“Hey! Let’s get those numbers up! You don’t gotta say grace with the little fuckers, just give each foal their formula and move on. Remember, fed foals go in the green bins. Stakes are low, just keep moving.”
The floor foreman sighed. He’d given this speech in so many forms over the years, but here he really means the last part. Some of the new line workers came from a mill where they have more rules, but these foals will be frozen into pot pies by week’s end. The only thing that matters is making sure a bunch of them don’t STARVE. Death is fine, but starving chirpies don’t become Big Babbehs.
These facts are all lost on the foals entering through the chute in the wall. They spill out onto the large padded area the workers are in. Each one has a stool next to a large green tub lined with Mummah Fwuff on the inside. The workers pick up babbehs, feed them the required dose of formula from their basters, and move on.
Of course, in a fast paced work environment where the pay is shit and the bosses are lazy, there’s bound to be mistakes. Why work harder than you’re getting paid to? If FoalCo wants better than C- labor, they can pay better than D- wages.
This is of course the needlessly drawn out way of saying these workers are being paid to feed foals, not to give a shit.
Marcus, for instance, is listening to podcasts. It’s a pretty interesting one about Revolutionary Catalonia, so he doesn’t notice that the last babbeh he fed didn’t quite make it in the tub.
The babbeh is a blue unicorn colt, and after being given scary upsies and the fastest milkies ever, he found himself soaring through the air towards a big box full of other babbehs! But to his dismay, he bounced off the side. Luckily everything here was well padded. This must be a place where people love fluffies!
He picked himself up and a couple other babbehs waddled over to give him huggies. Once all three confirm that yes, huggies are good and yes, they are good babbehs, they part ways and the blue unicorn finds himself being picked up by another human.
Deanna is in a groove. She loves repetitive tasks so assembly line work is her jam. Grab, feed, drop. Grab, feed, drop. Simple as that.
But one foal is being difficult. Pushing the bottle away. “Nu! Nu wan! Nu hungwy! Wan gu in boxie wif udda babbehs!” Deanna sighed. She didn’t have time for this shit. Or rather, she didn’t care enough to spend time on this shit.
The foal had taken to pursing his lips and kicking with his hind hooves to fight off the bottle. Try as she might, she couldn’t shove it through his lips. So she grabbed his tail between her thumb and forefinger and snapped it at the base, right where it leaves his ass.
"CHEEEEEEP! HUUUUU OWWWWIES NUUUUUU! HEEEEEEEWWWWWWPPPPEEEEEEEEEEP!"
The colt had never felt such pain! He’d only been alive for about a day, but he was sure this was bad! He was trying to scream for help when the meanie lady shoved the squishy milk thing in his mouth! No! He already told her, he doesn’t want more milkies!
He’s already so full. A little babbeh can’t drink too much milk before they have to let some of it settle and digest, but the colt was fed less than a minute ago. There was still traces of milk in his mouth.
At first, he just drank the milk. But before too long, he started to feel sick. Really sick! He suddenly wasn’t just “not hungry,” he didn’t want milkies. He needed to stop drinking. He quit swallowing, but his mouth filled up! His cheeks were puffed out as big as the wisest smarty, and it hurt so much! It felt as though his face might split apart, or just pop like a bubble!
The human noticed the pause and frowned. She saw a little milk dribble out of his mouth, so she placed her fingers around his mouth, where it touched the nipple, and made sure it had a good seal so she could overcome this bizarrely stubborn foal. Most of the little bastards didn’t want to stop drinking. Of course she’d get one that was a picky eater. And right in the middle of her good day!
Satisfied that no milk would escape the sobbing struggling foal’s mouth, she started to squeeze the bottle and raise the pressure. She added pressure slowly, not wanting to harm the foal. It just kept kicking and flexing and flailing about. After a couple seconds she felt the block give out and the foal started swallowing again. To make up for time, she squeezed the dose out. He was tired from the struggle, no need to bother him with suckling and swallowing.
The colt was in agony.
He already had as much milkies as he could drink! He didn’t even know that was a real thing! He was holding his tummy closed, but the meanie human had given his face worstest pinchies, and now she was pushing more and more milk into his-
The dam broke all at once. He’d been holding back the milk with his throat muscles, but the pressure got so high they failed him. The feeling was like muscles tearing in his neck, he tried to scream in panic but in addition to the hydraulic force feeding he felt like he couldn’t control his swallowing at all! Like the muscles he used to do that just weren’t there anymore!
Before he had much time to worry about that, he started feeling something worse. His tummy was hurting so much! He squirmed and wriggled, but it felt like his tummy was trying to escape! Why isn’t the human noticing? Why isn’t she stopping? Why can’t he-
“Oh…oh shit, is this one dead?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Looks like you double fed one.”
“Ahhhh, shit. Guess that’s why he didn’t want milk.”
“Ha! A foal not wanting milk? Now I’ve heard everything.”