This story is a hard reboot to my Fluffy cannon, mostly because I don’t think my previous stories were very good. Welcome to the world of Fluffies in Southern Minnesota and the unfortunate ends they face. This is an abuser focused universe and while there will be some hugboxing, it’s minimal.
As Dick’s white Silverado 1500 rumbled down the street, Myles gazed out the window at what was probably the last hold over from the harsh winter. A small, dirty pile of snow sitting on the crunchy front lawn of a suburban house. Three Fluffies were playing on the dirty snow pile, sliding down on their now wet and dirty asses with lots of giggles and laughter before gleefully running back up it to slide down again. As the Silverado passed, one of the Fluffies, a vibrant lime green and blonde one, lost its footing and tumbled face-first landing hard on its back in the grass. Myles flicked his eyes up at the rear-view mirror in the truck and caught a glimpse of the other two Fluffies rushing over to administer hugs to their injured friend before they passed out of view.
“What weird animals.” Myles thought to himself. He was 19 years old, fresh out of highschool. A typical kid from the small suburbs of a town called Mankato, it was an hour from the sprawling Twin Cities metro and probably about an hour and a half from the Iowa border. When Myles was only 6 years old, the infamous 2012 Pawtucket Ecological Disaster occurred in Rhode Island. It was only one year later that the migration wave of those first generation feral Fluffies had expanded into the American Midwest. “Are they even animals?”
“Hey, Dick. I have a question.” The old man had the driver window of the Silverado rolled down and cigarette smoke trailed from the half consumed American Spirit Yellow hanging off his lips and past his gray mustache. “Okay.” he said. “Are Fluffies animals?” He responded quickly and flatly. “Nope. They’re biotoys.” Myles was still not satisfied. “Soooo they’re alive, but not really?” he asked the old man.
“I get that it’s hard to understand a contradiction like that. But a Fluffy only has thoughts, temperaments, organs, and biological functions that were bioprogrammed to be an imitation of life. They’re like…uhhh…a disposable pet for little children. For Christ’s sake Myles, they sell them at Wal-Mart in a little pink box like a Barbie doll.” Myles still didn’t fully understand. How could those things be just a toy? Toys don’t live in the wild, or form a complex social hierarchy, and they certainly don’t bleed and beg for mercy.
“Sorry Dick, I’m just, new to all this.” Dick laughed. “Ah, don’t be sorry kid. Fluffies are actually pretty complicated so I really want you to pay attention and be on my ass all day observing and learning.” Myles was fresh out of high school, skipping college in place of an apprenticeship that he only got through peer shot-in-the-dark luck. His father was a successful Fluffy mill breeder, and he wanted to find a career within the spear of the family business.
“Yes, sir.” said Myles politely. The Silverado was starting to slow and as Dick turned right into the driveway of a typical early 20th ranch house the truck bounced over the curb at its base and jostled around Myles. An iPad was secured to the dashboard with a mount and Dick tapped on it a few times. “I’ll teach you how to use ServiceTitan eventually, but for now just keep focusing on the fundamentals.” said Dick. He crushed his cigarette into a cup holder ashtray and the two of them got out of the pickup. The door of the Silverado 1500 made a satisfying thud. White, like a typical fleet vehicle, with a vinyl wrap on it that Myles thought was only slightly ridiculous.
The bottom of the truck’s cab and bed was lined with lush green grass that had depictions of cute, colorful, playing Fluffies all across it. Dick had commissioned the popular internet Fluffy artist WolframSparks for the design, the innocent and glassy eyed Fluffies played with blocks, rolled a ball, and sat on their hinds while having a tea party with plastic looking cups clutched with their teeth. Each driver door was marked with red Helvetica typeface that read “Mayfield Fluffy Control Service”
Before the couple went to the front door of the house Dick walked around back to the bed of the pickup that was installed with a topper over it. The roof of the topper was decorated with a lavender and yellow unicorn smiling wide with pearly little teeth. Dick dropped the tailgate and reached in and retrieved a Milwaukee PACKOUT canvas bag filled with a variety of tools. Almost all of them had old, brown stains of dried Fluffy blood on them. Dick spoke to Myles as they traversed up the driveway. “Now this is really important Myles, ok? You have to learn how to talk to people professionally. Watch how I do it and just think of it like this, start off like it’s a business meeting and then after that just talk to them like an old friend. Professional but personable.”
