Another day dawned. Bob drove to the Miwk and Huggies Farm, and trudged down to the barn.
Mrs. Cooter was already sitting among the fillies, cooing and singing to them.
Bob hadn’t had enough caffeine to deal with this.
“Yoo hoooo! Oh Bob!♫ Come see what the girls have learned to do!”
She raised a hand and conducted them as the filly herd started to sing
♫ Joiiii tu da wuwd, da wohd haes cum
wet uhhf weceefe hew keeeeng!
Wet ebwey heawt
pwepawe dem woom
un hebbunachuwa seeen
un hebbunachuwa seeen
un hebbun un hebbunachuwa seeen ♪
How…fucking…wonderful. She was teaching them gospel songs, now.
Bob was fairly certain if there actually was some sky-daddy watching over this world, he wouldn’t have room in his “Hebbun” for these lab-created abominations, and he might even be pissed off about their existence. He might even be irate enough to send plagues and wildfires and such to ravage the planet!
The little filly in Mrs. Cooter’s lap got so excited that she had remembered all the words…or at least all their sounds… that she leapt up into the air, and dribbled shit all over Mrs. Cooter’s dress
“Oh that’s okay, it’ll wash out.” she cooed at the little fluff
“Oh Bob, I have ♫so♪ many ideas that I just have to tell you all about!”
“Okay” he responded in near-monotone “good, I have a lot of things to discuss with you as well.”
“Bob, don’t you think we could have the girls ready to perform for an audience before Christmas!? Wouldn’t it be just the bestest thing ever if we could have the farm all decorated and sparkling with these little angels singing to everyone that comes to see them!?!”
…“Mrs. Cooter, we’ve got much bigger issues to deal with right now. We still haven’t found a way to sell any of them at all. These fluffies are absolutely Not ready to be put on the market, let alone to be paraded out as a tourist attraction.”
“Oh that’s not such a big deal! There are actually some boys that will be stopping by later to look over the herd and maybe buy a few of them!”
“Oh. Really.” he side-eyed her.
“Yes, they seem like the sweetest little bunch of scamps! I found them at the edge of the gate trying to feed the fluffies through the fence!”
More likely they were trying to lure the fluffs to the fence so they could steal them, thought Bob. But it wasn’t worth expressing that thought aloud.
Instead he began with:
“Margaret, we’ve got some problems, here. There’s not a one of these fluffies that are litter-trained, every last one of them is spoiled and verging on becoming a Smarty, and unless you want to sell them as food, absolutely Nobody is going to be willing to buy any of them!”
“NO! No I’ll never ever sell any of my precious widdle babbehs as food! How dare you even suggest such a thing!?!”
“I fully agree with you, I don’t want them to become food either, but to get people to buy these fluffs, they can’t be crapping all over the place and demanding treats every few seconds! Nobody will ever want that!”
“Oh Bob, it can’t be difficult to train them to use a litter box.” she shrugged him off
“It’s not difficult to train one, but when you have to train damn near a hundred of them at one time it’s not so easy!”
“I can’t see how WHUU!”
Mrs. Cooter’s slipper did exactly what it was named for. It slipped in a slick puddle of fluffy diarrhea on the ground, and she toppled onto her backside, landing in the same puddle.
Bob offered her a hand and picked her up. There was no fucking way that stain was ever going to come out of her lacy white dress.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about. The fluffs are pooping what amounts to ‘dirty water’ all over the farm because you insist that they be given spaghetti twice a day!”
“But…but they LOVE their sketties!”
“I’m sure they do, but nobody loves stepping in their greasy piles! Their poop is uncontrollable and stains their tails and coats.”
Bob noted the stubborn set of the Cooter’s jaw and added
“So when people see these poop-covered fluffs they immediately think we’re running a fluffy mill rather than a high-quality farm.”
He could see her expression soften as she considered this possibility
“But…But couldn’t you go around with a pooper-scooper and gather it all up? I’ve heard that fluffy poop makes great compost! We could put it on the tomatoes and use it to make the most wonderful sketti sauce!”
