Foal in a Can - Emma & Lavender
The rain hadn’t let up all day.
It came in cold needles, hissing against the concrete and tin awnings that lined the block. Emma sat hunched at the bus stop, umbrella dripping beside her, hair damp where her curls had slipped from under her diner cap. Her shoes were soaked through. Her back ached. The acrid smell of grease still clung to her uniform despite the late-hour chill.
Another long shift, same as the last. Tips weren’t great. They never were on Tuesdays.
But that wasn’t what had her teeth clenched tonight.
Across the street, just outside the convenience store, sat the newest addition to her daily routine—a bright, cheery monolith that did nothing but make her stomach churn. The vending machine’s slick plastic frame glowed with garish colors, pulsing like a carnival ride. Above the clear front panel, a bubble-letter marquee read:
“Foal in a Can!”
Instant companions, instant fun!
Emma stared at it with thinly veiled contempt. It hadn’t even been there a week, but she hated it already. Hated what it was. What it said about people. The whole city.
She didn’t know much about Fluffies. Not really. Just the basics—some company, Hasbio, had cooked them up in a lab, genetically engineered little creatures bred for affection and cuteness, mostly. A lot of people kept them as pets. Others used them for less wholesome purposes. She’d heard things. Horrible things.
And these machines? These Foal in a Can dispensers? They were just another symptom. Package and sell a living thing like it’s soda or a bag of chips. Emma had never looked too closely. She’d made it a point not to.
The machine clicked suddenly, a mechanical whirl stirring it to life. Lights danced. Then—thunk. A sealed tube dropped into the tray below, unprompted. A moment later, a chipper, pre-recorded voice rang out from a hidden speaker:
“Thank you!”
Emma frowned.
No one was there. No one had bought anything. She glanced up and down the block—just her, the puddles, the rain, and that infernal machine.
Then she heard it.
A soft, frantic chirp. High-pitched and panicked, barely audible beneath the drizzle.
Emma stood.
She grabbed her umbrella, popped it open, and crossed the slick street with purpose, shoes splashing through shallow puddles. The machine loomed closer, its pastel glow flickering against the wet sidewalk. She crouched, peering into the tray at the base.
A small cylindrical tube lay in the tray, maybe ten inches long. Inside, barely visible through the condensation and streaks of rain on the plastic, a tiny pink ball of fluff wriggled helplessly. It chirped and squeaked, flailing its stumpy limbs, blind and terrified. Emma reached in and gently pulled the tube from the tray.
The foal calmed instantly at her touch, its tiny form shifting toward the warmth of her hand through the cold plastic. Her fingers trembled as she inspected the object.
Metal caps on either end sealed the thing shut. One side featured a rubber nipple connected to an internal formula pouch. The other had an unsettling little sticker of a smiling poop emoji, next to three indicator lights—green, yellow, red. The red light blinked.
And right below that: an expiration timestamp. Just a few hours away.
Emma’s gut twisted.
Had the machine malfunctioned? Spit one out without a customer? Would anyone have come by and noticed? Or would this little creature have died? Quietly. Alone. Right there in that tray.
She looked into the foal’s face. Its eyes were sealed shut, fur slightly matted from moisture. But it was alive.
She hated the machine. Hated what it stood for. Hated the idea of passing by it every day, pretending not to see.
But this couldn’t just be ignored.
There was a reason she was here. Right now. A reason the machine had glitched, or fate had nudged it. She couldn’t save them all. She knew that. But she could save this one.
She clutched the tube tightly against her chest and turned just in time to catch her bus.
The ride home was mercifully short.
Aside from the occasional curious glance, no one said anything when the tube in Emma’s lap gave a soft peep. The thing had quieted down now, content to be held. Maybe it knew. Maybe it recognized the difference in warmth. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Emma pressed the tube close as she stepped off the bus and trudged the last block to her apartment, rain still falling like static. She climbed the stairs two at a time, jammed her key into the lock, and stepped into the soft glow of her small kitchen.
Her coat hit the hook. The umbrella hit the floor.
The tube she laid gently on the counter.
She disappeared into the bedroom just long enough to change out of her soaked clothes, trading polyester for old sweats and a hoodie. Her fingers were already typing on her phone when she came back out, scanning the tube’s odd QR code with a half-formed plan.
A video began to play.
The man on screen looked like a children’s show host. All teeth and enthusiasm. He wore a bright polo, stood in front of a clean, sterile set. A cartoonish jingle played softly in the background.
“Hello, and thank you for choosing Foal in a Can!” he beamed. “In this video, we’ll go over how to open your new Foal in a Can product, as well as a few beginner care tips to help you get the most out of your new purchase!”
A small blue mare with a green mane trotted into frame beside him.
“Hewwo nice wady ow mistah! Fank yu fow adoppin’ da wittwe babbeh!” it squeaked. “Babbehs nee wots of wuv an huggies tu gwow up big an stwong!”
Emma stared in stunned silence.
“That’s right, Mabel! Let’s begin!”
The demo played out in surreal detail—twist the tube, unscrew the poo-emoji cap, remove the… plug.
Emma’s stomach rolled.
But there wasn’t time to hesitate. The clock was ticking. That blinking red light wasn’t decorative.
She followed the instructions.
The foal protested weakly as the canister tilted, mewling in distress as she twisted off the waste cap with a soft pop. A faint hiss of escaping pressure, then a slight tug—and the hose slid free.
The foal squeaked once, then slumped slightly, no longer confined.
Emma didn’t have the heart to pull the tiny creature from the tube.