Myles stood behind Dick with his wrist in his hand, and the old man with a mustache knocked three times on the cream white door. An older gentleman answered, not far off from Dick in age. “How are you doing, sir? My name is Dick and this is my apprentice, Myles. We’re from Mayfield Fluffy Control Service.” The two shook hands and the old gentleman stepped out onto the patio with them. “Learning on the job, eh? That’s the way to do it!” Myles smiled and gestured at the man, saying “Thanks, sir, I’m going to be shadowing Dick, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Dick took a read of the situation through the brief conversation. The gentleman was afflicted with a common problem experienced by homeowners in the Spring, a Fluffy family had taken up residence in the backyard of the house; a small nest for a momma mare and her foals. “They’re in that corner there of the fence. Settled in pretty good.” The man gestured as he explained to Dick, pointing in the direction of the family in relation to where he was standing on the patio. “I didn’t catch your name.” said Dick. “Oh, it’s Greg.”
“Well alright, Greg. Myles and myself are going to venture around to the back now. Do you have any more questions?” Greg shook his head and stepped back inside his house as Myles crunched his steel-toe work boots over the grass, trailing behind Dick. The house was pretty nice, Myles thought. Clean, modern-ish, and a nice big backyard.
Mostly.
“GASP! Nice nyu fwiends?! C’mewe nyu fwiends! Wook! Mummah’s nyu bestest babbeh jus’ opened see-pwaces fow da fiwst time!”
The house had its backyard lined with a 6 foot tall cedar wood fence, a typical affair you would see in an average small town suburb in America. Near the corner on the west side of the backyard (or more simply the right side of the house when facing the front door) was a conspicuously Fluffy sized hole that had its corners stained with dirt. Nestled directly in the corner, in a very Japanese “gurashi” fashion, was a white colored earth mare with a company of six foals.
Dick got down on a knee to kneel before the nest, his Milwaukee knee-pad pressing into the grass; Myles followed suit. “See the hole? The industry word for it is a Network Aperture. That’s because feral Fluffies all live within a network of themselves.
Look closely, all that stuff that’s around the edges? That’s blood, mud, and shit. Whatever the Fluffies were dirty with rubbed off because this is a high-traffic Aperture.” Myles asked Dick “Wait, blood? I didn’t know they could be that violent with each other.” Dick just smirked. “You really have only ever seen Fluffies on your father’s mill, haven’t you? They are very hostile to each other in the feral network…it’s honestly a little brutal.”
“Oh.” said Myles.
“See all these shallow, nubby marks all around the edges?” Myles leaned in closer. Underneath the grime there were remains of practically a hundred hoof marks; a half oval with a heart in the middle. “This was done by a stallion. He probably bucked at it all night until it finally gave way. Persistent bastards are what they are.”
“Hey, nyu fwiends! Wai nu wookin’? Gon’ be su pwoud of bestest babbeh fow openin’ up see-pwaces!”
Myles turned his head to look at the Fluffy in acknowledgement. The mare was chubby and round, with fat under her chin and engorged teats that flopped against the grass between her hind legs; obviously well fed and healthy. It almost reminded him of the Fluffies back home in the mill that were all well fed to produce the most nutritional milk. “Are you listening?” asked Dick, rather cross. Myles snapped back to attention. “Yeah I’m listening.” he said. “Well alright, good, because now the ball is your court. What are we doing here and why?”
Myles darted thoughts in his mind. Now was the time to prove he wanted to be here. “We’re here to provide a professional service for a paying customer to their satisfaction.” Dick smirked again. “Heh, well you read the textbook at least.” Dick set his PACKOUT down next to Myles’ feet. “Now you have to decide for yourself. You can use my tools for today until you get yours. I’m only stepping in if you make a mistake.”
Myles felt a pound in his chest. “Am I really doing this?” He looked down at the PACKOUT. Dick had a lot of tools. “Or rather instruments of torture.” he thought. The mare giggled, and slouched down to pat the grass next to her. “C’mewe nyu fwiend, Mummah’s oddah babbehs am duin’ sweepies nappies wight nao, c’mewe next tu Mummah su Mummah can show bestest babbeh! Bestest babbeh jus’ opened see-pwaces!”
