Early the next morning, tiny fluffy eyes opened as they heard the sound of something pounding outside the barn. Some of them cried, some of them shook, most of them crapped on each other…but a couple of the most inquisitive fluffs galloped to the door, and peeked through knotholes to see what the noise was.
“It wook wike fawmuh Bawb!”
“Out da way dummeh, wet fwuffy sees!”
“Oof! No faiw, wan wook-see, tu!”
“HUUU HUUU meenie dummie gu stowmpies awn tinie hoofies gib bigges ouuchieeeee!!”
“Wut fawmew Bawb doin?”
“Him makin sumfin out dere.”
“Wut him make?”
Their tiny imaginations ran wild.
Was it a giant plate so he could give the fluffs the BIGGES SKETTIES EBAH?!
Lots of the fluffs got excited at this idea.
“It sketti day?!”
“Cowse it Sketti day, dummeh. Ebwuh day sketti day in SkettiWand!”
“Shushies! Fawmew Bawb ‘im be doin’ sumfin!”
The couple of fluffs that had their eyes to the knotholes saw Bob walk up the hill to the fence, and when he came back he was pushing a wheelbarrow full loaded with sacks.
“Dat duh sketties! Him goan fiww bigges pwate ebbah wif duh sketties!”
“Dat no wook wike sketties…”
“Uh…mebbe difwent sketties?”
Bob took one of the bags from the wheelbarrow, dropped in in the square pen he’d built. One fluffy gasped as it saw Bob’s pocketknife flash in the morning sunlight. The farmer cut the bag open, and then turned it over to dump out it’s contents.
“Dat nawt sketties!”
“Huuuu huuuu! Why him nawt put sketties in bawks?”
“Wut him doin!”
“Moov un wet fwuffy sees!”
“MUH-MUH, fwuffy no wet bestes bebbeh sees!”
“Wut dat stuffie him puttin in bawks?”
“Cheeze!” one of the fluffs in the back guessed with glee
Once every bag had been cut and dumped, Bob carried them to the burn barrel and dropped the empty husks on top of the dead fluffs he’d collected this morning.
(How the hell that purple one had gotten up on top of the fence post he’d never know. It didn’t even have wings!)
He could hear muffled murmuring and scuffling behind the barn door.
Sounds like the babies are awake.
When Bob un-latched the door he heard a collective gasp from inside. There was a quick pattering of hooves as dozens of the babies ran to hide under their mothers, but the ones that were crowded most closely at the door had no way to run. When he opened the door many of them fell forward, spraying shit on their brethren like dozens of foul-smelling fountains.
But they quickly got to their feet and bounded out into the sunlight, inspecting the new construction.
“Wut dis be?”
“Dat not cheezies”
“Nopies, it nawt sketties neevuh.”
“Wut dit taest wike?”
“HUUUU! No wike get scawdie poopies awn facie! See-pwacies git poopies in dem!”
One of the new additions to the herd; a fluffy that had recently gotten through the fence, was standing back and pondering the construction.
He’d seen this sort of thing before.
His little head tilted left, then right.
And then he spoke.
“Mawwin fwuffie kno wut dis be.”
A dozen little heads turned toward his declaration.
“Mawwin had housie wun tiem, minny fowebahs ugo. Had gud daddeh un mummah, un housie, un fwuffy woom had bawks wike dis.”
The other babies hung on his every word
“Dis am… Wittuh-Bawks”
The fluff spoke as though he was remembering things from long ago and far away, even though his family had only run away from their home, half a block down the street, a few days prior.
“W-wut am wittew bawks?”
“Dis wewe fwuffy maek gud poopies. Un if fwuffies poopie anywewe ewse, dem get sowwy-stick owwies, un dey wuz poot in sowwy-bowks un weft… awww awone…
Fowebahs!”
Tears welled up in the fluff’s eyes and his front legs started to tremble as he remembered that horrible time when he’d been swatted with a stick and locked in solitary confinement
for a whole
three
minutes.
“Sooo minny fowebuhs…”
(Dah hawwuh…dah…Hawwuh!)
Farmer bob had come back to the sand-filled box with a rake, He spread the sand into the corners of the box. The tines of the rake tossed sand over the edge and into the eyes of a few fluffies, which loudly protested and shouted for their mothers.
With the deed done, Bob stood beside the new box of sand, and cleared his throat, calling to his herd in a yodeling fashion
“Fluuuuh-FIEEEEEEEEEEES!
C’MAWN see me now!”
Fluffs in every field came running.
The stallions stood at their fence-line, their front hooves pressed to the fence as they curiously inspected the new addition to the farm. The fillies huddled and circled at their own fence. Mothers came waddling up the hill from the barn and made a semicircle around Bob and his sandbox.
“Fluffies!” Bob made sure to speak loudly enough that all of his herds could hear
“This," Bob tamped the end of the rake on the wooden frame "is a Litter Box”
“From. Now. On,
EVERY one of you are going to make ALL your poopies
in a litter box.