The video’s cheerful tone had turned her stomach. The way the man and the fluffy mare had treated the process—like unboxing a toy—made her want to throw her phone across the room. She looked down at the tube now resting on her kitchen counter. The foal inside twitched slightly, letting out a soft peep, its pink, underdeveloped hooves pressing feebly against the transparent wall.
She turned the tube gently in her hands. The little thing’s eyes were still sealed shut, and its fur was barely more than fuzz. The warm light from the kitchen glinted off the moisture clinging to the tube’s interior. It looked so small, so fragile. Emma imagined how dark and confusing the world must be for it—cold glass, confusing noises, no mother’s warmth.
No. She wasn’t going to pull it out of its only known environment by the tail like it was a used tissue. That wasn’t how anyone should enter the world.
Instead, she moved to the hall closet, rummaging past boxes of winter clothes and half-forgotten tools until she found what she needed: an old, battered shoebox. She took it to the living room and lined it with some clean rags from her laundry pile—soft, slightly worn fabric that still held the faint smell of detergent and home. When she was satisfied with the makeshift nest, she gently set the tube inside, nipple side facing inward so the foal could still feed if it needed to.
The little foal stirred again as she placed it down, tiny ears twitching. A soft, tired chirp came from within. Emma couldn’t tell if it was frightened or content, but the sound seemed quieter now, less panicked.
“There,” she whispered, brushing her fingers across the rags next to the tube. “Warm and safe. You can come out when you’re ready.”
The rain continued to patter against the windows. Emma turned off the overhead light, leaving only the amber glow of a nearby lamp. She sat on the couch a few feet away, watching the little creature settle. It was surreal—barely an hour ago, she’d been dreading seeing that vending machine again. Now, her whole evening had changed.
Emma hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
One moment she was watching the soft rise and fall of the foals breathing inside the tube nestled in the shoebox, listening to the distant hum of rain against the window. The next, her eyes were fluttering open to the early gray light of morning streaming faintly through the curtains.
She blinked and sat up slowly, a light crick in her neck reminding her she’d fallen asleep on the couch again. For a second she forgot why. Then she looked toward the shoebox.
Nestled among the rags was the foal—out of the tube, finally. It was wriggling and scooting clumsily across the soft fabric, its tiny hooves flailing in little circles as it tried to figure out how its body worked.
Emma leaned forward, elbows on her knees, watching with a tired smile. “Look at you,” she murmured. “Didn’t even need my help, huh?”
The foal’s head waved back and forth as if trying to catch a sound or scent in the air. It made a high-pitched peeping noise, then paused. Its whole body gave a small tremble. Emma blinked.
The foal grunted, then tensed—its stubby little tail twitching just before it let out a sputtering poop right onto the clean rags. Emma grimaced as a foul whiff hit her nose. The foal, meanwhile, didn’t seem to care one bit. It gave another determined peep and resumed its awkward journey across the nest, dragging its plump, fuzzy body along like nothing had happened.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Emma sighed, pushing herself off the couch. She made her way over and gently reached into the box, fingers curling carefully under the foal’s belly to lift it up.
The tiny creature stiffened immediately.
“Peep! Peep-peep!” it squealed, wriggling in her grasp. Emma cupped it close to her chest for warmth, trying to soothe its panic.
“I know, I know,” she murmured. “Just cleaning up your mess, okay?”
The foal continued chirping softly as she peeled the soiled rag from the shoebox and tossed it into a plastic grocery bag she tied off and set aside. She replaced the mess with a fresh towel from her laundry pile and was about to set the foal back in when she paused.
Might as well figure it out now.
She sat back on the couch with the little thing nestled in her palm. It wiggled weakly, clearly not a fan of being held, but didn’t seem hurt—just confused.
Emma pulled out her phone and searched, “how to tell the gender of a fluffy pony foal.” A few videos popped up, and she clicked on the most straightforward one: a two-minute clip featuring a veterinarian and a sleepy newborn fluffy.
“Little colts will have a visible lump between the rear legs,” the woman in the video explained as the camera zoomed in on a groggy blue foal, “while little fillies will have a flat patch with slightly thinner fluff between their legs. At this stage, the difference is subtle but clear.”
Emma glanced down at the foal, who had begun protesting more loudly. “Peeep! Peep-peep-peep!”
“Alright, alright, I’m not trying to be rude,” she said softly, holding the foal up to the light. “Just need to know what I’m working with here…”
The foal squirmed and flailed, its tiny hooves batting the air. “Peep! Peep!”
Emma gently used the pad of her finger to lift the fluff around the rear legs. After a moment of squinting, she spotted a faint, flat patch where the hair grew a little shorter and finer.
“…You’re a little girl,” Emma whispered with a smile. “A feisty one, too.”
The foal let out one last indignant chirp, then slumped in her hand as if exhausted by the whole ordeal. Emma cradled her a moment longer before returning her gently to the nest. The filly nestled against the fresh rag, nuzzling into the folds of the fabric.
Emma watched her for a long moment, wondering what kind of name would suit a creature like this—small, helpless, but clearly already full of personality.
Emma watched the tiny foal settle back into its rags, warm and safe inside the shoebox. She’d wiped the box clean and swapped out the soiled cloth with fresh ones, but that wouldn’t be enough for long. The little creature—Lavender, she’d decided—deserved better. A real space. Real supplies. Something more than just an old shoebox and a tube.
After slipping on a hoodie and tucking her phone into the pocket, Emma headed out into the crisp morning air, and made her way to the local FluffMart, just a few blocks away. She’d seen it before but never had reason to go inside—until now.