He obliged; with the PACKOUT in his hand Myles kneeled down next to the mare. Her dense white fluff was dirty around her hooves and her barrel and her ass was stained brown with shit. Her left ear had a small nick in it, a triangular notch with a fleshy scar filling it in. Nestled in the warm and squishy loose skin of her neck scruff was an absolutely tiny newborn chirpy, a crimson red unicorn with glassy, tiny eyes that pricked several tears from their corners as the little Fluffy saw sunlight for the first time. “Bestest babbeh am wed pointy Fwuffy, jus wike Mummah’s Speciaw Fwiend am! Suuuu pwetties, Mummah wuv bestest babbeh su muchies!”
The Fluffies were at their core proportioned like an exaggerated pony with a mane and a tail; they were ungulate with a carpal joint knee and a short hairless muzzle, a short neck, and curved upright ears.
But they were also small and fat. Their legs were unnaturally stubby, with a weak phalanges and metacarpus that combined were only four inches long and a radius-ulna and humerus coming off the carpus that was only an combined inch and a half; most Fluffies barely stood six inches off the ground at a total height of fifteen inches and about ten in length.
“Mummah su happies dat nice mistah am hewe noaw! Noaw nice mistah can gib Mummah an’ Speciaw Fwiend an’ aww da babbehs a nyu home! Mean mistah in dis home nu wet Mummah an’ Speciaw Fwiend an’ aww da babbehs inside! Haffta find nummies and make a nestie fow da babbehs, nu wan! Wan nice soft an’ wowm home fow da babbehs wiff wotsa good nummies fow Mummah tu make into miwkies!”. The Fluffies spoke in an annoying, babbling baby talk with a peculiar high pitched voice. Not quite like Alvin and the Chipmunks, Myles thought, but more childish and squeaky.
Myles turned his eyes to Dick, who stared back at him with cold eyes. With only a twitch of the side of his mouth from Dick, Myles understood.
He grasped at the PACKOUT and brandished a Modengzhe tire reamer tool. It was stainless steel with a T-handle and the bit was a 6 mm that was grooved with sharp serrated teeth that were designed to cut through the rubber and steel wire of a tire. Myles gripped his fingers around the T-handle, placing the grip between his middle and ring finger.
“Mistah…du hab nummies? Speciaw Fwiend nu am back yet and Mummah’s babbehs gon’ hab mostest hungies aftah dey du wakies! Mummah’s miwikie pwace nu am mostest fuww yet!”
Behind her was her litter, six foals of all different colors nestled together in an adorable fluffpile. They all were asleep together on a dirty half torn page from a magazine; they slept on top of each other in a manner that equally distributed the heat across the fluffpile.
The foals were so tiny at only five inches tall, and about six inches long; they were soft and round like a little plushie. With their little eyes shut tight, the pink skin of their eyelids hairless, the foal’s round little bodies all rose and fell with tiny breaths as they slept.
The flabby scruff on the mare’s neck started to rustle as the little crimson chirpy started to peep and cheep. It rolled over onto its barrel and started to cutely bounce its front legs; the chirpy was hungry and was ready for its mother to nurse it. Instinctively, it’s mouth started to pucker in anticipation of its mother’s nipple and it started to salivate to lubricate the process and prevent the mare from chafing.
Myles took a deep breath. He looked down into the eyes of the white Fluffy, big and glassy with soft yellow irises. “I’m sorry, mother mare.” The mare turned her head back and gave her best baby a gentle lick to reassure it that it’s mother was still there. “Wat am Mistah sowwie fow? Nu be siwwy, Mistah nu hab du anyting tu be sowwies fow.”
He closed his eyes, and with a quick breath he jammed his hand forward with all his might. There was only a brief second of resistance as the tire reamer made its initial contact with the soft and delicate skin of the mare’s chubby neck before it easily pierced through. The sound that hit Myles’ ears was a cross between snapping a rubber band and smashing a watermelon; the serrated bit made a gnashing sear through the Fluffy’s carotid artery and scraped away a rough hole in her esophagus and windpipe.
