Little Pip was a freshly born alicorn colt, white of coat and exuding a mood as chipper as the springtime. His mother, Sprout, was a tentative mother, with a coat of cream and a mane of sparkling emerald. Despite her pedigree, she was patient and innocent, carrying none of the infamous traits known as BMS amongst the upper crust of fluffy breeding. Little Pip was lucky.
“
mummah wub bebbeh, bebbeh wub mummah” she sang sweetly as he suckled on her milk. She coo’d with delight. Even if Pip was the only survivor in her litter of three, he was absolutely perfect. At first, she feared his unique accessories, his wings and horn combo, but in time, she came to understand it with her owner’s help.
“hoaw am mummah miwkies, am dey bestest? Spwout mayk dem aww fow yew” she smiled warmly. To which the little chirpy colt turned his face vaguely in her direction and let out a tiny, satisfied burp. “hehehe, dawww, dat am cutestest thingie dat Spwout had ebah see wid own twu see-pwaces” she giggled with a tiny snort. She then scooped the silly little dough ball of a foal up and held him to her softest fluff, right by her chest. “Id mayk mummah Spwout hab biggest heawt happies wen bebbeh wub miwkie” she coo’d, before rolling onto her back, so that her special little guy could nap upon her puffiest of fur, warm and reassuring.
The cream unicorn stroked his little back, and occasionally he’d make little toots and burps, squeaking lightly between them. Suddenly, his smile vanished, replaced with one of extreme agony. He began aggressively flailing his stubby legs and rapidly chirped. “PIPIPIPIPIPI!” he cried until suddenly, his stomach voided itself, in far greater a quantity and liquidity than is standard.
“EEEEEEE!” Sprout panicked, finding herself stuck upon her back, flailing about as her pretty coat was defiled with twin puddles of milky vomit and excrement. “MUMMAH! NU AM PWETTY! SPWOUT AM STIMKY AN BEBBEH HAB SICKIES!” she panicked, utterly unsure of what to do in the situation.
“ah fuck!” Katarina exclaimed as she raced to her bedroom, “what’s wro-… oh” she sighed, attempting to stifle a chuckle, “yeah, this will happen sometimes, silly niná” she grimaced reassuringly.
“am bebbeh otay!? Nu gun gu fowevah sweepies?” Sprout demanded to know in a maternal panic.
“yeah, it’s just a baby problem. This is why your bed is next to the litterbox. If this happens again, please carry him there. Little Pip can’t do it himself, he needs you” she reminded.
“am sowwy… S-Spwout nebah bin m-mummah befow… Am scawed dat nu am duin mummah thingie wite” she sniffled, hugging her puke and diarrhoea stained foal close.
“I know, it’s scary the first time. Now, I think you both need a bath” Katarina sighed, while laying a reassuring pat upon her mare’s beautiful mane. The bath itself was entirely uneventful, simply a good little mare and her foal, getting a careful and loving wash down, towel dry, and a cozy spot in front of the heater. “there, how is that?” Katarina asked, as she swapped out her water drenched tank top for a button up.
“Spwout feew suuuuu pwetty naow, an widdwe Pip nu am maykin bad poopies an mouf poopies” she replied, to her owner’s satisfaction.
Katarina left the two for some time, they laid together, she sang, she danced for the amusement of her foal, who in truth was still just a blind chirpy, but one could safely assume that he at least enjoyed the air of positivity the emanated from his dancing mother.
Feeding time was back again and all was well at first. Pip supped upon the velvety smooth cream, his tiny nub of a tail wagging all the while. “Cooooo~ mummah am su happies dat Pip wub miwk-EEEEE!” she suddenly screeched while jumping back as a torrent of milky vomit and cream coloured feces escaped both ends of her baby boy. “NU! STAWP DAT!” she stomped, “BAD BEBBEH AM SPOSED TU WUB MIWKIES!” she cried, clearly hurt by his response, deeply so.
“keep it down in there, don’t make me take off my slipper!” Katarina exclaimed from the kitchen.
Fear struck the mare, less so about the slipper and more about how disappointed her owner would be to find out that Sprout’s progeny outright seemed to hate her milk. She carefully picked up Pip and put him to the side, she hovered over the mixed puddle of shit and puke. The mare’s tongue ran dry and her natural gag reflex activated as soon as she got close enough that her lips almost touched the puddle. “nu wan… nu wan… b-bu nu wan mayk mummah saddies!” she squeaked pathetically before lowering her maw and slowly lapping up the mixture. “huuuuhuuuhuuuu” she mumbled as her tastebuds were molested by the disgusting and fatty liquids. She cleaned the floor and then turned to her foal. She lifted the child, turned him around and grimaced at his shit coated starfish of an anus, “huuuuhuuuuhuuu… Spwout wan b-be g-gud mummah!” she said to herself, psyching herself up before laying her tongue upon the wet and putrid surface. She licked him clean, crying, whimpering, and sobbing all the while.
