8:00 a.m.
The alarm rings out, and you slap it repeatedly until it stops.
You hop up and throw on your favorite old denim coveralls and a pair of rubber boots. After strapping on your worn leather gun belt, you are ready to start the day.
You peek in on your saferoom and see your brown and white alicorn stallion, Duke, still snuggled cozily in his bed, hugging his stuffed mustang. Your heart flutters, you inch the door closed quietly and head out to the truck.
It was harvest day, and you were ready to get the job done and return to make some chocolate chip waffles for you and Duke, and enjoy the Clint Eastwood marathon on the western channel.
You drive about ten minutes to the back of your property in beautiful east Tennessee, and reach your destination. You pull over into a flat spot outside a grove of shady trees and slam the door. Walking around back, you drop the tailgate and grab a five gallon bucket with your tools and supplies. Gear in hand, you meander on over to the grove, and your ears perk up at the slowly growing sound of babbling childlike voices.
You reach the tree line, and step over the knee high chicken wire fence cleverly camouflage with grass and shrubs that circles through the entire space. A few more feet and you are in a clearing and can see you are going to gave a great harvest.
There before him was a herd of almost two dozen adult feral fluffies, and about thirty foals in every stage of development, from chirpy to walkie-talkie. They were spread out in various smaller groups, some hugging, some playing tag. Mothers sang to babies and gave milkies to the hungry, while others absentmindedly grazed at the soft green grass. By the looks of the shit piles, they had probably been here a day or two, but not much longer. Thankfully, with this many yammering away in their almost human voices, most predators wouldn’t be keen on investigating, because if they were, they would have seen a veritable buffet.
A standout in the group caught your eye, slightly larger than the others, and bossing a pair of stout (by fluffy standards) looking stallions, was the smarty.
“Tuffies fine way out of big sowwy fence NAO owe get wowstest huwties an poopies, sketties aw gone, nee weave befow an fine good nestie peace.”
It was a smart idea, if not basic. Problem was, it was an impossible task, for a fluffy. There were four funnel-shaped entrances in the fence line, but the spring doors on them only opened one way, in. No fluffy was strong or smart enough to figure that out, so they were stuck here, lured in by a small trough of cheap canned pasta, without third party intervention. That was where you came in.
“Well hello there little fluffs. What are you all doing here today?”
“DUMMEH HOOMIN! DIS SMAWTEY WAND NAO, GIV MOWE SKETTIES AND WEAVE OWE GET WOWSTEST SOWWY HOOFSIES AN POO-” BANG
The blue and orange stallion went silent as his microscopic brains blew out the back of his skull, a .22 caliber bullet zipping right between his eyes from an expertly quick-drawn semi-auto-ruger pistol. Josey Wales couldn’t have done better himself.
“Now.” You blow a wisp of smoke from the barrel of the gun before slipping it back into the holster.
“Who here is a good fluffy?”
“Huuuuu wai gib species fwen foweba sweepies? Huuu huuuu he jus twy get bestest sketties fow soon mummuhs make miwkies fowe babbehs huuuu”
“Huuuu fwuffy am gud fuffy!!! Nu gib huwties mistah, pwease be nyu daddeh, soon mummuh need huggies and wuv and housie and nummies fow tummeh babbehs an fowe make miwkies fowe babbehs!”
“Gud fwuffy!”
“Fwuffy am gud!!!”
“Mummuh an babbehs aw gud fwuffy’s mistuh!”
“Dank yu fowe kiw bad smawtey mistah nu daddeh”
On and on they went, babbling about being good fluffy’s and good mommas and good babies etc. You calm them down with a friendly smile and by hovering your hand over the rose wood grips of your pistol.
“Well I am very happy to hear that. I came here looking to find a herd of good fluffies. I left those sketties you ate out just for you.”
“Tank yu daddeh fowe giv best nummies eva fowe fwuffies! Neva haves sketties befowe.” A sky blue and white unicorn stallion walked up and thanked you polite as can be.
“You are very welcome. Now, I know you all are probably getting hungry again.” They all pleaded and moaned in agreement.
“So I am going to give you even more sketties, and then I am going to let you out of this sorry cage.”
“YAAAAAAY BESTEST DADDEH EVA!!!”
“No calm down. I can’t be your daddy. I don’t have enough room or toys or nummies for all you fluffies. But I can help you today before you go on somewhere else.
“Huuuuuu wan daddeh an howsie fowe mummuh an babbehs.”
“Huuu huuu hu speshew fwend nee housie fowe hab safe pwace fowe soon babbehs, pwease mistuh?”
“Fwuffy am sadies, bu tank you fowe gif mowe sketties nu daddeh.” The Unicorn thanked you again.
It warmed your heart. You didn’t hate fluffs the way so many people do. You understood they were made the way they were by irresponsible scientists. They were incomplete products, who did the best they could to make it the only ways they knew how. When they were good, they were a delight, when they were bad, they just needed to be dealt with swift and efficient, like the dead smarty.
“Sorry everyone, that’s just how it is. But before I can give you your sketties, I need some stuff from you.”
“Bu…bu fwuffies nu haf nuffin mistah. Wa mistah need?”
