Hello everyone! Long-time fluffy fan here. I used to post on the Booru back in 2014-2016 but drifted away from the fandom for a while. Recently, I rediscovered it—along with this subreddit—and got inspired to start writing again. Fluffy stories have always been a wonderfully effective escape from the world, and I’m excited to share my latest work with you all.
I plan to continue this story for as long as you enjoy it, so let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy Huggiewuv Acres – Part 1!
Huggiewuv Acres - by peabnutbubberfluff (or u/thewraith_abides on Reddit)
Today is the day! After months of research, countless hours spent watching FluffTV, and scouring every guide and article I could find, I’m finally ready. It took patience to sift through the noise—so much conflicting advice, so many horror stories—but I’m confident that I’ve prepared myself as best as possible. Because today, I’m adopting my very own fluffy!
Not far outside the city, there’s a rescue and farm that genuinely cares for these little creatures, a rare gem in a world that seems so eager to be cruel to them. I’ve known about Huggiewuv Acres – Fluffy Farm and Shelter for a while now; their commercials have played on my TV more times than I can count. It always looked like a paradise: a safe haven for abandoned fluffies and a responsible breeding program for those looking to adopt.
I can still picture the ad in my head—bright, pastel walls adorned with fluffy-friendly murals of rainbows and puffy clouds. The camera would pan across the spacious pens lined with plush green carpeting, where little fluffies played joyfully, their giggles and chirps filling the air. Each pen had cozy cubbies along the walls for naptime, toy boxes overflowing with soft plushies, and well-placed litter pans to keep everything tidy. It was clear they spared no expense in creating a fluffy utopia.
I knew I had chosen the right place. And with all my paperwork in hand, I set off for Huggiewuv Acres.
As I pulled into the gravel lot, the first thing I noticed was the enormous mural stretching across the side of the steel building—dozens of happy fluffy faces painted in a cascade of cheerful colors. Even before stepping inside, I could hear them—tiny voices babbling in that distinct, endearing way fluffies do. There was a new addition since the last commercial I’d seen: an outdoor playpen attached to the main building, enclosed by chain-link fencing reinforced with a clear plexiglass barrier along the bottom. Smart—no little legs getting caught in the gaps, and no chance of predators getting in. Even the top was covered with a fine mesh to keep large birds from grabbing an easy snack.
The moment I stepped out of my car, the fluffies inside the play area rushed to the plexiglass, eyes wide with hope.
“Nice wady be nyu mummah? Pwease pick fwuffy!”
“Fwuffy am bestest! Wuv nyu mummah!”
“Pwetty wady gif huggies?”
I couldn’t help but smile and wave as I made my way around the corner to the main entrance.
Inside, it was just as I had imagined—warm, bright, and welcoming. The pens were divided by soft, padded walls about four feet high, designed to keep the fluffies safe and comfortable. Immediately to my left, a sign labeled “Soon Mummahs” hung above a special pen. It was pretty sparsely filled. There were maybe three mares at most that I could see immediately. One, a plump little creamy tan colored mare with a silky brown mane and tail was happily waddling over towards me. She approached the edge of the pen and lifted her tiny front hooves as high as she could on the padded wall.
“Hewwo nice wady! Yu be nyu mummah? Fwuffy is soon mummah! Nee nyu housie and gud nummies fow make gud miwkies fow tummeh babbehs! Mummah wan babbehs be stwong an happeh!”
As the little mare spoke, she clumsily hopped from one hind leg to another, struggling to keep her balance. It almost looked like she was dancing. Her big, round eyes sparkled with hope. Even in her waddling, unsteady state, she radiated an innocent joy that tugged at my heartstrings.
Before I could respond, a voice called out warmly from the other side of the room. Turning, I saw a tall, kind-looking older man approaching, dressed in well-worn overalls. He extended a hand with a friendly smile.
“Owen Mitchell, ma’am. I’m the owner. I see you’ve met Waffles—honestly, as good a greeter as she is, I ought to put her on the payroll!”
We both chuckled at the thought.
“Anything I can help you find today?” he asked.
“Well,” I started, taking a steadying breath, “I’ve done my research, considered a ton of options, and I just love what you’re doing here. I’ve decided I want to adopt my first fluffy from Huggiewuv Acres.”
Owen’s smile widened. “You’ve come to the right place, ma’am. Let’s walk and talk.”
As Owen guided me down the pathway between the pens, Waffles toddled along the wall on her hind legs, her tiny hooves tapping against the soft green carpet. But before long, she tripped over a discarded block and, with a soft thud, flipped onto her back.