Almost immediately the Fluffy mare tumbled backwards, rolling over onto her withers and croup from the force of Myles’ impact and the sudden shock and terror as her simple brain processed the situation. As she fell backwards, her bodyweight ripped itself away from the tire reamer’s serrated bit and sudden pulsating gushes of warm, sugary smelling blood expelled from the gnarled open wound. The mare gasped and gagged; she weakly bicycled her front hooves by her bleeding neck, unable to physically clutch it from her unfortunately proportioned equine-like anatomy.
“N-neckies! Neckies makin’ huwtie boo-boo juice! Hewp!!! Hewp Mummah babbehs! Mistah am tewwibwe meanie minstah!!! Babbehs pwease hewp Mummah!!!” said the Fluffy in a gurgling, high-pitched voice. Big splatters of blood shot from her mouth and coated her teeth as she pleaded in pain for her babies to rescue her.
As the mother mare rolled over onto her back, there was a popping sound like a waterballon full of thick gel had burst open. Creating a sort of “steamroller” effect from her chubby bodyweight, the delicate little chirpy was thrown from its momma’s warm neck scruff as she rolled backwards and the incapacitated chirpy was caught under the hard, rounded back bones of its mother’s withers. The chirpy was flattened, its tiny bones pulverized, and its entrails were forced out through its eye sockets and esophagus with curdling crackling noise. The gore painted the mare’s back and her white fluff became matted with thick globs of infantile viscera.
There was a quiet commotion as the fluffpile of foals started to wake from their innocent slumber. “Nu! Wewe am Mummah’s bestest babbeh?! B-bestest babbeh!! Mummah am hewe! Pwease, Mummah ne’ huggies fwom bestest babbeh!!” The mare was bleeding out all over the grass. The white fluff around her neck and her barrel was completely coated in wet blood that made curling drips down her front leg like a cruel candy cane. The Fluffy shakely wobbled back onto her hooves. She instantly turned her neck to look for her best baby. Her vision was starting to blur from blood loss. “Babbehs!! Sabe Mummah!!!”
The struggle only made it worse for the Fluffy. The wound in her neck was pulled open wider as she turned her head to look back; she wailed in a high pitch and painfully snapped her head back straight. Great wet tears poured from her eyes, wetting the fluff on her face and mixing with the sugary sweet blood. Myles reeled his arm back again and drove the reamer, hard, into the Mommah Fluffy’s head, just right between her eyes. The tool punctured through the thin bone of the Fluffy and into the skull cavity. The serrated bit carved through the tiny frontal lobes of the Fluffy; as Myles forcefully janked the tool out a streaming flair of blood, brain fluid, and tiny pink chunks of brain matter sprayed over his head and dramatically splattered across his face.
The Fluffy made a gurgling gasp and fell limply to her side, her nubby legs loosely flopped loosely across her barrel. The wound had left her brain exposed as thick blood flowed down the mare’s face and dripped off her chin. Myles soon realized that the Fluffy still wasn’t dead. She gurgled and moaned, while twitching her ears and flailing her nostrils. There was a bubbly hissing sound and Myles turned his head to see a wave of mushy diarrhea fall out of the mare’s asshole, staining the grass like chunky peanut butter.
“Bbbbbbbb—bbbbbbbbbb–bbb-babbehs……ba-bbehs………wan wive……wan howd babbehs gain’…wwwww-wan wuv fwom nice mistah….oooo-onwy ebah wan’ wuv fwom mistah….bbbbb-buh onwy gg-gib huwties…mmm….wai….”
“Holy shit……………….just fucking die!” said Myles in frustration. A sudden barrage of bright, primary colors flashed in the corner of his eye. Running as fast as they could in a pathetically slow and unbearably adorable bouncing trot, the mare’s six small foals came rushing from their comfy fluffpile over to their distressed mother that was suffering from a brain injury. They quickly arrived in a waddling trot to their mother’s side and began to administer hugs in a feeble and naive attempt to heal her pain. The foals stood on their hind legs and with their front legs spread open wide they tightly clutched as hard as they could against their mother’s leg and torso.
“B-b-b–babbehs! Babbehs am hewe! W-w-wuuuuuv aw of Mummah’s babbehs, huuu-hu-hu-huuuu.”
The foals had an even higher pitched and squeaker voice than their fully-grown mother, as they administered hugs they cried with great shrieks and wails that made Myles ears ring.
“Nu! Mummah pwease nu hab huwties! Babbeh am gibbin’ huggies! Huuuuuuu!”
