“Their…their feet?”
Tom shook his head. “Their HOOVES. Or pads. Whatever you want to call them. It’s the new hot trend.”
Greg was still incredulous. “But they’re FLUFFIES. Their feet are disgusting and tough.” Tom held his hand out to cut in. “That’s why the good money is in the young ones. Less wear and tear. You lose value cleaning the older ones, and they don’t fry up as good. You can make like a decent cutlet with an adult one, but it’s kinda dry and takes forever to prep.”
“Okay okay okay, fine. Let’s say I believe you. What, do we just go to the adoption center and hope nobody questions us picking up dozens of foals a day? We’d be banned.”
Tom opened a pocket knife. “Foals live lots of places.”
You are a tiny fluffy babbeh named Gumdrop. You live in a nice safe nestie at the park with your mummah and daddeh and bwuddas and sissies. There’s always plenty of milkies because daddeh brings mummah only the best pwetty gwassy nummies, and nothing bad ever happens! No scawy hoomins, no meanie munstahs, just your family and their friends!
The grassies here were soft on your little hoofsies. You were only a few bright times old, so your delicate feet really benefitted from the ground being so forgiving. You liked running on the rocks too though, albeit only for short bursts. Mummah told you to “stay way fwum scawy wockies” but daddeh said it would make your hoofsies tougher and just not to tell mummah.
The rough texture of the rocks was an interesting departure from the soft grass. You could roll around on them a bit some times and it massaged your pads nicely if there weren’t meanie sharp ones.
You ran along the rocky creekbed to the shallow slow moving water to get a drink, and dip your weggies in the cool clear stream. It tickled your hoofsies a little, and the soreness that always followed Wockie Wunny Time was soothed by the gentle caress of Nice Wawa Pwace.
You started trundling back to the nestie singing one of your classic Babbeh Songs. “Am babbeh and wub tu wawk awound, wun findin nummies on da gwound, wun and pway wif aww gud fwends, babbeh am hab heawt happies dat nebba end!” You pass daddeh, who is out gathering nummies and pitches in. “Daddeh wub babbeh whu wun an sing, babbehs am best pawt ob ebbyting!” Mummah, hearing this song, poked her head out from under the mushrooms she’s been resting under. “Mummah wub famwy, yus mummah du! Aww gud babbehs an speciaw fwend tuu!” Your siblings ran forth from various places and formed the chorus together. “Aww baaaaaabehs, aww baaaaabehs, sing ou babbeh sooooong! Aww baaaaaabehs awe gud baaaaabehs, whu nebba du anyting wong!”
You launch into the solo you’d thought of. “And when awwwwwwww gud baaaaaaaabehs have bestest miiiiiiiiwkies, den-”
A twig snaps. Some brush is disturbed.
Two humans approach. You skitter back to daddeh and tell him “hoomins comin” and he springs into action, running out to meet these terrifying giants.
“Dis fwuffy wand! Fo fambwy! Yu fowwow wuwes?” He puffs his blue cheeks out and YOU are almost frightened! Daddeh is so powerful!
“We should get them pre-cornered.” says a human. “Yeah, I got this.” said the other. “Oh no!” He begins waving his arms. “A scary monster is coming! Save us, fluffies! Take us to your safe place!”
The first part didn’t make sense, but everyone started paying attention when the munstahs were mentioned. Daddeh sprung into action again. “Aww fwuffies! Gu tu safe pwace nao! Munstah cummin!” You and your siblings mobbed mummah, clumsily climbing her fluff. “Huwwy babbehs! Safe on mummah backsies! Best pwace fow aww babbehs!” She began waddling off to the tree stump you and your family make good hidies in. Once inside, you turned to look for daddeh, but instead someone stuck a shovel in the ground. Blocking the exit.
“Hewwo? Munstah dewe? Nu fwuffies in stumpy, onwy kitty munstah dat scwatch an gib wowstest bities huhuhuhuuuu…” There was no response, but daddeh broke the silence.
“Huh? Upsies? Hewp wif munstah? Otay, dat- OWWWWWW! NU! NU HUWTIES FEETSIES! OWIE! STAHP HUWTIN HOOFSIES! FWUFFY NEED DOZE FOW WUNNIES!”