“Huuu huu! Meanie bwokie gib Waffwes big owies! Huu huu!”
“Oops!” Owen exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.
He quickly bent down, scooping up the startled little mare and cradling her in his arms like an infant.
“Remember, Waffles,” Owen said gently, brushing a lock of hair from her face, “it’s very kind of you to talk to the humans who visit, but you need to pay attention to where you’re going. We’ve got plenty of yummy nummies and warm beds here for you and your babies, and you can stay here forever if you want.”
“Fank yew, nice Mistah,” Waffles sniffled. “But Waffwes wan’ hab own housie an’ own nyu mummah or daddeh one day!”
Owen’s expression softened. “I know, I know. But you need to be patient, sweetie, and stay safe in the meantime, okay?”
“Otay,” Waffles nodded solemnly, and Owen gently set her back down inside the safety of the pen.
Waffles had completely forgotten about her tumble and waddled back to the center of the pen. There, she dragged out a big, fluffy stuffy and waddled over to a nearby cubby, curling up with her plush companion.
Owen bent down, grabbed the block, and, careful not to step on anyone, walked it over to the toy bin, placing it inside.
“Sorry about all that!” Owen called out as he made his way back to the pathway.
“Not at all!” I exclaimed. “She’s really very cute. I hope she’s okay.”
As those words left my lips, we both turned toward the cubby, where Waffles and her stuffy were wedged together, fast asleep in a peaceful, fluffy nest.
Owen’s gaze shifted back to me.
“How about a little tour of our facilities? I’ll show you around, you can meet some of the residents and then we can discuss adoption if youre feeling ready.”
My lips curled into a beaming smile.
"I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited!
Owen led me further into the shelter, his boots making soft thuds against the cushioned flooring. “We’ve got a few different areas set up, depending on the needs of the fluffies. Of course, the adoption pens are the biggest draw, but we also have a dedicated medical ward, a nursery for newborns, and even a special needs section.”
As we walked, fluffies in nearby pens perked up, their tiny ears twitching as they noticed us.
“Hewwo, nice wady! Wan’ wuv an’ huggies?”
“Fwuffy am bestest! Pwease take fwuffy home!”
“Nice hooman hab nummies?”
Some bounced excitedly, others wiggled their little hooves at me, and one particularly round fluffy rolled onto its back, exposing its soft belly in a desperate bid for attention. I chuckled, overwhelmed by their enthusiasm.
Owen smiled knowingly. “They’re always excited to meet potential owners. Some have been here longer than others, but we make sure every fluffy is well cared for while they wait for their perfect home.”
We stopped in front of a pen labeled Senior Sweethearts, where older fluffies lounged on extra-plush bedding. A grayish-pink mare with a slightly crooked ear toddled up to the divider, her voice soft and raspy.
“Hewwo, mistah Owen! Hewwo, nice wady! Yu come gib ow’ fwuffies huggies?”
Owen crouched down, rubbing the mare’s fuzzy cheek with a gentle hand. “Hey there, Butterbean. You doing okay today?”
Butterbean giggled, leaning into the touch. “Mmm, wub head-pats. Feew su’ nice…”
I smiled. “She’s adorable.”
“She really is,” Owen said warmly. “The seniors have a little less energy than the younger ones, but they’re just as sweet. We make sure they get plenty of love and soft napping spots.”
I watched as another elderly fluffy, a chubby stallion with a faded blue coat, shuffled over and flopped down beside Butterbean with a contented sigh.
My heart swelled. “I have to admit, I was originally thinking of adopting a younger fluffy, but these guys are really pulling at my heartstrings.”
Owen nodded. “A lot of people come in expecting to take home a baby, but sometimes an older fluffy just clicks with the right person.”
I glanced at Butterbean, who was now happily grooming her companion’s ear, humming softly to herself. The idea of giving a senior fluffy a warm, loving home for their golden years was… tempting.
Owen grinned, reading my expression. “Tell you what, let’s finish the tour, and then you can take some time to sit with a few fluffies—young or old. You’ll know when you find the right one.”
I nodded, feeling a buzz of excitement. “That sounds perfect!”
With one last wave to Butterbean, we continued deeper into Huggiewuv Acres.
Owen led me past the pens and toward the door he had emerged from earlier. Beyond it was a hallway with two doors—one on each side—and a single door at the far end.
“As for these rooms,” Owen said, gesturing as we walked, “on the left, we’ve got our medical ward for any sick or injured fluffies, as well as fluffies that might need vaccines. And over here on the right is our stray intake area.”