“Wai huggies nu wowkin’?? Bruddah, sissy, ne’ gib eben biggah huggies fow Mummah! Huuuuuu-hu-huuuuu!”
“Stoopie huggies! Stawt makin’ Mummah’s huwties gu way WIGHT NOAW!! HUUUUUUUUU! HUUUUUUU!”
“Boo-boo juice nu goin’ way! Huuuuuhuu, wai am huggies nu wowk? Am cos’ babbeh am bad babbeh?! Nu wan’ be bad babbeh!! Huuuuhhuhuhuuu! AM BAD!! HUUUU-HUU-HUUUU!”
“Wewe am bestest bruddah? Bestest bruddah! Ne’ bestest huggies fow Mummah! Pwease bestest bruddah, babbehs nu can du dis alone! Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhuhuhu!!”
Myles started to breathe faster. His heart thumped, his brow started to sweat. His grip on the Modengzhe tire reamer tool made his knuckles white. He grabbed one of the foals by the ears, pinching them together with his left thumb and index. The little lime green foal whined as Myles peeled it with ease away from its mother. It was a colt, and his tiny, wrinkly penis spurted out an arch of urine onto the grass as Myles pinned him down flat on his back.
“NU! NU! WET GU! BABBEH’S MUMMAH NEE HUGGIES! WET GU MEANIE MISTAH!! HUUUUUU! HUUUUU! HEWP BUDDHA! HEWP SISSY!”
Myles took the tire reamer and used its tip to press down the foal’s tongue and forced his mouth open, and then inhaled and made a nasty snorting, sniffing, bubbling grunt as Myles loaded a fat, wet, sticky loogie of spit in his mouth. “Fuck you.” he said with a wad of watery slime against his tongue. With a “tuah”, Myles launched the loogie into the foal’s mouth. It splattered onto the colt’s tongue and coated its gums. The little guy’s bottom eyelids twitched and convulsed as he tried to roll himself over to vomit, but Myles kept his ears pinned to the grass.
“Gon’ be sickies fwom wowstest nummies! Gon’ be sickies!” The colt tried hard to resist, but the texture, taste, and viscosity of Myles’ loogie was too much for him. The colt closed his eyes and started to retch as milky white, curdled looking vomit sputtered out of his throat and leaked out over the corners of his mouth. Myles pressed his fingers even harder against the grass as the foal started to gag, choke, and asphyxiate on its own vomit. He banged his pathetic nubby legs against Myles’ palm as his eyes rolled back into his skull. The curdled vomit bubbled in his gaping mouth cavity until one final sputter bellowed from his throat, and his mind formed one last image of his momma giving him a loving lickies clean before his consciousness burnt away and his tiny body went limp.
“Myles!” shouted Dick. He looked down at what he was doing. “Oh, fuck. What have I done? This is…a slaughter.” Dick crossed his arms and gave a stern look. “Excellent work, kid! A+, 10 out of 10, gold star. But you’re getting too carried away. This guy is paying us by the hour, so let’s not waste his time. Finish it.”
Myles laughed at himself for a second as Dick tossed him an open box of Glad zip-lock bags. “If this is a slaughter….I want more!” “You got it Dick, I’ll end it now. And, thanks.” He took a bag from the roll inside the beat up cardboard and unzipped it. Dick went stern again. “Don’t get too up your ass now, kid. Finish this right, like we trained.”
Myles turned his head at the sound of the sudden commotion. The foals were in a traumatized tantrum. They had started to cry as loud as Myles had ever heard one cry, they cried with their mouths open wide and their eyes shut tight. They all laid in growing puddles of their own waste, mostly soupy diarrhea and warm urine mixed together as they shit uncontrollably from fear. Two of them, a brother and a sister, hugged each other tightly and gently rocked as they cried.
Several large, greasy looking black flies with green eyes had started buzzing and crawling over the white colored Fluffy mare; she had finally died from her brain trauma and blood loss. The foals were terrified of the insects, who were practically as big as them.
“HEWP! HEWP! BUZZIE MUNSTAH ON MUMMAH! WAAAAHHHHHHHHUUUUU-HU-HU! GU WAY! GU WAAAAY! SCAWIES! TU SCAWED! HEWP!”