The store was a riot of pastel aisles, chirping animatronic mascots, and shelves lined with products in bubbly, glittering packaging. Emma stood awkwardly in the “Babbehs!” section, eyeing a wall of tiny onesies, plush bottles, playpens, and things labeled “Safe Fwuff Fwuff!” and “Huggies Nestie 2.0.”
“Need some help?” came a voice behind her.
Emma turned to see a young employee in a brightly colored vest, her nametag shaped like a cloud and reading CASSIE – Fluff Friend! She looked more excited than surprised.
“Uh… yeah,” Emma said. “I found a foal in one of those vending machines. It just… dropped out. I didn’t even pay for it. I brought it home, but I honestly have no idea what I’m doing.”
Cassie’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God, you’re one of those stories. I love that. Okay, okay, no worries. Is it newborn-new? Like, eyes still shut?”
Emma nodded. “Yeah. Can’t even walk. Just kinda… scoots.”
Cassie was already walking down an aisle. “Alright. First thing’s first—you need a playpen. Something safe, low enough for you to reach in, soft padding, no sharp edges. These are the best for foals too small to stand.”
She gestured toward a low-lying, plush-walled playpen with pastel prints of fluffies napping together.
“And this guy—” she grabbed a soft, plush mare-sized “warming stuffy” from a shelf, “—is a lifesaver. Has a battery-powered warming pack in the belly. Designed to feel like a Mummah. Even has pacifier nipples on the front. Some foals like to suckle on 'em for comfort, though don’t expect actual milk. It’s more about the emotional attachment.”
Cassie continued, grabbing a small package from another shelf. “Also, get these. New design. Foal-sized diapers, breathable, super easy to change, and they come in gender-neutral pastel colors.”
Emma smiled in spite of herself, already picturing Lavender curled up next to the warming stuffy. “Thanks. This is actually really helpful.”
“No problem. You’re doing a good thing,” Cassie said, gathering up more items. “Here—stuffed friend, safe teething blocks, a soft sensory ball, and a proper nestie box with a removable liner. Trust me, you’ll want that.”
By the time Emma made it back home, arms full of pastel bags, she was starting to feel more like a new parent than someone who just worked at a diner.
But reality met her at the door.
Lavender had made a mess again. The foal was curled in the corner of the box, eyes still shut, a soft unhappy chirp escaping her lips every few seconds. Emma sighed, set the bags down, and gently cleaned up the mess, replacing the rags once more.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Emma murmured, “let’s see if we can make this better.”
She moved quickly, setting up the new playpen by the couch. She layered the bottom with soft, fluffy padding, tucked the warming stuffy against one side, and placed the fresh-smelling nestie box right in the center. It was simple, but already a massive improvement.
Then she turned her attention to the small bottle of formula. It came pre-mixed, designed for easy warming, and the label assured her it was “perfectly balanced for babbeh tummies.” She warmed it according to the instructions and picked up Lavender carefully.
The foal peeped in protest, though softer this time, more confused than afraid. Emma gently flipped the foal over onto her back and brought the bottle to her mouth.
“No time to argue,” she said softly, nudging the nipple against Lavender’s lips.
The little foal hesitated—but instinct took over. Lavender latched on, her tiny mouth working furiously. Her ears twitched, her whole body wriggling with joy as she drank. Emma could feel the warmth of her in her hand, the trust beginning to form.
When the bottle was empty, Lavender gave one last sleepy suckle before her head lolled gently to the side. Her little belly was round and taut, and her breathing evened out into tiny, sleepy snuffles.
Emma smiled as she reached for one of the new diapers. “Let’s get this on before you wake up and go again.”
She slid the diaper around Lavender’s lower half, adjusting the tabs gently, smoothing it over the poofy fluff. The little foal didn’t stir, still cradled in her palm like a living marshmallow.
Later that night, the apartment was filled with the warm aroma of sautéed vegetables and simmering rice. Emma moved comfortably around the small kitchen, humming along to the quiet dialogue of a rom-com playing in the background. The television cast soft, shifting light across the living room, where the new playpen sat at the base of the couch like a miniature nursery.
Lavender lay nestled beside the plush warming stuffy, her tiny body rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Occasionally, her ears twitched, or her little legs kicked out in a sleepy reflex. But after a while, she began to stir—nose twitching, front hooves fumbling against the soft rags beneath her.
Emma glanced over from the stove just in time to see the foal awkwardly scooting forward in short, clumsy bursts. Lavender paused, sniffed, then nuzzled at the soft plush she’d been curled against. After a few snorts and wiggling movements, she found the little rubber nipple sewn into the warming stuffy’s belly.
Emma smiled. “Oh, look at you. Figuring things out already.”
Lavender latched on and began suckling with the same greedy energy she gave the real bottle—but the satisfaction quickly faded. There was no milk. Her tiny hooves pawed at the plush in confusion. A high-pitched, frustrated peep followed. Then another.
“Alright, alright,” Emma said, setting her spoon down. “I get it. Faux-mummah is no substitute for the real thing.”
She padded over to the kitchen counter, grabbed a fresh bottle from the warmer, and sat cross-legged by the playpen. Lavender chirped louder when she saw movement, sensing Emma’s presence even though her eyes were still tightly shut.
Emma reached down and gently scooped the foal into her hand, holding her securely against her palm. She cradled Lavender’s head with her fingers and offered the bottle.
Immediately, the peeping stopped. Lavender latched on, greedily suckling.
And then—Emma paused.
The little foal’s eyelids twitched. Fluttered. Twitch again. Then, with visible effort, they finally opened.
Two large, round, glistening orbs stared up at Emma. Teal blue—deep, vivid, and shockingly bright. They shimmered like still water under a sunny sky, framed by a delicate face still sticky from birth and bottle.