“First, I need all the stallions to come stand over here.” You point to a spot on the ground with your foot.
“I need all the mommies with babies to stand here.” You point a few feet to the left of that.
“The soon mummahs stand here.” You point again to the left.
“And the mares without babies or tummy babies to stand here.” You point to the last spot
They did there best to follow directions, only needing a little help figuring out what to do if they had babies AND tummy babies, but they got it done eventually.
“All right, excellent job, everybody. Now, before we get the sketties, let’s get some work done first.”
You take a spray can out of the bucket and paint a circle around each group of fluffs.
“That is a sorry circle, any fluffy who steps over that line goes forever sleepies.”
“Nuuuuuu!!!”
“Yep, the sorry stick I used to kill the smarty is veeerrrry fast, and will get any fluffy who breaks the rules. Do you all promise to stay in the sorry circles?”
“Fwuffy pwomise!”
“Babbeh nu weave scawey sowwy circwe, nu wan foweba sweepies huuu”
“Sowwy circwe am bad fowe tummeh babbehs, nu wan!”
“Huuuu nu weave circwe, sawah pwomise mistah, nu huwties hu hu”
“Good! You are all very good fluffies. Not like that smarty. Now, to get your sketties, daddy is going to need something special. Your fluff.”
“Nuuuu!”
“Mistah nu take fwuff! Nee pwetty fwuff fowe be pwtetty and wawmsies!”
“Babbehs nee mummuhs fwuff fow be safe and haf gud huggies, nu tak nuuuu”
“I’m sorry littel guys, but those are the rules. No fluff, no sketties. And if you try to run away, you get the sorry stick sleepies.”
“Huuuuu huuu huuuu wan fwuff huuu” They all began crying in unison.
You pull out an electric shaver and a burlap sack, and set to work. You pick the well behaved stallion first. He would set a good example to the others.
You lift him gently and and stroke under his chin, calling hum a good fluffy and praising his manners.
“Pwease mistuh, nu take fwuff, fwuffies am sposed ta have fwuff, am what makes fwuffy fwuffy.”
“I know, but I need it, or else I can’t get you and your herd nummies, and nummies are more important than fluff right?”
“Huuuu dat make sense mistah, otay, jus pwease nu make huwties.”
“I wont buddy, thank you.” You gently start to buzz away, keeping the soft fluff in the biggest single bundles you can, ruling it up and tying it off in a rubber banded roll. Soon, you had a small, fat littel guinea pig like creature with only the shortest layer of down left.
There were tears in his eyes, but he was grateful you kept your word about not making it painful.
The rest of the fluffs were much the same, though not quite as well behaved. There were many sorry poopies and scardey poopies, some wriggled to get away, some fell and almost broke limbs. A mare and a stallion attempted to glee, either forgetting or believing themselves quick enough to escape the consequences, and you gunned them down, drilling them in the backs of the skull, ending them quick and painless. No more escapes were made after that. Soon you had a full sack of rainbow colored bundles, and four groups of crying, nearly naked fluffies. The only ones who escaped your sheers were the babies, who were too much trouble to be worth it.
“Thank you all for being so good, except for the two dummies who tried to leave the circles, you all did very well.”
“Huuu huu fwuffies get sketties now?”
“Fwuffy coed, nee fwuff pwease mistuh!”
“Huuuu mummy nu am pwetty nu mowe huuuu”
“Huu huu huuuu gweenie miss be gweeeeeen”
“I’m sorry, but no sketties yet, the next thing I need to do is check your special lumps and special places to make sure you don’t have any hurties, and that you can make the best babies.”
“Nuuu nu tuch wumps! Dey nu am fow tuchies, am fow make babbehs and gud fees!”
“Nu tuch speshew pwace! Onwy fowe babbehs and speshew fwend!”
“”I am going to check you no matter what, same rules apply, if you leave the circle, you get forever sleepies. Now be quiet.” You grab the same good stallion, and hold him down gently but firmly and reach into your pocket.
“It looks like your lumps are sick buddy, I have a magic human string that will fix them. It will feel not nice first, but soon they will be all better ok?”
“Huuu otay mistah, fwuffy twust yu.”
You were astounded by how good and trusting this thing was. You would have assumed he was a pet or an alicorn if you didn’t have clear evidence to the contrary of the later, and a good guess about the former due to his failure to use a name.
You pulled out the super small zip-tie and in a practiced motion, cinched it snuggly around the base of the little guys sack, strangling the blood flow, and in a week or so, leading to them dropping off entirely. It wasn’t as fast as a blade, but it tramatized them the least when in a group, and kept them from panicking.
The others were less understanding, with many a screeeeeee and cry of “nu wike meanie stwing! Wet wumps guuuu” but you got through it all the same. You were covered in shit by the time each fluff was bound but that’s why you wore work clothes.
“Huuuu huuu wumps nu free pwetty.”
“Wumps have chokey huwties, pwease wet guu daddeh”
“I know it feels weird fellas but in a few bright times, the pain will be all gone, I promise. It will make you happy and healthy!” This assurance did little to comfort them.
