Honest Mistakes III: By Stwumpo

I’ve had these fluffies for several weeks now, and all of them are developing as best they can.

Poopy Babbeh had his plug removed and now finds he can’t control his poopies at all.


A Poopy Babbeh stands alone in the litterbox, softly huuhuuing while listening to the endlessly looping Good Poopies song that the LitterboxDX series plays to reinforce good behavior. He couldn’t make good poopies like everyone else. He’d tried to tell daddeh that the hurtie thing in his poopy place didn’t feel pretty, but daddeh said it was okay!

“Huuuuu babbeh nu wike wittabocks. Mummah say ‘Uuu sowwy babbeh, ou hafta onwy be in poopy pwace if awways makin poopies’ an make babbeh stay in wottaboxy…” The stout young colt abandons his memories in favor of listening to the song and waiting for more bad poopies.


There’s also his brother, the Delicate one. He’s now as big and talkative and bubbly as his siblings, but he can’t walk. He can barely stand, and it causes him great pain. Because of this, I if course enforce a strict no sitting rule in the litterbox. I don’t want to have to scrape shit out of Mr. Lazybones’ fluff.

Oh, yeah. I called him Mister Lazybones. Funny, right?

Anyway, he started getting chummy with poopy babbeh so I started letting poopy babbeh play with blocks any time he snitches on his brother sitting or laying down out of exhaustion or pain. Few times of that and their relationship was ruined. Poopy didn’t want to be mean to his brother, but the only time he was able to have fun was when he did.

Lazybones, for what it’s worth, hates his brother now. He feels betrayed by him, and this animosity makes it easy for Poopy to bully him. Honestly it’s hilarious. I just let them go.

But the best part is when he gets excited and forgets.


Babbehs in the playroom are cooing with delight at the funnew toys! When daddeh tells them it’s okay, they all scamper around! Bawws! Bwockies! Pwetty noisie boxies! They’re tiny, for babbehs!

But one babbeh isn’t happy.

“Huuu huuuuuuuu nu toysies fow fwuffy…”

“Hey,” His daddeh snuck up on him. “What did I tell you? It makes daddeh sad when you don’t say the name he gave you!”

“Huuuuuuu, Wazybone sowwwwwy huuuu…”

Each day is worse. His family only tolerates him. They think he’s just lazy. And daddeh tells them so.


Honestly, my finest work is the third babbeh, the last colt. A little purple fella. I gelded him in front of all his siblings once they were walkie tawkie foals. I wanted them to see it, and I used his negative reaction and their fear to justify not doing it again, making him the only gelded foal.

And then I started dosing him with ForeverFoal. I had to be sneaky and give it to him with treats, and I wasn’t able to get him much, but once his siblings had been weaned a few days, mummah let daddeh hewp wittwe teeny babbeh. They all just assume he’s little because he was castrated. I’ve been confirming their assumptions, and I only need to keep doing it for a few more weeks before he’ll reach homeostasis and require hormone shots to ever grow.

Now he drinks ForeverFoal formula every morning when he wakes up. I give him some before leaving for work. This started five weeks ago. His siblings now are all decent sized colts and fillies, “big babbehs” if you will. He doesn’t even have his mane yet. He barely has teeth!


“Mummah? Wai bwudda stiww wittwe?”

“Huuuu mummah nu knu! Daddeh say babbeh sickies.”

A family forms a fluffpile to sleep for the night. Among them, the littlest lies awake, silently weeping. He wants to be a big fluffy. He doesn’t understand why he isn’t growing! It makes him so saddies, and sometimes pointy sissy is meanies about it.

Like when his bruddas and sissies were all playing huggy tag and his mummah told them to find a way to play with him. His pointy sissy was the one who suggested they play Mummahs and Daddehs “cuz dummeh bwudda am aweddy wittwe babbeh.”

“Nu faiw…nu faiw…wan be big babbeh tuu! Wan wun an pway! Nu wan be foaw! Nu wan be dummeh babbeh nu mowe!” This was a regular thing during fluffpiles at night. The tiny baby gets intoba depressive spiral about his predicament.

“Stoopie bwudda, ou wuin gud sweepy time! Smawty sissy gif ou sowwy hoofsies fow being tuu wowd!” His big stompy sister shoved him out of the pile and he landed on his back, unable to move. “Peep! Hewp!”

“Sissy hewp bwudda.” She picked him up and carried him to the litterbox. “Nu sissy, bwudda nu need wittabocks, need huggies and fwuffpiwe fo sweepies!” She abruptly dropped him in the litterbox and started throwing litter over him like he was a turd. “Nuuuu! Babbeh nu am poopy! Wet babbeh gu!” He’s buried up to his hips in it. He can’t get out. He’s stuck standing in poop and litter, like a dummy nu weggie poopie babbeh.

“Goobai babbeh bwudda, big sissy gu back fow sweepies nao.” She blew a raspberry at him and scampered off, leaving him sad, cold, smelly, wet, dirty, and alone.

“Huuuuuu nu wan be babbeh nu moooooooowe…”

Some absolutely excellent companion art from the incomparable @truthtellergilead


Wonder what the good mummah will have to say about smarties