Bob looked out upon his work, and saw that it was Good.
There were fluffies huddled at many of the fences, wishing their undying love to other fluffies in other pens.
They needed this closure. In time they would spend less of their days pressed against the fences just to be with their Special Friends.
The fluffies were sorted, and now it was time to start choosing which ones should be mating, and which ones should be set to… other tasks.
He knew most of their names now.
There was Beef Supreme, an enormous stallion (by fluffy standards), keeping watch over his new fraternal herd.
There was Miss Priss doing a similar job in the sororital herd.
There was Dainty, merrily skipping along with the unbred mares as she frolicked the day away.
There were Peanut Butter and Jelly, a brother-and-sister pair of foals, in the creche.
So many little lives… that now depended directly upon Bob.
He had agreed to do the job, but he never expected to start…feeling… bad over these fluffies…
“They’re just a bunch of shit-rats.” he muttered as he stubbed out his cigarette.
But the little voice of his conscience chose that moment to speak up
'They’re not just any shit-rats, anymore. Now they’re YOUR shit-rats, Bobby."
Goddammit! All Bob had wanted was a dependable, easy job where he made enough money to afford a steady supply of whiskey.
How the FUCK did he get saddled with this Sisyphean task?
He pondered that point as the sun set over the hill, and the fluffies slowly wandered back toward the barn.
He knew these herds were too stupid to make nests after the traumatic day they’d had, so he scooped up a few horse blankets and placed them outside each of the barn doors.
He didn’t watch them to see how the fluffies would treat this gift, just to make the point to himself that he didn’t really care what happened to them.
…But before he left the barn for the night,
he made sure Peanut Butter and Jelly were tucked in to their blanket nest,
next to one another.
(CONTINUED IN COMMENTS)