Tagged some of what I meant to tag in this chapter in the last one. Consequence of writing both at once, and being dumber than pigshit.
Begging your pardon for that. Enjoy. Next chapter will have the safe room proper, and the other two foals getting their names.
Chapter 6:
You are Theo.
You watch Neapolitan cuddle with her stuffed toy, cooing happily. She’s only speaking 2 or 3 words at a time, but it’s rather impressive for an animal to speak at all, let alone one that started talking yesterday.
Hazel is feeding her other two foals, singing to them happily and watching you as you work on a sketch for your job.
Neo looks up at you “Daddeh! Huggies!” She chirps. You smile at her, and reach in to pick her up, carefully setting her on your right thigh. She peeps happily and snuggles against you. “Babbeh wub daddeh!’
You pet her. “Love you too, sweetie.” You say, absentmindedly examining the drawing. It’s coming together well. Hazel looks up at you, smiling. “Wat daddeh doing?” she asks. “My job. This is how I can buy you 4 all the nice things you have.” you tell her, turning the tablet so she can see it. “Wat that?” she asks again.
Neapolitan is sleeping on you now, letting out small, contented chirps in her sleep “You and your curiosity. It’s what’s called a “Gun”, Hazel. It’s a metal thing humans use to protect ourselves, I draw designs of them for work.”
She looks at you, clearly not really understanding. “Wat am a Jawb?”
“……Think of it like being what I do for my “Herd” The Boss, that’s what humans call a “Smarty Friend”, tells me to do these, I do them, and I get stuff I can trade for food and other things I need. Does that help you?”
She nods. “Daddeh am wike thinkie-fwiend!” she says, pulling her brown foal off her teat and lifting him up to cuddle him. “Dat enough miwkies, babbeh, no wan have tummy sickies.” She chides.
“That sounds about right, yes. By the way, I’ve come up with names for him and the white one.” you tell her.
“Yay! Namsies fow babbehs? Am pwetty namsies?”
“I’ll give them their names once they open their eyes and start talking. And yes, they’re pretty names.” You pet Neapolitan, and watch the white baby stop suckling and begin wiggling around, trying to dance. Hazel cheers her own, loving it.
A nice, quiet day in. The saferoom room will be done later today once you’ve finished with the drawing. You’re sure the other two foals will open their eyes very soon, probably in the next day or 2, and you can hardly wait. You hear Neapolitan snoring softly and chirping in her sleep.
The two other foals are chirping like tiny birds, Rain patters against your windows.
Yes, this is perfect. Nothing could possibly disturb this tranquility.
KRACK-BOOM!!!
A thunderclap roars overhead, loud enough to shake the house. 3 foals immediately shit in terror. Hazel winces, looking at 2 mounds of poop on the floor of the pen……and a third on your pantleg.
The foals are squealing and peeping in terror, Neapolitan screams “WOUD SOUND, SCAWY!”
You set the tablet onto the table next to you, and hand her back to her mother.
“I’m uh…. I’m gonna go get changed and work on that saferoom, okay Hazel?”
“Dat….Hazew think that a gud idea, daddeh. Sowwy for babbeh’s bad poopies.”
“No…no….I….really should have seen that one coming, this one’s on me.”
— — — —
You are Hazel. It’s making sky-water outside, but you’re safe and dry in daddy’s house, feeding your babies, hugging them, letting them sleep next to you in your pen. Your sweet little talkie Neapolitan really loves daddy, and he’s sitting with her on his lap as he works.
When the sky makes scary-noise, you flinch. You had forgotten how foals reacted to that.
You now have 3 screaming, crying foals, and Neapolitan has made scared-poop on daddy’s leg.
He hands her back to you, and you lick her and the other babies clean. You move them away from the poop on the floor. Scared poop stinks horribly bad, more than usual, at least. The guilt you feel for forgetting this could happen is immense. What if daddy gets mad? Will he punish your babies? Will he not love them anymore?
After a few minutes, he returns, having changed you of his poop-stained pants. He sets about cleaning up the mess.
“Hazew vewy sowwy, daddeh. Pwease no stop wuving?” You plead.
He looks at you, confused. “Why would I stop loving you?”
“Cuz babbehs make scawdy-poopies.”
“Hazel…. They’re babies. Neapolitan doesn’t speak in full sentences, the other two are still chirpies, they can’t help being afraid of some things.” He says, wiping up the poop with a good-smelling thing. “I do wonder, though, why didn’t you do it too?”
It’s your turn to look at him funny now. “Daddeh, Hazew am fewaw fwuffy. Wived in woodsies aww wife. Wots of scawy sky-noisies there.” you say.
He doesn’t answer, but makes a sound that tells you he had forgotten that. “Yes, yes you are……Well, that’s all cleaned, I’m gonna go…Safe room. Just uh…. set them in the litterbox, for me?” He asks.
You nod. “Dat….am pwobabwy gud idea. Untiw Sky-wawas am done.”
The awkward silence lasts longer than you expected as both of you stare at each other, not knowing what to say.
He stands up and walks out the room, and you put the babies in the litterbox, letting them rest their little heads on the edge of the box.
You look at Neapolitan. “Pwease stop making poopies on daddeh, Neapowitan.”
She looks up at you and chirps. “Neapowitan sowwy.”
Good girl, she means well, even if she is the main cause of dung-related disasters. You lick her head. “Good babbeh. Mummah wuvs you aww, but no more poopies outside wittabocks.” you scold.
You’re going to have Neapolitan fully litter trained in 2 bright times, come hell or high water, you decide.