Emma gasped, blinking.
Lavender didn’t stop suckling. Her tiny front hooves were kneading gently at the base of the bottle as if to help the milk flow faster, her new eyes locked on Emma’s face in perfect trust, perfect connection. Emma felt the air catch in her throat.
It was like something clicked into place. Some door in her heart opened quietly but completely.
“Oh…” she whispered, almost to herself. “You’re beautiful.”
Lavender’s eyes remained wide for a few moments longer before they began to droop. Her suckling slowed, her hooves stopped moving. The full bottle was now nearly empty, and a little dribble of formula slid down her chin.
With a soft sigh, the tiny foal’s eyes fluttered closed again, her breath slowing into the soft cadence of sleep. Her belly was full, her limbs relaxed. Emma could feel the gentle heat radiating from her body.
Carefully, she lowered Lavender back into the playpen, laying her gently on her side beside the warming plush. The diaper crinkled softly as the foal snuggled instinctively into the faux fur.
Emma knelt there for a while, just watching.
She had no idea what tomorrow would bring. But right now, she knew exactly what she was doing.
She was taking care of Lavender.
And she loved her.
Emma awoke with a start, her neck stiff from the angle she’d collapsed into on the couch. The television was still casting pale light across the room, though the volume had dropped to a gentle murmur. She blinked against the haze of sleep, unsure of the time.
A series of soft, high-pitched chirps quickly reminded her.
Lavender.
Emma rubbed her eyes and sat up, immediately turning to the playpen.
The tiny foal was awake and squirming, her little legs wiggling uselessly against the soft rags beneath her. She chirped again—louder this time, more insistent. Her voice had a frustrated edge, a demand in the miniature squeaks.
Emma leaned over and took a whiff.
“Oh, yeah,” she murmured, already reaching for the wipes and a clean diaper. “That’s a diaper situation, alright.”
She carefully reached into the pen and lifted Lavender into her hand. The foal didn’t protest much—at first. But the second Emma started peeling back the diaper tabs, the complaints began. Lavender let out a series of indignant peeps, her little legs kicking with all the strength her fluffy body could muster. She wrinkled her nose and squeaked sharply as Emma wiped her down.
“Hey, hey, I know. You hate this part,” Emma said gently. “But you don’t want to be the stinky baby, do you?”
Lavender wiggled and peeped louder, her tiny hooves batting weakly at Emma’s fingers. It wasn’t even slightly effective, but the spirit was there.
Emma worked quickly, chuckling softly under her breath. When she removed the used diaper, she blinked in surprise.
“Huh,” she said aloud. “That… didn’t get on your fluff at all.”
The inside of the diaper was perfectly sealed, the mess completely absorbed. Lavender’s delicate fluff was untouched.
Emma raised an eyebrow. “What kind of weird miracle flufftech is this?”
Still, she was grateful. She sealed the new diaper snugly around Lavender’s little belly and legs, and gently flipped the foal over in her hand. The peeping stopped the second the bottle appeared.
Lavender latched on like a magnet. The hunger she’d been chirping about now had her full attention. Her teal eyes blinked lazily as she suckled, and before long, her tiny belly rounded out, taut and full from the meal.
Emma watched her with a warm smile, brushing a fingertip gently along the curve of Lavender’s ear.
“Being a baby’s tough work, huh?” she said softly. “Eat, sleep, get cleaned, repeat.”
Lavender didn’t reply—her eyes had drifted closed again, the bottle slipping from her mouth as sleep overtook her.
Emma laid her back into the playpen, tucking the little foal against the warming plush. She gave the top of her head a soft stroke before rising to start the laundry.
The hum of the washer and dryer filled the apartment. Emma folded clothes while half-watching an episode of some comfort show she’d seen a dozen times before. The house felt calmer now. More lived-in. More… hers.
Later that afternoon, Emma passed by the playpen with a glass of water and stopped mid-step.
Lavender was awake.
The tiny foal was on her side at first, snuggled up to the plush like usual, her big teal eyes wide and alert. The moment she saw Emma, those eyes locked on. Emma smiled.
“Well hey, sleepyhead.”
Lavender’s ears perked, and her little tail gave a twitch.
Minutes later, Emma passed again—this time with a basket of clean socks. Lavender was in a different spot now, having scooted halfway across the playpen on her belly. Her tiny hooves struggled to get traction on the soft rags. When Emma came into view, she paused mid-scoot, her whole head swiveling toward the sound of footsteps.
Her eyes met Emma’s again. Full of curiosity. Full of trust.
Emma grinned. “You watching me, huh?”
Lavender just stared, unblinking.
Whether nestled beside the plush or caught mid-exploration, the little foal always stopped to look for her. Always kept her in sight. As if making sure Emma hadn’t vanished. As if, even now, she understood something about who she belonged to.
And Emma—every single time—looked back and smiled.
Emma grunted slightly as she nudged the laundry room door open with her hip, basket balanced awkwardly on her arms. It was warm in the hallway, and the scent of fresh detergent clung to her hoodie. She was already planning on collapsing onto the couch when she heard it.
Peeping. Loud, frantic.
Emma’s heart sank.
Lavender.
She rushed through the apartment, nearly tripping over her own shoes by the door, and dropped the laundry basket unceremoniously beside the couch. The peeping had grown sharper, urgent — not just noise, but real distress. Emma skidded to the playpen and dropped to her knees, eyes wide.
Lavender was writhing, her tiny, chubby body twisting from side to side as her legs flailed uselessly. Her eyes were shut tight and her mouth hung open in a shrill, squeaky cry. It wasn’t just normal foal fussiness — this was pain.