You’re going to go to your litter box Every day,
Every night,
ANY time you need to make your poopies.”
Most of the fluffs were visibly confused, now.
“If you Don’t!?
Farmer Bob is going to See you making Bad Poopies
And Farmer Bob is going to PUNISH you for making Bad Poopies.”
Many of the babies stepped back when they heard this declaration.
Marlon, the purple fluff who was wise enough to recognize the box’s purpose had already run off to find his mother.
“Do You Understand Me?”
this had to be how Roman councilmen addressed their delegates, many centuries before.
“You will ALL get Litter Boxes.”
“You will ALL make your Good poopies in them!”
“You will ALL cover up your poopies when you are done!”
the babies at Bob’s feet were paying extra special attention to their poopie-places now, willing them to stay closed and keep all their bad poopies in their tummies.
“I Have Spoken.”
Bob finished, taking up his rake and heading back to the barn, leaving the fluffies to discuss this new occurrence among themselves.
Mothers who had hovered at the edges of the crowd now pushed forward to inspect the box, and the sand, for themselves. It seemed safe enough to one pale pink mare, who stepped over the wooden wall and walked out onto the sand.
She turned around in circles three times, and hunkered down, squeezing her tummy with a grunt. Poopies leaked out of her and she sighed, trying to remember the rest of the instructions.
“Cubbuh up dah poopies, Wosie!” whispered one of the other mares, and remembrance dawned on the pink pony’s face. She kicked sand across her shit stain.
A small cheer was raised by the babies huddled around her.
Rosie had made the very first Good Poopies on the farm.
The babies all clambered over the wall and started making their own good poopies.
“And now for step Two”
Bob bypassed the barn and went to the shed where the tractor was kept.
He raised the metal hood of the tractor to expose the fuel cap, and was taken aback to find the desiccated skeleton of a little pegasus fluff that had somehow crept inside the engine compartment.
Who the fuck knew how it had gotten there.
He brushed the bones off of the tractor, dumped five gallons of diesel oil into it, and hopped on top of the machine. When he turned the ignition key the engine began to spin over, leaping to life a moment afterward.
A baby fluff that had gotten stuck on the wall of the litter box was so shocked by the sound that it pooped on two other babies that were trying to shove it up and over the partition.
Bob adjusted the gears of the tractor, and let off the clutch. The wheels moved forward and dragged the “metaw-munstah” out of it’s shed,. He drove up to the gate, and had to hop down to open it., Fortunately the fluffies were too terrified of the machine to try and scurry out of the opening. He then drove to the house, and used the lift on the back of the tractor to pick up a big metal drum. He drove more carefully now that he was loaded, and took the drum to the barn door, setting it down, before parking the tractor again.
The barrel was heavy as fuck and Bob had to wrestle it through the door by tipping it onto it’s edge and twisting the barrel, causing it to twist across the hay.
Once he had it inside, Bob wiped sweat off of his forehead, and opened the latch that held the barrel’s lid on.
Fluffies had gathered at the doors of the barn to see what he might be bringing them.
He took up a scoop and shoved it into the barrel, lifting up a cascade of tiny brown nuggets, which he dumped into the fluffies’ slop-troughs.
Panini and Beef Supreme were the first fluffs to come up and inspect this new…food?
“Uwm…Missuh Fawmuh Bawb”
It was Panini speaking. Beef Supreme was taking a curious bite of the kibble in his trough
“Wut dis be?”
“Hey Panini. This is your new feed. This is what you’re all going to eat now.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the hay. All the gathered fluffies were holding their breath and trying to understand what the farmer was saying.
“Try it!” Bob encouraged the little blonde fluff, and Panini craned his neck into the trough to take a bite of the hard nuggets. They crunched between his teeth.
From the door came a tiny shout “Dat nut sketties!”
“You’re right. That’s not spaghetti.”
Bob stood tall to make another proclamation
“From Now On you will all be getting Fluffy Kibble.
Every Day.”
“Spaghetti is going to be a Treat from now on.
You will get Spaghetti only Once a week, on Saturday.”
quiet huu-huuing had already began in the crowd
“And you will ONLY get spaghetti if you’re a GOOD fluffy!”
Now the huu-huuing wasn’t so quiet.
“If you make Bad Poopies,
you will NOT get ANY sketti.”
“If you are mean to other fluffies,
you will NOT get ANY sketti.”
“If you create Trouble on the farm,
you will NOT get ANY sketti.”
Bob felt like Moses proclaiming his commandments.
Fluffies were openly weeping now, hugging one another in their shared sorrow.
Panini spoke up once more, crumbs falling from the corners of his mouth
“Buh, missuh fawmew Bawb, dis not smeww pwetty un tase pwetty, wike sketties.”
He looked down at the little fluff with the bell around it’s neck
“Panini,
that’s kind of the point.”
