Asparagus was a sad little sack of shit, at this moment.
It wasn’t bad enough that hims no-no pwacies were gone, but the old farmer had made him num dem too, huuuu-huuuuu!
He was dripping wet, his facie was covered in poopies,
a little desire started creeping up in the back of his mind.
He wanted something now. He wanted it more than huggies, or his mummah, or even sketties.
His little mouth started moving as he whispered the words.
“Wuh…wuh…wun…Wun…Di”
The glaring sun was suddenly blocked out by a towering figure. Like a guardian angel Farmer Bob was standing over him, and blocking out the sun. Gus turned his little face up to see his deliverance. HE knew that the farmer was going to let him fowebuh sweepies now. He was strangely okay with that idea. He welcomed the cold embrace of death. All the huwties would be gone soon, and he could rest…
“C’mon Gus. I’ve got a job for you to do.”
The farmer gathered the fluff up into the crook of his arm and carried him into the barn. Water and blood dripped a path behind them.
The first step was warm water in the utility sink, with some liquid soap.
It wasn’t necessary to use anything more harsh right now. Gus was as broken as he could possibly be.
Bob washed a majority of the blood off of the fluff, layed the pathetic puddle of sorrow gently on the countertop, and wrapped a towel around it.
The farmer lit a cigarette, and crouched down so he could look Gus directly in it’s eye.
“Are you feeling any better, Asparagus?”
The fluffy couldn’t find it’s voice yet. It wriggled under the towel like an overcooked burrito.
“Calm down. Just…calm…down” Bob layed a hand on the wrapped pony, skritching at it’s back.
After a long pause Bob spoke again
“Gus, do you really ‘Wan Die’? If you do, I want you to tell me now.
I’ve got a good hammer over there in my tool kit. You won’t even feel a thing. I’ll crush your head, and you won’t ever feel anything again.”
the fluffy had no answer to this, so Bob skritched his head with a smile, turned around, and took up the hammer. As he approached the fluff to give him the mercy he wanted it scrunched up it’s face and wailed
“NU WANNA FOWEBUH SWEEPIES!”
Bob paused
“Okay. That’s okay, too.”
He layed the hammer down where Gus could still see it.
“But if you’re going to stay on this farm, you’re going to have a job to do.
You can’t make babies anymore. You can’t make milk either.”
Gus squeezed his eyes shut trying to think of some way he could be useful.
“Gus, you’re going to be, an enfie-pal, now.”
Those little eyes sprang open and Gus started to reconsider whether this was any better than foweba sweepies.
“Hey! Hey, settle down, it’s not going to be as bad as you think. You’re going to get something that no other fluff on this whole farm is going to get.”
Gus’s little eyes brightened
“Wut dat?”
“You’re going to get spaghetti
Every bright time
and every dark time.
Every day.
In time I might even find you a litter pal so we don’t have to wash your ass every day.”
Bob then opened up the old toolbox that had been converted to hold a legless pony, with it’s ass exposed for public use.
“In turn, you’re going to rest in your box, out with the other stallions.
You can still talk to them all, but when they need to give enfies,
they’re going to come and see you.
Just like you didn’t ask permission to enfie-hug that little colt, you’re not going to get the choice to say no.”
Gus’ eyes hadn’t left the box since it was opened.
He was shuddering as he tried to imagine so many fowebas stuck in the box.
And…and…and…he had to let…let the other boys give him the wowstest of enfies!
“So you’d better learn to like it.”
“Buh, buh, buh” a light dawned in Gus’ mind. “Fwuffie Gus nawt fit in duh bawks,… missuh fawmuh bawb
“Yeah, that’s right. You can’t fit in that box.” the farmer admitted.
“Yet.”
