty and knew best.
++++
The next day and the first order of business was to move the nest. Blaze was in charge of finding new places, and Pokey trusted him with it. It didnât take long to move their stuff along to the new location, which was a mechanicâs garage which had long lay abandoned.
With that, it was time to nummy hunt again. Poking along with her leader, Myrtle realized they were likely going to the grassy nummies lot again.
âYewwow fwowehs am wots.â Pokey explained in the limited vocabulary of a fluffy, trying to tell his friend that dandelions grew back quickly. As they were coming up on the lot, though, they found themselves presented with the mysterious thing again.
Lots of dishes lined up. That smell of vanilla pudding in the air. Stopping in his tracks, the smarty stood there on the sidewalk and observed the other ferals. Racked his think-pwace to remember.
There were fluffies here from yesterday. They had eaten the nummies and seemed perfectly fine. Daddehs and mummahs who wanted to give them huwties did so with bad stuff that made them vomit out their tummy skettis and it was pretty fast.
A twinge of fear still looped through him but those familiar faces in the crowd reassured Pokey. Nodding to Myrtle, he indicated that she should follow him.
Walking up to the lined up dishes of white paste, he watched as other strays relished in their meals. Faces smeared with the sweet white stuff. Myrtle didnât even ask for permission before diving into a free bowl, gobbling up the stuff with great relish.
âAm otay?â Pokey asked hesitantly. Raising her head from the dish, Myrtle gave a hearty nod.
Well. Now it was his turn. Time to stop being scared. Heâd listened to the advice given to him from his daddeh and been patient. Stooping down to one of the dishes, he flapped his tongue against the nummies. Sweet, creamy, thick. It was unlike anything heâd ever had before.
âWaowâŚâ He whispered to himself. Why were the daddehs and mummahs giving them this? Were they nice now?
Eating a fair amount, he resolved to bring the entire herd here tomorrow. Itâd all be gone by the time he went back and told them about it. With that in mind, Pokey went with Myrtle to collect dandelions. They would taste bitter compared to that stuff.
+++++++
Waking up the next morning, Pokey stirred with a small yawn. Normally when he woke up, his think-pwace was abuzz with things that needed done. Now though for some reason it took fowebbah for him to recall what needed done.
Hmm..
HuhâŚ
Oh! Sweetie nummies! Excitedly popping up, he called out to the rest of his friends: âFowwow Pokeh! Sweetie nummies time!â
The herd had been regaled with stories of the stuff yesterday so each of them sleepily got ready to move out for this mystical stuff.
âYay! Sweetie nummies!â Chirruped one of the talkie babbehs clinging to itâs mummahâs fluff.
Teehee. Leading his entire group out of the graffiti covered garage, he felt like he was forgetting something. Something important. Well, what did that matter? Sweetie nummies time!
An entire train of fluffies moving down the sidewalk was a sight to behold and would get the attention of mummahs and daddehs. Normally, Pokey would express this to the herd. That they should go along only in pairs. For some reason though, he felt himself not caring too much. The excitement was too much to express concern over.
That line of dishes with their vanilla flavored nummies were laid out for their benefit and they were the first ones there. Squealing in delight, each of them found a dish to begin numming from.
Pokey loved this stuff the most so he gobbled it down quickly and found a wimpy little grey stallion still working on his. Puffing out his cheeks, he ran up and knocked him away from the dish.
âDese nummies am Pokeh nummies naow!â He said, diving to to stuff his gob with it. This grey stallion, named Burr, shook a bit.
Pokey was the one who told them to always share. Sharing was the most important thing in the herd.
âBuh..buhâŚdose am Buww nummiesâŚâ He whimpered pathetically, wondering what had come over their leader. Face smeared with the custard, Pokey glared at his subject.
âDis am smawtyâs nummies naow! Dummeh! Dummeh dummeh!â
++++++
Returning to the garage. Pokey was beginning to feel himself unburdened. All he wanted to do was play. When Blaze asked him what to do, Pokey just stuck his tongue out.
âWan pway. Wan hab funsies.â Of course, Blaze was used to a regiment of work. They always had to do stuff before getting to play. Well, if Pokey said it was OK? Then it was OK! He wanted to have fun!