“HUUUUUUHUUUUUHUU! NU CAN GIB MOWE HUGGIES COS BABBEH AM TU SCAWED OB BUZZIE MUNSTAH! HEWP MISTAH, PWEASE! MAKE BUZZIE MUNSTAHS GU WAAAAAYYYHHUHUHUHU!”
“AM WOWSTEST BABBEH! TU STOOPIES AND SCAWED OB BUZZIE MUNSTAH TU DU ANYTING!! BABBEH DESEWVES DIS FOW ALL DA TIMES BABBEH MADE BAD POOPIES! HUUUUUUHUUUUHUU!”
“Christ, you guys are annoying.” Myles reached into Dick’s PACKOUT and grabbed a pair of salad tongs. They were Dollar General cheap-o’s, made of plain crappy stainless steel without any rubber grips; the tongs were stained with brown looking smears of old blood and pale chunks of dried up fat. It reminded him of a hunting knife after a good harvest the way it was stained.
First, Myles grabbed the dead lime green colt and placed his floppy corpse into the zip lock bag. Next, he grabbed each of the five remaining foals and plucked each one off the grass one by one. They had gone from scream-crying to cowering and whimpering from the sight of the flies. They hunched, with their shit covered asses in the air, with their heads pressed against the ground and their delicate, very tiny front legs covering their eyes. As Myles grabbed each one, they struggled and fidgeted against the salad tongs grip, shaking their tiny legs in every direction.
“Hey! Pwease! Dis tu high, nu wike dis uppies! Pwease mistah, dis am tu high fow widdwe babbeh! Am onwy babbeh! Pwease nu take babbeh way’ fwom Mummah!”
He dropped them all into the zip lock bag with their dead brother. There was just barely enough room to fit all six. The foals all trampled, rolled, and flopped over each other as they were unable to find anything sturdy to stand on. One foal, a pretty yellow unicorn, slipped and fell onto its dead brother face first . It screeched “NUUUUHUHU! BRUDDAH GWEEN! PWEASE WAKIES BRUDDAH GWEEN! NE’ STWONG COWT TU HEWP ESCAPE FWOM DIS THINGIE! PWEASE NU FOWEVAH SWEEPIES BRUDDAH GWEEN!!”
The most afraid they had ever been in their short lives before, the Fluffy babies involuntarily shit and piss over one another. The bubbly diarrhea started to cover them and smear along the inner walls of the bag. It splashed into their nostrils and mouth and made them gag and cough; the sugary urine stung their eyes as it sloshed across their faces.
Myles zipped the bag closed and shook it around a few times. The foals muffled screams made big clouds of condensation from their breath against the plastic walls. The six Fluffy babies had shit and piss so much it formed nearly an inch of standing liquid at the bottom of the bag. They sloshed in the poop soup for several seconds, the condensation cloud growing larger as the little foals quickly consumed the last of the remaining oxygen inside their piss-filled tomb toilet. Eventually, they all fell silent; the Foals limpy flopped face first into the sugary sewage with a wet splash from asphyxiation. Under their thin fluff, the pink flesh of their faces had turned purple and blue. Myles sealed the bag inside a larger one and taped it closed with black electrical tape.
Dick held the pink Hefty trash bag open as Myles, wearing a pair of black latex gloves, plopped the dead mother mare into it. Her once beautiful liquid white fluff was stained with several bodily fluids. A long drip of milk fell from one of her nipples as Myles let go. He threw in the double bag with the dead babies as well and tightly cinched and knotted the drawstrings. They then threw that bag inside another pink trash bag just to be safe.
Myles carried the garbage across the backyard to the front of the house where he tossed it into the customer’s plastic garbage bin on the curb. Dick scrubbed the blood, feces, and urine off of the grass using a special Fluffy-formulated lawn soap by Azomite that contained a mixture of soap designed for the smell of Fluffy waste and a mineral powder that was to help counteract the destructive acidity of Fluffy waste. It had a consistently like Go-Jo that was a powdery slime.
Dick and Myles both went back around to the front door. Greg greeted them again. “So, I take it, uh, you guys finished up?” he said. Dick responded “Yes Greg, we did. Hey, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to have a seat inside and I can talk you through our full report.”