“Oh no, oh no— Lavender— baby, what’s wrong?” Emma muttered, fumbling for her phone. Her fingers trembled as she tried to type fluffy foal emergency chirping pain into the search bar, but she kept hitting the wrong keys. Her heart pounded in her ears. Was it something she fed her? Had she rolled the wrong way? Did something break?
After a terrifying moment, her screen lit up with a forum post titled:
“Foal Chirping in Pain? Might Just Be Gas!”
Emma blinked, read it twice, then exhaled a shaking breath.
Gas. Just gas. Oh my God.
She gently scooped Lavender into her hands, the foal’s tiny belly rising and falling with each panicked breath. Her body was tense as a bowstring. Emma cradled her like a tiny kitten and began softly patting her back with two fingers.
“There you go, it’s okay. You’re okay, baby. Let it out.”
Pat, pat, pat.
And then— burp!
It was surprisingly loud for such a small creature, and Emma blinked at the sound. Lavender froze mid-wriggle, and her whole body seemed to go limp with relief. The screaming stopped. She let out a little happy coo and nuzzled into Emma’s palm like nothing had even happened.
Emma let out a nervous laugh, breath catching in her throat.
“Oh my god, I thought you were dying.” She kissed the top of Lavender’s fuzzy little head. “Gas. Fluffies get gas. Okay. Okay.”
As she lowered Lavender gently back into the playpen, Emma was still recovering from the scare. She nestled the foal against the warm plush, checking her over twice, just to be sure.
But then something unexpected happened.
Lavender looked up at her, those big teal eyes now fully alert, and made a strange new noise — not a chirp or a peep. Something slower. Gurgled. Attempted.
“…Mmmuh…”
Emma blinked. “What?”
Lavender tried again, her tiny lips smacking slightly, tongue peeking out in clumsy effort. Her hooves pawed at the air.
“…Mummah…?”
It was garbled, high-pitched, and messy — but unmistakable.
Emma stared, wide-eyed.
“Did you just—?”
Lavender looked up at her with the same adoration she’d shown all day, as if she had no doubt in her little heart who she was speaking to.
Emma’s throat tightened. “I guess you do know who I am now.”
She reached down to gently stroke the tiny foal’s cheek, her voice soft.
“Yeah, sweetpea. I’m your Mummah.”
Lavender blinked slowly, then nestled back into the warmth of the plush. Her little body rose and fell with slow, content breaths.
Emma sat beside the playpen and wiped at the corner of her eye, chuckling softly. “Being a foal is hard. But I think being a Mummah might be even harder.”
The smell of sizzling garlic and butter filled the apartment as Emma stirred a pan of noodles, her stomach growling after a long, chaotic day. She’d barely had time to sit, let alone eat, but dinner was finally almost done.
“Mummah! Mummah! MUMMAH!”
Emma paused, the wooden spoon hovering over the pan. Her head tilted. “Lavender?”
More excited babbling followed, muffled but clearly urgent. Emma turned off the stove burner and stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her hoodie as she walked toward the playpen.
The second she stepped into Lavender’s view, the foal lit up like a sunrise.
“Mummah! Miwkies! Miwkies! Mummah!”
Lavender was bouncing in place — well, trying to. It was more of a series of excited scoots and wobbly hops that ended with her flopping against the warming plush. She looked up at Emma with those big, bright eyes full of anticipation.
Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright! Hold your fluff. Lemme heat up your dinner too.”
In no time, she had a small bottle of warm formula ready, and Lavender latched on instantly, tiny hooves gripping the sides with practiced ease. Her little belly rounded out as she suckled, making the tiniest cooing noises of contentment.
Once Lavender was fed and burped, Emma returned to her own dinner, sitting on the couch with her plate in her lap. Lavender was back in her playpen, snuggled up again to the warming plush, but wide awake — and still babbling softly to herself.
“Okay,” Emma murmured between bites, eyeing her laptop. “Let’s see if there’s something for… fluffy education.”
A few searches later, she found it — a bright, overly peppy video featuring two animated fluffies with squeaky voices. They introduced themselves as “Fuzzle” and “Boopie,” then began playing with soft block toys and a large colorful ball while narrating each action with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Bwockies go hewe! One bwockie… two bwockies!”
Emma glanced down.
Lavender was enthralled. Her eyes were locked on the screen, ears twitching slightly as she tried to mimic the soft syllables. Every once in a while she’d let out a garbled babble of her own — “Buh! Bwuhk! Mmmuh!” — clearly trying to follow along.
The video ended on a cheerful jingle, and both hosts turned to the screen:
“Fank yoo fow watchin’! Fow mowe Fwuff weawnin’, watch us on FwuffTV Pwus!”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, there’s a subscription service?”
She looked down at Lavender. The foal was still staring at the screen, eyes wide and lower lip just starting to quiver.
“Oh no. Don’t you dare give me sad eyes, you little fuzzball.”
Lavender gave her the most pitiful soft peep.
Emma sighed, already reaching for her wallet. “Okay, okay. But you better become a genius fluffy after this.”
She tapped in her payment info, and moments later, the screen lit up with the next video in the series — more Fuzzle, more Boopie, now painting and learning “cuwuhs.”
Lavender immediately brightened again, letting out a happy chirp and flopping onto her belly to watch.
Emma chuckled softly, curling back into the couch with her half-eaten plate. “You’ve got me wrapped around your tiny little hoof already, huh?”
Lavender didn’t answer. She was too busy watching Boopie sort red and blue “bwockies” with serious dedication.
A tiny grunt, followed by a long, whimpering “nnnngghh” from the playpen.