“Next up it’s the mummuhs. Can all the mummuhs hold up theri bestest babies? That would make me so happy, I’d want to give all of you sketties.”
“Hewe, hewe mistah, dis am bestest babbeh!”
“Mummuh’s bestest babbeh am bestest babbeh eva”
“Bestest babbeh am dancie babbeh, bestest dancies eva!”
“Wook at bestest babbeh mistah, gib babbeh an mummy sketties and housei pwease!”
You used the distraction to snag up all the less favored foals with practied swiftness and drop them all in the bucket.
CHIRP
CHEEP
PEEP PEEP
“HEWP MUMMUH! SABE BABBEH!”
“HEEEWP NEED MUMMUH, NEE HUGGIES AN MIWKIES”
“Nuuuuu nu bad upseies and dwopsies, om onwy wittew babbeh!
“Nuuu gif babbehs back!”
“Babbehs am tu wittew, nee be wif mummuh!”
A mare charged the bucket and you nailed her through the left eye before her back leg left the circle, scaring the literal shit out of the others, but keeping them in line. You grab up the white and pink pegasus family, freshly orphaned, and toss her in the bucket with the rest of the crying foals.
“There aren’t enough sketties here for you to make enough milkies for all your babies, so I thought you could feed your bestest babies, and I would take all the other ones home with me for more milkies and sketties.”
This calmed the dumber ones down, but the rest were obviously skeptical.
“Bu mummuh nee gib babbehs miwkies, mistah bwing mummuh and mummuh take cawe of babbeh, babbeh nee mummuh fow mikies and wuv and huggies, gif back pwease huuuu”
“I’m sorry fluffy, but I am their daddy now, you can keep your bestest babies, or I can take them too if you don’t think you can take care of even those.”
That got their attention and ended their whining. The sky blue stallion was looking you over with oddly intelligent eyes, like he was slowly working out your intentions with each step. You admired it. If you didn’t already have all the fluffy love you needed, you’d adopt the little guy.
Ok everyone, now I keep my word. Sketties for everybody.
“YAAAAAY”
“Sketties am bestest nummies fowe tummeh babbehs!”
“Fwuffy su hungwy, fank ou mistuh!”
“No problem guys, I know this hasn’t been very fun, but you all did super good and I am proud of you.”
You grabbed the commercial-sized can of “No Mow Babbehs” Skettie that you’d fished out of the bucket before taking the foals, and dumped it into the little fluffy herd size trough in the middle of the clearing. They descended on it like mad men, and gobbled every last bite. After a ten minute or so feast, and a cacophony of
“Bestest nummies!”
“Wuv sketties”
“Babbeh neva hav sketties befowe!”
And the heartbroken foals in the bucket crying out for a bite.
“Babbeh wan twy sketties!”
“Wai nu sketties fowe ugwy babbeh, mummuh nu wuv nu mowe? Huuuu”
You take the chance to grab the bestest babies up while the parents are gorging and pull out a small sharp nail and give a sharp jab to their testicles and vaginas, damaging them beyond repair but not crippling them worse than necessary. The momies and dadies were too skettie drunk to even notice the cries of “worst owies”
The adults finished up and all sat back on their haunches or flop over, licking sauce from their lips gratefully.
“Well, it’s been good meeting you all, I have to go now, I will open the sorry fence up so you can leave when you are feeling better. I hope you all find a better safe place to live. Oh, and you” You point to the sweet, smart little guy who had been a huge help this whole process.
“You are such a good fluffy, you should be the leader of the herd. Not the smarty though, those are bad. You will be a good leader, and leaders need a name.”
“Fwuffy am get name?”
“That’s right, you are a very good fluffy, and when your fluff comes back, it will be the color of the sky. So I will call you Big Sky.”
“Big Sky wuv nyew name! Fank you mistuh!”
“You are welcome buddy. No need to thank me.”
They wouldn’t if they understood that by morning, all the dams would void their wombs of stillborn foals, and their wombs would never quicken again. Not that their special friends could ever shoot more than blanks again anyways.
You prop the gates open and grab up the bucket and your other belongings, stepping over and loading up the truck. You’d leave the corpses for the raccoons, you wouldn’t be setting the trap again for another few days. That’s how long it would take at minimum for a new batch of strays, ferrals and runaways to come together and repopulate in the nearby suburb. At least at the rate they had been the last couple years.
You dump the crying foals into the air tight cooler in the bed of your hilux, and jump in the cab, heading off to home. They would be dead, peacfully suffocated by the time you got there, and you’d chuck them in the compost heap. They rotted fast and would help make some great tomatoes next year. The fluff sold for a decent amount in town to local artsy folks, you balied it up and sold it every three months, doing what you could to sort the colors. You got a good price swearing it was ethically sourced.
You get home and take care of cleanup, slipping out of your shitty clothes and washing off in your outdoor shower before coming in through the laundry room entrance and sliding into a comfy old red union suit pair of pj’s. You were ready to spend the day being lazy, maybe cook a steak and some eggs for Duke at dinner (never sketties, no brats in this house)
You go down the hall and open the door to the safe room and greet your smiling fluff.
“Hey there Duke”
“Howdy Piwgwim!”