Greg ushered the two of them inside and the party all found a seat at the kitchen table. Dick laid the clipboard on the table which had many things written down and filled out. “So, Greg. Like you said it was a family of Fluffies that had got in your backyard. It looks like they have been staying here awhile too. They had a poop pile and nesting area set up.
“Yes, it’s been consistent. Every time I shooed them away the things found a new way back in. Got my damn fence this time.”
“So you were aware of the hole?”
“Oh yes, it’s my next project.”
“Ha, well hopefully it’ll be an easy fix. We were able to remove the Fluffies with relatively no trouble and get everything cleaned up, and that goes without saying we completely removed all the nest structures. No more poop pile.”
Greg went silent for a second, then made an expression that Myles couldn’t really decipher. “So….tell me, Dick. Did they suffer?”
Dick swallowed and grinned. “We made it horrible for them. Physical and mental pain.” Greg got up, in a sense of excitement, and moved to his refrigerator in a hustle. Three ice cold beers emerged. “I know, I know, you can’t while you’re working. I understand if you don’t. But I just have to know. How did it happen? Give me some details.” Dick cracked open the Modelo without hesitation. “Actually, I’ll let Myles tell you. He performed some apprenticeship work in your backpack. Myles, go ahead.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, first, I stabbed the adult Fluffy in the neck with a tire reamer tool. I hit her right in the artery where I was trained and it made a lot of blood. A lot. So, she starts screaming and freaking out from the pain so much that the Fluffy rolls over backwards…and when she does she accidentally crushes her baby chirpy on her back and the tiny little thing just turned into a big red splatter.”
Greg pumped his fist into the air. “Yeah! Hell yeah! That little crap chick deserved even worse! What else?”
Myles started to smirk like Dick always did without realizing it. “And get this, Greg. The little chirpy was the Fluffy’s best baby too! She sat there on her back, gushing blood out of her neck, and just crying and crying about oh, where’s my best baby, please come here best baby and of course she’s shitting everywhere too.”
Dick abruptly interjected. “Which we cleaned up, of course!”
“No, no, go on.”
“So since she wasn’t dieing fast enough and making a huge mess……that we cleaned all up also……I stabbed her again in the head between her eyes. It was really gross, honestly, I could see the brains inside her skull. So after that she just kind of cried and moaned a little before she finally died but before that she managed to get all of her foal babies to wake up from their fluffpile. There was six in total actually.”
Greg had practically inhaled his beer and Dick wasn’t too far behind him. Myles flicked his eyes at Dick, who just nodded, and Myles opened his beer as well. “Incredible! Did the foals suffer? Did they cry and scream and beg for mercy?”
“Well, not quite Greg. First they woke up from their fluffpile nap and got really upset seeing their mother like that so they ran over and started hugging her. There was this one foal, he was a little bright green one. I held him down and spit in his mouth until he threw up and choked on it.”
Greg threw his fist on the table, making the three cans bang. “Goddamn! That’s so brutal! I’m going to tip you extra!” Myles took a big sip, the Modelo was ice cold. “But after that I took the other five with their dead brother and put them in a zip lock baggie and made them suffocate. And it wasn’t a quick suffocation either. They started to get, like, really really scared so they all started shitting and pissing really bad. It just got everywhere inside the bag so they were just completely covered head-to-hoof in their own shit. I couldn’t even tell what color all their fluff was by the time they stopped breathing.”
“That’s, that’s just unbelievable! I’ve never done any abuse myself that great!” said Greg. “That’s why we are professionals, Greg. I appreciate you calling me today. This was a pretty standard grab and bag today and I do these a lot so I just labor for them. My rate is forty an hour.”
“That’s not a problem at all! And like I said, let me tip you both!”
Back in the truck, Dick had started to back out of Greg’s driveway and onto the street. “Damn, kid, that was great. He was eating all that shit up. Good work all around but don’t get cocky. You still got a hell of a lot to learn.”
“Thanks, Dick. I’m really liking this job.” Dick looked at him a second before looking back to the road. “Well, that’s good. I don’t get many apprentices. And don’t have a lot of employees. So competition can get tight when it’s time to cut checks. But listen, you keep this attitude and type of work up, you can make more than all of them. But that sure as shit isn’t happening tomorrow. You have to prove you can keep learning.”
Myles smiled. “Absolutely, Dick.”