You are Hank, a fluffy hobbyist. Today is Saturday, and after a lovely breakfast with your wife, you go downstairs to check on your four fluffies. You are greeted with a cacophony.
“Nuu huu huu! Why Midas gib Gwape huwties? Gwape just wan gib Midas huggies!” Grape is laying face-first in the litterbox. There is blood smeared on his tiny schnoz, and he is covered in dried poop. Midas’, meanwhile, is curled up in the opposite corner, shrouded in Grape’s blanket, his belligerent little face poking out of the fleece.
“Dummeh poopy babbeh nuh get poopies on Midas! Nu get sowft bwankie or wast nummies!” Mida’s blows a raspberry at Grape and the foal continues to sob.
“Midas, nuu huwt babby! Nuu gib owwies to cowt, cowt need wub and huggies!” Piglet shouts over the din. You swiftly open Midas’ cage and grab the wretched little shit by the throat.
“What did I tell you about being GOOD!?” You yell at the terrified earthie.
“Nawt Mida’s fawt! Dummeh cowt make bad poopies, su Midas take nice bwanky, nu wan mek bwanky all poopy.” He writhes in your grasp as you rip the blanket from his fuzzy torso.
“I TOLD YOU to be good to him!” You slam the indignant fluffy onto the “sorry pad” on your workbench and he tries to scoot away. This little bully has earned exactly what is coming to him. While Grape is sobbing in the cage, you strap the “sorry collar” onto Midas, anchoring him face down to the work table, on top of an easy-to-clean, non-stick sheet pan you use as a sorry corner. He tries to scurry away, but his tiny hooves just slip and slide around. Out comes the sorry stick, about 12” of thin, flexible plastic with a soft rubber knob on the end. Midas begs you:
“Pwese daddeh, Midas nu am bad fwuffy! Nuu wan sowwy stick!” He struggles to get free, and soils himself in fear, but you do not relent, and the beating begins.
Lifting his tail to expose his little balls, you swat them mercilessly over and over, and then start working on his legs. Your sorry stick leaves welts on his hind quarters as you whip him, his screams echoing through the room. You have to stop yourself from hurting any more than just welts and bruises, but he is such a little brat. Midas’ is now an ugly, sobbing mess. His bottom is covered in welts from the stick, as well as his own piss and shit. You grab a wet wipe and roughly wipe as much of the shit off of him as you can, but there is an awful lot of it, and he is still fairly smelly when you are done. Midas’ is quietly crying to himself by now, but there are a few more squeaks when you spritz his wounds with antiseptic from a spray bottle.
By the time you bring him over to the sorry boxes, he is begging you for hugs, his arms wiggling and grasping for you, but you keep him at arms length. In he goes to the closest sorry box, wedged in tightly enough that he does not have room to sit down. Disgusted with his bullshit, you cover his box with a lid, and place him in the darkest, lowest shelf, turning to deal with his tiny victim.
Grape is despondent. He sits splayed in the litter box, crying and chirping like a newborn. When he sees you open the cage, he cowers.
“Gwape nu mean to make bad poopies daddeh!” He mewls “Bad poopies come wen Gwape am sweeping! Den, Midas huwt Gwape, gabe tewwible owwies.” You pick up the terrified foal and he clings to your hand.
“Its okay little guy, you’re all right
You place him on a soft piece of carpet on the workbench and look him over. One of his ears has a tiny bite on it, surely from Midas. He has very clearly been booped roughly on the snout, and it is covered in dried blood by now. His backside is a complete mess: new scaredy poopies have come out and covered the dried poop he made last night. You sight and shake your head. Picking up the foal in a paper towel, you leave the fluffy room and take him out into the basement.
You are Grape. You are a purple Unicorn colt. Yesterday, Daddeh found you hiding in the blanket and you were so happy. He gave you huggies and scratches, and fed you tasty nummies. You loved your daddy so much.
Then, he put you in a new place, with a big fluffy. That big golden fluffy was so handsome, but he was mean. The big fluffy’s name was Midas, and daddy made him be nice to you. You both fell asleep together in the nice-smelling blanket, but you woke to Midas yelling at you.
Uh oh! You had made bad poopies in your sleep! Only bad fluffies made bad poopies, and you were a good fluffy, right? As you thought hard about whether you were a good fluffy, Midas kicked you. It hurt bad, and you cried a lot. While you were crying, the mean fluffy bit your ear. Then, Midas took away your blankie!
“Dummeh poopy babbeh nu hab nice bwankie. Midas keep nice bwankie, dummeh poopy babbeh go sweep in wittahbocks wid otha poopies!” Midas growled at you, and you plodded over and sat in the litterbox. It didn’t smell pretty at all, and you were cold, but you cried yourself to sleep anyway.
When you woke up, it hurt so bad. You needed huggies to make it better! Midas was the only fluffy here, so of course Midas would give you huggies. You ran over to Midas and hugged him, but Midas got so mad! He yelled at you and hit you with his feet! Your nose hurt now too, and you went back to the litterbox to hide from him.
But then, daddeh came! You didn’t want daddeh to be angry that you made bad poopies, but daddy didn’t even look at your bad poopies. Instead, your daddy hurt Midas so much. Daddy said that Midas was a bad fluffy and gave him sorry-owies. Then, daddy put Midas in the sorry box! You hoped daddy wouldn’t put you in the sorry box, but instead daddy took you outside The Room! You had never been outside of The Room before. You were scared and you chirped like you were still a tiny baby!
“Fwuffy am scawed daddeh!” You chirped
“Hush Grape, I’m just taking you to get cleaned up.” Cleaned? Daddy set you down in a shiny silver place, and you felt water on your fluff. Water was bad for fluffies, you know because your mommy told you when you were a little baby. You missed your mommy so much, but she was gone now.
“Pwese daddeh, wawa huwt fwuffy! Go wowebba sweepies!” Daddy’s hand held you still.
“Grape, you are fine. Daddy is just giving you a bath so that you smell pretty again.” You clutched at daddy’s hand as he carefully washed your bottom. He washed all your bad poopies away, and the soapy water made your fluff smell so good.
After daddy made you smell pretty again, he wiped you down with a warm, soft blankie. He gave you a nice sweet treat to chew on, and you were so happy wrapped up in your blankie. It felt like all your brothers and sisters were hugging you!
“Here Grape. Have this toy.” Daddy set you down in a nice clean cage, without that mean fluffy Midas, and he gave you a stuffed animal. The stuffed animal was so pretty, and you hugged it so tightly.
“Tank ou daddeh! Gwape wub nuu stuffy fwend.” You were so warm and the huggies from your stuffed animal felt so good that you drifted off to sleep.
After taking care of your poor little purple foal, you dim the lights and close the door to your fluffy room. That was tense, you thought. You’d never quite lost your cool like that with a fluffy before, but Midas was such an awful little shit sometimes. You never showed him favoritism, so it was a mystery to you how he got to be such an entitled little monster. Maybe it was all the special hugs he gave? Who knows how fluffys dumb little brains worked anyway.
What you did know for sure, was that you needed some new fluffys, quickly. As much as Grape seemed to love his new stuffed teddy bear, fluffy’s were social creatures, and Grape needed a friend. Not to mention you needed to start replacing the stallions you had given away, if only to decrease your reliance on Midas. Your mind made up, you started browsing the adoption pages of your local shelters. You had better get on this right away.