As if on cue, the door to the intake area swung open, and a short, stocky man in a sky-blue jumpsuit stepped out, carrying a dark red stallion under his arm. The fluffy hung limp, its little hooves dangling motionlessly.
“Well, talk about timing!” Owen grinned. “There’s our expert fluffy catcher now!”
The man let out a chuckle as he extended his hand to me. “I dunno about ‘expert,’ but I do my best. Name’s Keith Martin, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you,” he said, his deep Southern drawl warm and easygoing.
I couldn’t help but glance at the unmoving stallion he carried.
Keith noticed immediately. “Oh, don’t worry, ma’am,” he reassured me. “He’s just sedated. Standard procedure for the more difficult ones.”
Turning back to Owen, he adjusted his grip on the fluffy. “Hate to meet ‘n’ run, but this little fella’s got a date with the RIP department.”
With a tip of his hat to me, he strode down the hall and disappeared through the door at the end.
I turned back to Owen, brow furrowed. “RIP?”
“Oh, right!” Owen brightened. "I forgot to mention—we’ve been working on a new method for handling Smarties. I call it the “Re-education and Integration Program” or RIP for short.
His smile melted to a concerned frown.
“I know. Not the most wholesome sounding acronym.”
Owen continued across the hall.
“Before you arrived, I was actually helping out in the medical ward. We’ve got a couple of mares with new babies in there, and I’d like to check in to see if Kim needs anything before we continue the tour. Come on in!” Owen said as he swung the door open.
Unlike the rest of the shelter, which was filled with pastel murals and cheerful decorations, this room had a stark, clinical feel. No happy trees or rainbow-colored walls—just clean surfaces, bright overhead lights, and a faint scent of disinfectant. This room was all business.
“Miss Kimberly!” Owen called out as he opened a second door leading into the nursery.
“Over here!” came a small, dainty voice from across the room. “Just working with little Miss Blueberry!”
As we walked toward the source of the sound, I spotted the speaker—a young woman, maybe my age, with bright blonde hair haphazardly tied up in a messy bun. Loose strands framed her face, falling across the front of her white apron. She was furiously tapping away on a tablet, brow furrowed in focus.
“Hey, Kim!” Owen greeted her warmly as we arrived at the exam table where she stood.
Kim’s scowl curled into a bright smile. “Welcome back, Mr. Mitchell. Thanks again for your help earlier! Blueberry has been quite the handful when it comes to immunizations and hygiene routines.”
She gestured toward one of the built-in enclosures along the wall. Inside, a bright blue fluffy mare with a dark blue mane and tail was curled protectively around three tiny, newborn foals. The enclosure looked almost like a neonatal incubator, its clear front panel allowing for easy monitoring.
A small speaker clicked on as the fluffy inside noticed us.
“Hewwow, nice wady! Yu be nice to babbehs, or mummah gib you wosses huwties!” Blueberry warned, her little face scrunched into a defiant pout as her foals suckled.
“Blueberry!” Kim snapped, her voice firm but not unkind. “That attitude is uncalled for, little miss. Nobody here would ever hurt you or your babies.”
Blueberry flinched, her ears wilting as her big eyes welled with tears.
“B-Bwuebewwy sowwy, Miss Kim… Bwuebewwy not kno why Bwuebewwy act dis way…” she sniffled.
Kim sighed, shaking her head with a knowing smirk. “Hormones are a hell of a drug, kid.”
Kim exhaled through her nose, rubbing her temple. “Owen, since you’re here would you mind giving me a hand really fast? I need to get Sugarplum cleaned up and immunized, but she’s not exactly cooperative.”
Owen nodded without hesitation. “Of course. What do you need me to do?”
Kim gestured toward one of the built-in enclosures along the wall. Inside, a pale pink fluffy mare with a soft lavender mane and tail trembled, her wide eyes darting between them with terror. Three tiny foals—one blue, one white, and one a patchy mix of both—were nestled against her, blissfully unaware of their mother’s distress.
“Sugarplum needs her shots and a thorough cleaning, but she’s been resisting every attempt,” Kim explained, pulling on a pair of gloves. “I don’t like stressing her out, but for her health and the health of the babies, we don’t have a choice.”
Owen crouched down in front of the enclosure, his voice gentle. “Hey there, Sugarplum. We just want to help you feel better, okay?”
“Nu! Nu wan bad hoomins! Nu wan huwty stickies!” Sugarplum shrieked, pressing herself as far back as the small space would allow. “Mummah nee’ stay wif babbehs!”
