I was young when Fluffies, were first released, so they never seemed weird to me. They were just like any other pet, other than the fact that they could talk. My grandmother’s Fluffy, Pie was the first one I ever interacted with. Despite being mostly marketed as a toy when they first came out, my grandmother was an early adopter. She had grown up with horses, and now that she was living on a smaller property that was not big enough for them, Fluffies were the next best thing.
My grandmother being both a farm girl and horse lover, strongly preferred brown, and other natural colored Fluffies. The one she adopted was of course Pie, she was an all brown earthie mare with just a few white spots. The name my grandmother gave the fluffy was apparently a homage to a horse from a movie she loved growing up. Pie was energetic, loving, happy, and was exactly what my grandmother needed in her twilight years.
While she no longer lived on a farm, my grandmother kept a decently sized garden and Pie, helped her take care of it in all the tiny ways a fluffy can. From pulling her fluffy sized cart of gardening supplies, to scaring away rabbits (hoppy munstahs), and making good poopies for fertilizer, Pie did it all. She even acted as a first friend for me, and I saw her almost every day since both of my parents worked, and my grandma would always babysit me after school.
I was always the shy weird kid growing up and Pie truly helped me. After a day of bullying, it was nice to have someone who showered you with endless love and affection. For me the best part of having to spend my days at my grandmother’s was getting to spend them with Pie. It was almost like having a younger sibling, and being an only child, it was the only experience I ever had with that feeling.
My grandmother primarily fed pie as if she were a real horse. Her diet primarily consisted of hay, oats, and carrots. However, my grandmother still made spaghetti once a week and it was a huge treat for us both. I didn’t even really like spaghetti that much as a kid, but Pie’s overwhelming excitement and chants of “sketties day, sketties day” always made me both enjoy and look forward to it. After eating the big meal, I would often fall asleep on the couch, with Pie curled up on top of me. Looking back, now I know that those were some of the happiest times of my life.
As I grew older and no longer needed watching after school, I saw my grandmother, and Pie much less. I still went to her house for spaghetti night every week, but as a preteen I played considerably less with pie. It breaks my heart thinking back to when I told her I was too old to play “huggies tag” with her. Like both childhood friends and toys and often do, Pie and I drifted apart. I finally had real human friends and I didn’t see her every day.
Fluffies were and still are marketed as long living pets. While average Fluffy life expectancy, is now a Google search away it was not as available even years after the first launch. Pie started to slow down around the age of fifteen. She no longer had the energy she used to and often complained about her stiff and clicking joints. Her slowing down also seemed to coincide with my grandmother, who was in her eighties at the time. They often had the same complaints, and it was hard not to at least chuckle.
Pie finally became immobile around the age of twenty, her hips completely giving out. My grandmother just kept her alive on a towel in the kitchen for a week after she was no longer able to move. She brought her food and water and would change the towel and mop the floor whenever she needed to. Even after multiple times she would cry about making “bad poopies” despite her immobility, she still thought she was being a bad Fluffy.
My grandmother did not tell me about what had happened to Pie. I didn’t know just how bad she was till I visited my grandma after college classes one day. Even when I arrived my grandmother did not act as though anything was different. Going into the house I could smell a combination of Fluffy poop, pee, and cleaning products. I was shocked to see Pie the way she was, looking miserably up at me, her eyes glazed over with cataracts. I knew what I had to do.
When I told my grandmother that I was taking Pie to the vet, she did not take it well. My grandmother was always strong, and it was the first time I ever saw her cry. She hugged me and buried her head on my shoulder, unable to keep herself together. As I held her, I realized how much thinner and bonier my grandmother had become as well. The reality of it really set in, but I could not bring myself to cry.
I wrapped Pie in a clean towel, carried her to my car and buckled her into the passenger’s seat. My grandmother opted not to come with me. Pie shivering despite being wrapped up, managed to say through rasps “whewe am ‘ou takin’ pie?”
I again held it together and reached over to pet her. “We’re going to the vet. You’re sick and the nice doctor will make you feel better.” As much as I hated lying to her, I didn’t think I had the heart or ability to talk to her about death.
The next thing she asked me told me that she knew.” Do fwuffies go to heaben?” She asked.
“Yeah, yeah, they do. Grandma and I will visit you there soon” That comment seemed to put her at ease, or maybe she was humoring me too.
When I arrived and got Pie checked in, the vet told me that I didn’t have to watch. I was not going to let her be alone. As the vet pulled out the needle and stuck it in, I pet and talked to her until I felt her breathing stop. That’s when the weight of the world finally hit me, and I broke down crying. I cried the whole way back to my grandma’s. When I got there, I no longer tried to be strong, and I cried while hugging my grandma.
A week later I got the urn containing her ashes. They stayed on my grandmother’s mantle until she too died a year later. It was against the funeral home’s policy to have remains of a pet in the casket, so I snuck the urn into my grandmother’s casket during the open casket visiting hours. I knew it was what both she and Pie, would have wanted.