Emma looked over just in time to see Lavender’s little face scrunch up in concentration. The foal’s stubby legs stiffened, tail flicking. Then—pthbbt.
Emma blinked. “Oh no.”
Lavender let out a satisfied coo and plopped back onto her side, looking quite proud of herself. But when Emma bent down to check the diaper, that pride quickly turned into dismay.
“Oh… yeah, that’s not staying in the diaper,” Emma muttered.
Despite the high praise for the new foal diapers, no miracle technology could account for that much enthusiasm. A bit of the mess had somehow escaped containment and squelched its way halfway up Lavender’s back fluff.
Emma sighed, gently lifting the foal in one hand and holding her at arm’s length like a ticking cream pie.
“Looks like someone needs a bath.”
A quick search on her phone turned up dozens of videos, but one stood out with a thumbnail featuring an overly peppy woman holding a pastel blue foal in a tiny towel. Emma tapped it.
“Hey everyone! Today we’re going to learn how to properly bathe your foal! Always use a sink, not a tub. Keep the water warm but not hot, and use a gentle, unscented shampoo—baby shampoo or oatmeal formulas work best!”
Emma glanced at her bathroom shelf and smiled. The oatmeal shampoo she used for her own sensitive skin would work just fine.
Back in the kitchen, Emma filled the sink just enough to coat the bottom with a few inches of water and tested the temperature against her wrist. Perfect. She gently peeled away the diaper and reached for Lavender.
The moment the foal saw the sink, her ears flattened and she started chirping anxiously.
“Mummah? Nu wike! Scawy!” she cried, squirming in Emma’s hands.
“Hey now, sweet pea… shh. I would never do anything to hurt you,” Emma whispered, cradling her close. “It’s just a little bath. We’ll go slow.”
Lavender trembled, hiding her face in the crook of Emma’s fingers. But she didn’t fight.
Emma dipped just Lavender’s hooves in first, letting her get used to the water. The foal squeaked, but didn’t panic. Slowly, Emma poured warm water over Lavender’s back from a measuring cup, careful to avoid her face.
With gentle fingers, she worked the oatmeal shampoo into the soiled fluff. Lavender whimpered, but her trembling started to fade. Emma kept humming a soft tune and smiling down at her, even when the mess proved trickier than expected.
“See? You’re doing so good,” she murmured.
Once clean, Emma wrapped Lavender in a soft kitchen towel and held her like a burrito, only her little face and hooves poking out. Lavender yawned, her eyes heavy and fluttering.
“Fluffiest burrito I’ve ever seen,” Emma chuckled.
Back in her playpen, Lavender curled up next to the warming plush, content and clean. She gave a tiny sigh, blinked up at Emma, and whispered, “Wuv mummah…”
Emma’s heart swelled.
She reached in and gave Lavender a gentle pat on the head. “Love you too, fuzzball. Now get some rest.”
Emma rubbed her lower back with a groan. Another night on the couch and she was starting to feel it in her bones. Lavender might’ve been tiny, but the commitment wasn’t. With a decisive grunt, she gathered the playpen in her arms and carried it into her bedroom.
“No more couch nights,” she said to no one in particular. “You’re not the only one who needs their sleep, little bean.”
The night passed peacefully. Lavender didn’t make a sound, and Emma woke only once, blinking groggily in the moonlight. She sat up and peered over the edge of the bed and into the playpen.
Lavender was curled tightly next to her warming plush, one tiny hoof shoved halfway into her mouth, her wings giving the occasional twitch like she was dreaming of flying.
Emma smiled to herself and flopped gently back onto the bed.
She was awoken at sunrise by familiar sounds—soft peeps turning into louder, desperate chirps.
“Mummah! Muuummah!”
Emma groaned playfully and rolled over. “Okay, okay, I’m up…”
Peering over the edge, she caught sight of Lavender struggling to balance upright on her four tiny legs. The foal’s stance was wobbly at best, knees buckling every few seconds. But when she saw Emma’s sleepy face appear, she let out a delighted squeal—just before toppling over sideways with a soft fwump.
Emma chuckled. “You’ll get it. Just takes practice, squirt.”
She scooped up the pen again and hauled it back to the living room, placing it down near the couch. With a stretch and a yawn, she reached for the remote and turned on FluffTV+.
Today’s show featured two pastel-colored fluffies singing a song about sharing and using nice words, complete with blocky animations and catchy jingles.
Lavender was captivated. Her eyes sparkled with attention as she wobbled upright and attempted to mimic the movements of the fluffies onscreen. She lifted her front legs, flailed them slightly, then babbled something incomprehensible, clearly frustrated when she couldn’t keep up.
Emma laughed as she passed back through the room with a bottle in hand. “You’re working so hard already, huh?”
As soon as Lavender saw the bottle, she let out a squeal. “Mummah! Mummah! Miwkies! Miwkies!”
Emma sat down on the couch and reached into the pen, gently flipping the foal onto her back and guiding the nipple to her mouth. Lavender latched on immediately, greedily draining the warm formula. A soft burp escaped her when she finished, followed by a little sigh of pure contentment.
Emma kissed the top of her tiny head. “You’re getting so big and strong, Lav. Look at you.”
Lavender blinked up at her with wide eyes. “Mummah… pway?”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “Play? That’s new.”
She remembered the soft, rubbery stacking blocks she’d gotten at FluffMart and fetched them from the cabinet. Sitting cross-legged beside the pen, she dropped them in.
Lavender immediately latched onto one with her mouth, chewing the corner while watching Emma stack the other four with intense curiosity. Her tiny wings fluttered every time Emma placed one on top of another.
Emma grinned. “So… this is playing, huh?”