“There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to go around and dig up all the poop these things create.”
Bob took note of a small pack of fluffies pawing at the door of the barn
“And that’s beside the fact that we have bigger problems still.”
There were two adult fluffs, and a number of new babies scattered around the door. Bob didn’t recognize them, but immediately noticed that none of them had ear-tags. He began to walk more briskly to intercept these creatures.
“HEY! FLUFFIES!” Bob challenged as he strode toward the pack They all turned in his direction, crapping and pissing involuntarily. The biggest of them whimpered to the rest
“Nu be skewed bebbehs, daddeh gunna tawk tu munstah!” and he scurries out to face the treading behemoth approaching
The little blue fluff showed a lot of bravery when he stood tall, raised his tail, and puffed out his cheeks
Bob stopped about two meters from him and put his hands on his hips, glowering down at the lone sentry. Then he spoke in a commanding tone.
“Who are you!?”
Bravery wasn’t enough to keep the fluff from pissing all over himself
“P-pwease suw…fwuffies am jus want git bac indo SkettiWand for nummy moah sketties!”
Bob thought about what the fluff has said, and he took his tone down a few decibels
“You didn’t answer my question, Fluff.
I said
Who
Are
You?”
At this distance Bob could see Blue’s little legs trembling. The rest of his little herd had pressed their faces against the wall of the barn, too afraid to see what happened to him next.
The fluff spoke cautiously
“Dis am SkettiWand, un…un…un Bwuebeww’s Hewd NEED moah sketties!”
when he wasn’t immediately kicked into the wall the fluff continued
“Aww dem gud sketties befowe naow maek gud miwkies fuw mummah an bebbehs, buh
fwuffies NEED moah dem sketties!”
Bob raised an eyebrow
“P-pwease? coooooo”
“Bob,” Mrs. Cooter had caught up to him now “Let them in, won’t you? We can take care of them. They’re good fwuffies.”
Thus Bob was caught between a rock and a hard place.
He was tasked with making this herd one that would fetch high prices, and yet The Cooter was literally letting ferals come in without clearance!
Bob huffed, took two little steps forward toward the little stallion, and then knelt down to speak to…what did he say his name was? Bluebell? Yeah, that’s it.
“Bluebell?”
The fluffy looked incredibly confused. It must have been a long time since he’d heard a human use his name.
“Yuh huh?”
“Would you please… come over here and let me pet you?”
Immediately more shit dripped from his anus and Bluebell flung it all over the field with his tail-wagging.
“YUH! Yuh! Bwuebeww WUBS gettin skwitchies! Ben SO wong sinse Bwuebeww git skwitchies!!”
Bob tried to scratch the fluff’s back, but every few centimeters he found a hard lump underneath the fluff. By rubbing his fur backward Bob uncovered a lot of gray lumps all over him. Bob glanced at Mrs. Cooter. When she didn’t seem to understand what she was seeing he explained:
“Ticks. The little fella’s infested with them. And I’m willing to bet the rest of his family is too.”
“Oh” Margaret started “But ticks aren’t so bad. I mean, the ones that carry Lyme disease aren’t common around here…”
before she could continue Bob pulled the fluffy’s ear up to find that it was completely clogged with the parasites
“Oh God!” she gasped
“Mrs. Cooter, you don’t know the half of it. If they’re infested with ticks, they’re almost certainly infested with worms, and who knows what else.”
Margaret knelt down beside Bob and held her hands out to the little blue fluff; her eyes brimming over with tears. Bluebell went to her with a drawn out “huuuuuu” and fell into her hands, where she picked him up and stroked his back
“We can fix this. We can fix this! Right Bob?”
Bob huffed again
“I suppose, if you’re willing to throw enough money at this problem, we can fix it.”
“Bob, I don’t care what it costs, we simply must save these fluffies. It’s what God would want!”
There was that word again.
Bob didn’t have much of a problem with the idea of god, so long as the sky-daddy didn’t get in the way of his work.
He huffed one last time
“Alright, fine. We’ll fix them up.”
oh gad…scary 