Oh no! Bestest daddeh was in trouble! But the meanie shovel won’t let you help him!
“Huuuuuuuuu wai gib huwties an owwies tu gud fwaaaaffy…”
“I’ll give you hurties.”
Suddenly there was a dull thump, a gurgling yelp from daddeh, and the shovel lurched as though something had hit it. You stumbled backwards in fear to mummah’s warm embrace, and the shovel was lifted.
Daddeh was outside whimpering and whining still, but he’d been drug away from the opening. A human hand reached in through the opening and grabbed your blue wingy sister. “Owwies! Stahp! Cwushin wingies! Huwtin wittow babbeh!” She was pulled out and the shovel replaced.
The noises started again. “Wat du? Pwease wet babbeh gu, am onwy fiwwie, onwy smaww foaw. Nu wan wowstest huwties wike gib daddeh!”
“Okay, so do it like the bigger one only smaller. Remember, the bone is slightly convex, so you gotta angle the blade or you leave meat in the gap. Like this.”
“Owwies! OWWIES! NU WIKE! HOOFSIES HUWTIES!”
“I get it. Let me try.”
“Haf haf haf haf… SCREEEEEEEEE! WEGGYYYYYYY!”
“No see you went too deep. The bone is super fragile, that one split. Try and be cleaner on the next one, no worries. Take your time.”
“Puh-weeeeeze nice mistah? Nu gib nu mowe huwties? Huwties time dun nao pwease fankyu?”
But it wasn’t. She kept begging. Screaming. Pleading. Your siblings all did as your mummah hyperventilated while hiding the tiniest of your bretheren, a runt she called “Jewwybeem.”
“Wai huwt fambwy! Git big huwties if nu stahp!”
“Nu take nu take nu take nu nu nu nu nuuuuuuuuuuuu”
“Mummah! Mummah hewp! Meanies wanna make babbeh nu hab hoofsies nu mowe!”
Your blood ran cold hearing that. Next the hand came for you.
“Okay I got this one.”
The human pulled out a little sharp thing and held it to the side of your delicate footpad. He applied a bit of pressure and as it broke the surface the millions of nerve endings in your foot started screaming.
“Pwease! Babbeh nee hoofsies fow wun an pway an feew gwassies! Nu take way babbeh feetsies! Hoomins nu nee! Hab shoesies!”
The hoomin ignored him. “Man, this one has the most worn out of the bunch. We honestly aren’t gonna be able to use them.”
Oh hooray! Reprieve! Your running had paid off! Your family was horrifically maimed, but you still have your feetsies! You can help them! You can find nummies, gud wawa, nyu fwends, you can be-
“Eh, still good practice.”
You feel the blade scrape your bone as it strips your sensitive young hoof off. It’s more painful than you ever imagined anything being, you can’t even make words. You wriggle and squirm to no avail as the human pulls another weggie out of his fist and sticks it between his fingers.
“Nu! Babbeh wub hoofsies! Babbeh nee!”
The second hoof goes as smooth as the first. You no longer have any hoofsies on your back weggies.
The man adjusts you, your front weggies are now raised up, hurting your poor shoulders. They’re extended out in front of you in a sort of modified upwards huggies pose. You could see your last two hoofsies as the knife approached. You struggle to avoid it, but the man squeezes a bit harder and you make spit up a little. Unable to move your leg, he slices off your right hoofsie. “Pwease. Pwease jus weabe wun hoofsie fow babbeh… Babbeh wub feew gwassies an wockies an wawa an fwuff an-”
The knife cuts both you and your final hoof pad off. You pass out.
It’s been three bright times. Two of your siblings bled to death. Your mummah can’t stop crying. She and daddeh both try to go find nummies, but they can hardly stand. Let alone walk.
The soft grassies surrounding the burrow have been stripped clean. Bloody hoofprints mark the ground where you once played. Every step is agony. You cross the barren area to the soft grass. Your huwties have subsided enough to make it today.
It’s better than the dirt, but you can’t feel it anymore. Not like you could. There’s just pressure and pain. No texture. No bounce. Just like with fwuff. Just like with everything.
The rocks lay just beyond. You look at them.
You collapse.
Reflexively, you suckle your hoofsie.
It hurts so much when you do.
You sob.