Lavender gurgled and clapped her hooves together, knocking over the tower entirely.
Emma chuckled. “Close enough.”
–
The morning had been going smoothly — a soft stack of blocks, an enthusiastic little foal chewing on one corner, and a warm mug of coffee in Emma’s hands. She was just beginning to relax when the doorbell rang.
Emma glanced at the clock. “That’ll be Grace,” she muttered.
She set down her mug and got up, calling over her shoulder, “Stay comfy, Lavender. I’ll be right back.”
Lavender responded with a happy little, “Mummah!” and resumed watching the TV, wings fluttering in time with a jingle about taking turns.
Emma opened the door to reveal Grace, her coworker, holding a garment bag with one hand—and her young son, Daniel, with the other.
“Hey!” Grace smiled, stepping into the hallway. “Got your dress.”
“Thanks.” Emma held a finger to her lips. “Just a heads up—I’ve got a new pet, and she’s… very small. Be gentle.”
Grace nodded and followed Emma inside, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. “You? Getting a pet? That tracks.”
Emma led her into the living room and gestured toward the playpen. “She’s a baby fluffy. Long story, but I couldn’t just leave her.”
Grace blinked in surprise, leaning in to get a better look. “Oh wow… she’s tiny. You weren’t kidding. She’s like… a guinea pig with anime eyes.”
Lavender glanced at the newcomers and gave a hesitant peep before turning her attention back to the TV. Her body remained relaxed, reassured by Emma’s presence nearby.
Grace chuckled softly. “Leave it to you to rescue the world’s saddest science experiment. Still, she’s kind of cute in a weird way.”
Emma shrugged. “She needed help. That’s enough for me.”
Neither of them noticed Daniel creeping toward the playpen, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. The little boy leaned in close, crouching just behind the couch. He watched Lavender’s tail wiggle slightly as she fixated on the screen.
Then he struck.
CLAP!
CLAP!
Twice, loud and sharp, right in front of her tiny face.
Lavender screamed.
“Peep! Peep! MUMMAH! Scawy! Chirp! Hewp!”
Emma turned instantly, her heart leaping. She rushed across the room, scooping Lavender into her arms and holding her tightly to her chest.
Lavender shook in terror, tiny hooves gripping at Emma’s shirt, still crying and babbling in distress.
“Daniel!” Grace’s voice cracked like a whip. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Daniel looked sheepish and took a half step back. “I just wanted to see if she made funny noises…”
Emma didn’t speak at first. She just stroked Lavender’s back, murmuring soft reassurances.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe, I’ve got you, shhh…”
Grace crossed the room and knelt beside Daniel. “That’s not how we treat animals, especially babies. You scared her.”
Daniel stared at the floor, shuffling awkwardly. “…Sorry.”
Grace sighed and turned to Emma. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d—ugh. Kids. You know how it is.”
Emma nodded, still holding Lavender close. “Yeah. I just… I forget how fragile she is. People think it’s funny. It’s not.”
Grace gave her a look—half apologetic, half understanding. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’d pick something so high-maintenance. But I know how you are with animals. You’ve got that… Emma gene or whatever.”
Emma gave a tired smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know what it’s like to need someone.”
Grace sighed and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Well. Sorry again. I’ll get out of your hair.”
She tugged Daniel toward the door, making him repeat his apology—this time directly to Lavender.
“Sorry, fluffy,” Daniel mumbled, before being marched out the door.
Once they were gone, Emma settled back onto the couch with Lavender still in her arms. The foal was calming down, though her little sniffles hadn’t quite stopped.
Emma looked down at her, eyes soft.
“It’s gonna be a full-time job keeping you safe, huh?”
Lavender looked up at her and blinked. “Mummah…”
Emma smiled. “Yeah. But I’m happy to do it.”
Well kid, now that that’s done our day is freed up! How about we go learn a little at the park?
Emma zipped up her oversized hoodie and gave it a tug, making sure it hung low and cozy around her. Nestled securely inside, wrapped in a soft pastel blanket, was Lavender—warm, snug, and peeking out just enough to see the world beyond Emma’s arms.
Lavender blinked up at her with wide teal eyes, her tiny mouth forming a curious “ooh.”
“I thought you could use a little fresh air,” Emma said softly, rubbing her thumb gently along the top of the foal’s head. “Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet. A whole world of them, actually.”
Lavender responded with a sleepy little peep, already soothed by the gentle warmth of Emma’s voice and the security of her swaddle. Emma smiled and grabbed her keys.
The weather outside was mild—blue sky streaked with feathery clouds, just enough breeze to ruffle Emma’s hair. She kept one hand tucked around Lavender’s back as she walked, her other stuffed into the hoodie pocket.
The park wasn’t far, just a ten-minute stroll. Emma had lain in bed the night before reading up on fluffy foal development. She learned that, while they were born helpless, they developed fast—programmed to pick up words quickly once they got the confidence to start vocalizing.
“Maybe talking to you while we’re out will help,” Emma murmured, adjusting the blanket a little. “Let’s see how many words we can learn today, huh?”
Their first stop was the pond.
Emma walked slowly to the edge, the gentle honking and quacking of ducks echoing across the water. A few waddled past the grass, diving their beaks into the water for breadcrumbs left behind.
Emma pointed with her chin. “See those? Duckies.”
Lavender’s ears perked up at the sound. She wriggled slightly in the blanket, blinking at the flapping wings and floating birds.
“Duckies,” Emma repeated, slow and clear.
Lavender opened her mouth, tongue fumbling the shapes. “Mummah? D…duggie. Duh…duggies!”