Giggling, Pokey nudged his fwend with a hoofsie. âNu am catch Pokeh! Smawty tuuu fast âfo dummeh!â
This spurred the two of them to run around like a couple of little morons around the garage the herd was stationed in before eventually breaking out of the half-shuttered door. Pokey shit himself in excitement as he led Blaze out further. Hooves galloped across asphalt as he waited for his friend to catch up.
There were no sounds of hooves behind him. As Pokey stood on the trash-strewn roadside, all he could hear from behind him was a wet sound followed by thumps.
âCatch Pokeh!â He said impatiently, finally turning around to see what was taking so long. Blaze was no longer behind him. Not in the traditional sense. Blazeâs yellow and orange body was torn to pieces and strewn across the road, steaming entrails already sizzling on a surface which resembled a stovetop, hooves beginning to melt like rubber on the hot surface. It was difficult to tell itâd even been a fluffy except for the scraps of brightly colored fur.
âN-NuuâŚNUUUU!â Pokey screeched, mind racing. What had gone wrong? There was something important. Very important. It was so difficult to think of what it was.
Something could have saved Blaze. His fwend would still be here. What was it?
No. No! This wasnât his fault. Nothing was his fault! He was the smawty.
Not looking at the cooking pile of gore on the asphalt, he stamped back over the road and to the garage.
++++++
âWewe Bwaze?â Asked his sissy the next morning as they were getting ready to venture out for the sweetie nummies yet again. Looking to Kissy, Pokey got a belligerent look on his face.
âDun know! Dummeh wun âway!â He lied, not wanting to think of the guts outside. None of them would be able to tell that collection of flesh from any of the others that commonly dotted the road.
âHuuâŚfwendâŚâ Kissy lamented, having quite liked Blaze. Trotting up to Pokeyâs side, Myrtle looked quite pleased. Why? Because heâd given her enfies last night. Babbehs were going to be hers!
The group went out to have their sweetie nummies. By now, none of them wanted to eat grassy nummies or trash. Why would they? Some of it tasted bad, some of it could give them fowebbah sweepies. These nyu nummies were the bestest.
After theyâd had their fill, Pokey led them back to the garage. By now some of the group had realized something was amiss. Shouldnât they have moved by now?
They didnât tell Pokey though. He was their smarty and he knew what to do. All he wanted to do now was play and so they would!
++++
Think-pwace owwies! Huwties!
Dummehs. Smawty gib sowwy-poopies!
Smawty gib sissy owwie enfies. Heh heh, am bestest smawty. Hab wots ob babbehs!
Dun wan wowk! Wan pway!
Scawy daddehs finâ nestie and gib huwties
Dun cawe
Wan sweetie nummies
Wan think-pwace
Wry huwties?
Sowwy babbehs
Smawty nu am sowwy!
SowwyâŚsowwyâŚsowwyâŚ
Wewe hewd?
Wan die
++++++++
New from LogiKill: Dummy Pudding!
Here at LogiKill we know one thing: How to murder a fluffy. From glue traps to poison, weâve been the industry leader in getting rid of fluffies for years. You know us, you trust us.
Weâve been asked on how to deal with those pesky ferals who seem a little too big for their britches. The ones who might have even a scrap of a braincell. Theyâll avoid traps and teach others how to as well.
Our solution is Dummy Pudding! This sweet tasting concoction affects only those possessing that âSmarty Geneâ while leaving their herds unaffected.
Watch that so-called intelligence drop down to zero! Our clever products works by forming holes in their brain. How? Thatâs an industry secret! Just know youâll see results and youâll love it!
These smarties will lead their herd to destruction and their friends wonât even question it. Now thatâs what I call innovation!
Buy today! And remember: âLogiKill is the LogiCal choice!â
-Excerpt from a pest control advertisement
%2Fpics%2Fea26_2.jpg&f=1&nofb=1&ipt=1ad4bfe3fa3fb2d74feeeb87d8e9e0acd982c9af04eb1f36042f613c7101dcb4){kind=link}