This rigamarole continued for five days, five days of continual shit-eating, puke drinking and ass cleaning. Sprout was a good mother, and she would rather suffer this then Katarina being put under the assumption that she was anything but.
The sixth day brought about the true limits to Sprouts capabilities, being a domestic of high breeding had rendered her stomach ill suited for the role of fecal ingestion. She sat in the kitchen in the early morning and stared into her bowl of Milky Mare’s quality pro-lactation kibble, her stomach was filled to the brim with the most unsavory of liquids, food no longer brought her joy. “hey, eat up, you’re looking a little thin” Katarina smiled assuredly from the table, “do you want me to soften it with a little milk?” she asked.
“NUUuuu-blurrrg” was the only response as she painted the bowl, the tray, and the corner of the kitchen in a horrific combination of bile, pseudo digested milk, and oily fecal materials. Sprout doubled over, falling to her side, utterly pushed to her limit. “…Spwout am… bad mummah…” she whimpered in a tone of utter defeat. Kat ran to her side and checked her over, begging to know what was wrong. “…bebbeh am bad bebbeh, bu stiww wub… Pip nu wike miwkies… dey mayk Pip sickies and hab poopies… Mummah twy suuu hawd… hab tu num dem…” she cried weakly.
The mare and her foal were rushed to the fluff-vet and there was an awkward moment of waiting. After getting her stomach pumped and some canned spaghetti, the mare and her owner sat outside while Pip was having some tests ran. “m…mummah?” Sprout sniffled, “am sowwies… nu meansies tu keep secwet. Spwout wus weawy scawedies” she whimpered while resting her head upon her owner’s lap.
“why keep it a secret? you little dumb-dumb” Katarina sighed as she ran her fingers through the mare’s emerald mane.
“cus… udda bebbehs gu fowevah sweepies, Spwout feew wike wowstest mummah, den Pip git sickies and feew wike BIGGEST wowstest mummah… Spwout wus scawdy dat mummah nu wub Spwout nu mowe ib mummah findies ou dat Spwout had sickie bebbeh” the mare sobbed, nuzzling her nose into Katarina’s zebra print dress, “pweas nu hayt Spwout”.
“oh Sprout, I could never hate you. You should have really told me about this, but your heart was in the right place, I think” she smiled as she lifted the mare to her bosom.
The fluff-vet left his office with Pip in hand, he adjusted his spectacles and sat beside the owner, all the while, stroking his index finger down the sleeping foal’s back. “very good news, it’s lactose intolerance, nothing exceptionally bad. You’ll have to use a brand of specialist foal formula and Pip will have to be bottle fed going forward”.
Sprout didn’t understand what any of these words meant, she just nodded. The mare looked to her mother, who seemed relieved. A card was swiped, a payment was made and a bottle of formula was exchanged with a few pleasant 'goodbye’s.
As the fluffy was placed into her booster seat with foal in hoof, she nuzzled her peeping colt and turn to her mother. “su… am… bebbeh Pip gun be otay?” she asked with a cocked head.
Katarina tied back her curly black hair into a bun as she pondered how to best describe Pip’s condition to his mother. “well, you see, Pip has a poorly tummy. Milk makes him sick-” she tried to say.
“SPWOUT HAB BAD MIWKIES?!” she peeped in terror.
“NO! No-no-no” Kat assured, “it’s his tummy, his timmy is… uhh… sensitive. He can’t turn milk into good poopies, that’s what this is for” she smiled softly, all the while pointing her neon yellow painted nail at the box of formula, “this stuff is like milk, but he can drink it without making bad poopies and being sick”, she smiled as the key turned and the car began. Sprout let out a little scardy fart from the sudden vibration and noise, but kept her brave face on, as Pip would need her care and support, more than ever.
-1 Week later-
Kat got up in the early morning, put a spoonful of formula in the foal sized bottle and microwaved it beside the cold coffee that she had left on the dining room table the night before. She sipped the joe while waiting for the milk to cool, occasionally dabbing some on her wrist until warm but not hot. “good morniiiing~” she chimed as she stepped up to Sprout’s bed, who was already wide awake and holding a talking and wide eyed Pip.
“peep- hewwo mummah Kat-ow-ee-na! Pip wub yew! Am timsie fow bweakfast?” he asked while giddly clapping his hooves together.
“hehehe, aww, ‘breakfast’, that’s a new word that I haven’t heard a fluffy use before, you’re definitely a brainy one” she smiled as the bottle was handed to Sprout. A tiny velcro strap went around her hoof to allow her full control of the bottle, all the while, she positioned Pip upon his back, his mouth open and his sparkly emerald eyes eager for his meal. He latched to the rubber tip and coo’d peacefully as his mother sang.
“Spwout wub widdwe Pip, mummah’s widdwe bebbeh, yew am speshew, su nice an happie, su mummah gib speshew miwkies”
-The End-