Emma laughed out loud, heart fluttering. “Yes! Duckies! That’s so good, sweetheart!”
Lavender chirped proudly, kicking her little hind legs inside the blanket. Her tail gave a tiny wag from beneath the fabric.
Encouraged, Emma continued through the park, making slow laps along the walking path. Every time she passed something new—a jogger, a squirrel, a blooming flower—she’d point and describe it.
“That’s a tree,” she’d say.
“Chree!” Lavender would echo, then giggle.
“Squirrel.”
“Squuuh… squuh-wirrew!”
“Jogger.”
“Joggew!”
Some words came easier than others, but each one brought wide-eyed wonder and a new spark of curiosity to the little foal’s face.
As they passed a small grassy clearing, a couple of kids were blowing bubbles with their parents. Lavender stared, entranced.
“Buh…buh-buwwwwws!” she shouted excitedly.
Emma grinned. “Bubbles. You’re close enough.”
By the time they reached the taco truck parked at the edge of the lot, Lavender’s babbling was steady and playful, as if her little voice had finally caught its rhythm.
The man in the truck leaned over as he handed Emma her food. “Aw, that’s a baby fluffy, huh? She’s adorable.”
Lavender peeked out from the blanket and gave him a cheerful, “Taccoo!”
Emma laughed, “Close again. You’re on fire today.”
The man chuckled. “She’s a talker. You take care of that one. World’s not always kind to ‘em.”
“I will,” Emma said, her voice soft but firm. “Thanks.”
By the time they got home, Lavender was nodding off, her head nestled against Emma’s chest.
Emma settled back onto the couch, gently unwrapping Lavender from the blanket. The little foal yawned and blinked, then gave a sleepy, “Mummah… duhhh-gies…”
Emma smiled, brushing a finger across her forehead. “Yes, duckies. You did amazing today.”
She nestled Lavender into the playpen beside her warming plush and tucked the blanket around her.
Lavender let out one final sigh of contentment before dozing off, mouth twitching as though she were dreaming of blockies and bubbles.
–
Emma sat curled on the couch, a blanket around her legs and a half-finished cup of coffee in hand. She wasn’t really watching the show on TV—just letting the sound play in the background while her eyes drifted to the playpen in front of her.
Lavender was there, like always, nestled between the plush warming “mummah” and her favorite chew block. But this time, Emma noticed something different.
The little foal was concentrating.
Lavender’s round teal eyes were fixed on the block in front of her, her tiny hooves planted firmly into the rags below. Her wings twitched slightly—like they always did when she was focused—and then, with a determined grunt, she lifted herself onto all fours.
Emma sat up straighter.
Lavender’s legs wobbled. She puffed up her fluff and held herself as steady as she could. And then—tentatively, slowly—she took a single step forward.
“Hey!” Emma’s voice lit up. “Look at you, big girl!”
Lavender blinked at the sound, her tail giving a little wag of excitement. She took another step—then another—and wobbled toward the block like it held the secret to the universe. Two more steps, and her front hooves thudded against the soft toy. She stood there for a moment, triumphant, before her back legs gave out and she plopped down onto her side with a tiny pomf.
Emma clapped gently from the couch. “You did it, Lavender! You really did it!”
Lavender giggled in that bubbly, squeaky way only a foal could—“Tee-hee! Wavendah wawkie! Wawkies!”—and immediately rolled onto her belly, trying to stand up again.
Emma grabbed her phone and opened the camera. “Hold on, do it again. Show mummah.”
Lavender beamed up at her, swaying slightly as she got back on her hooves.
“Wawkies!” she chirped proudly, taking three little steps toward the edge of the playpen before flopping onto her rump.
Emma laughed, heart full. “That’s my girl.”
She put her phone down and knelt beside the pen, reaching in to gently pat the soft fluff on Lavender’s head. “You’re growing up so fast, sweetheart.”
Lavender looked up at her, eyes gleaming. “Wavendah big giw now?”
Emma nodded. “You’re the biggest little girl I know.”
Lavender beamed, teeth showing in a happy, slightly lopsided grin. She nestled back up against the warming plush, clearly exhausted from her big adventure.
Emma leaned back on her heels, watching her settle in. “First steps,” she murmured. “Next thing I know, you’ll be running.”
The sun was setting, casting long orange rays across Emma’s apartment walls. The warm light bathed the room in comfort as Lavender curled up inside her playpen, eyes fluttering shut after a long day of exploration, babbling, and big first steps.
Emma sat nearby on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, watching the little foal sleep.
So much had changed in just a handful of days.
She reached over to the side table and picked up the clear plastic cylinder—the empty vending tube that had once been Lavender’s world. The formula had dried around the base. The label, still partially intact, read “Foal In A Can™ – Newborn Edition.”
Emma traced a finger across the side of it and gave a small, tired laugh.
“They were gonna throw you away,” she whispered.
She glanced back at the playpen. Lavender let out a soft snore and twitched, her tiny hooves kicking slightly in her dreams. One wing fluffed and settled again.
“Not anymore,” Emma added. “Youre stuck with me now kiddo."
She leaned over and gently placed the empty tube in a drawer—out of sight, but not forgotten. A reminder of where it all started.
After brushing her teeth and turning off the lights, Emma returned to her bedroom and peered down into the playpen one last time. Lavender was snuggled up against the warming plush, a small hoof still in her mouth, face utterly at peace.
Emma whispered, barely audible in the quiet room:
“Goodnight, baby girl.”
Lavender’s ear flicked at the sound. In her sleep, she murmured, “…Wuv…mummah…”
Emma smiled.
So much work ahead. So many challenges to come.
But right now, everything was perfect.
)