Kim sighed, her voice patient but firm. “Sugarplum, I promise this is for your own good. You’re covered in filth, and if we don’t get you cleaned up, you could get sick. That would be very bad for your babies, wouldn’t it?”
Sugarplum whimpered, tucking her nose against her foals. “Nu wan be sickies… but nu wan huwty…”
–
Kim then turned to me. “Sorry about this little detour. Sugarplum is from a hoarding situation and has an extreme distrust of humans. I wouldn’t dream of causing a delay, but I absolutely can’t handle her safely on my own.”
“It’s no problem at all really!” I said enthusiastically. “I’m actually thrilled to have a firsthand look behind the scenes of this place.”
Kim smiled a warm smile and turned back to Sugarplum.
“It won’t take long,” Kim assured her before nodding to Owen. “She won’t come willingly. You’ll need to pick her up.”
Owen reached into the enclosure carefully, his large hands forming a scoop underneath the trembling fluffy. Sugarplum let out a panicked squeal and, in a last-ditch effort, snapped her tiny dull teeth down onto Owen’s wrist. He froze for a moment, blinking at the sensation—it felt like someone had tapped him lightly with the end of a pencil eraser.
Sugarplum realized her attack had no effect and let out a pitiful wail as Owen lifted her from the enclosure. Her little legs flailed wildly in the air, desperate to escape.
“Nu! Nu take Mummah ‘way! Babbehs nee’ Mummah!”
“They’ll be just fine for a few minutes,” Kim said firmly, moving swiftly to the exam table. “We need to do this, Sugarplum.”
Owen placed her gently onto the cold metal surface, but the moment he let go, she attempted to scramble away. Kim was quicker, expertly strapping each of her tiny legs into place with soft restraints. Sugarplum bucked against them, her tiny body trembling with fear.
“W-Wan go back! Wan go back!”
Kim didn’t waste time. She grabbed a bottle of antiseptic wash and a cloth, beginning to scrub away the layers of dirt and dried fluids that clung to Sugarplum’s fur. The fluffy mare squealed in protest, her small body shuddering.
“Nu! Nu wike! Buuuuurn!”
“I know it stings,” Kim murmured, keeping her movements firm but as gentle as possible. “But we need to get you clean. You don’t want your babies getting sick, do you?”
Sugarplum hiccupped, tears spilling down her cheeks. “N-Nu wan babbehs sickies…”
“That’s a good girl,” Kim said encouragingly, finishing the cleaning process. “Now, just one last thing.”
She picked up a small syringe, flicking it to remove any air bubbles. Owen braced Sugarplum gently, pressing a reassuring hand against her side. “Deep breaths, Sugarplum.”
“Nu wan huwty stickies! Nu wan—!” Her shriek cut off in a sharp yelp as the needle pierced her skin. “Screeeeeeeee! Huuuhuuuu! Su much huwty!”
Kim worked quickly, administering the necessary vaccinations while Sugarplum sobbed and sniffled. “I know, I know. But it’s over now. You were very brave.”
Sugarplum hiccupped, her eyes glassy with misery. “A-Aww dun?”
“All done,” Kim confirmed, undoing the restraints. “Owen, can you put her back?”
He scooped up the trembling mare, cradling her gently. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
Sugarplum buried her face in his shirt, sniffling. “W-Was bad… but… nu wan be sickies…”
He chuckled softly. “Exactly. Let’s get you back to your babies.”
He placed her carefully back into the enclosure, where she immediately curled around her foals. Her little body still trembled, but she let out a tired sigh, nuzzling each of them as if to reassure herself that they were still safe.
Kim wiped her hands on a towel, exhaling. “Good work, Owen.”
“You too,” he replied, watching as Sugarplum finally began to settle. “Hopefully, she’ll understand we’re just trying to help.”
Kim smirked. “Give her time.”
Kim turned to me with a warm smile. “Thanks again for bearing with us through that. It was nice to meet you! Enjoy the rest of your tour!”
Owen gestured toward the door we had entered through, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder as he fell in step behind me.
As we stepped back into the hallway, he spoke up. “Well, since we’re here, we might as well check out the stray intake area. Right this way.”
He pushed open the door opposite the medical ward and motioned for me to go inside.
The moment I stepped through, the smell hit me like a brick to the face—stale fluff, unwashed fur, and the acrid bite of waste. The noise wasn’t far behind, another brutal blow from an uglier, louder brick.
A chaotic chorus of wails and whimpers filled the air.
“Huu huu! Fwuffy su scawdies! Wan go back ou’side!”
“Nu wan! Nu wan!”
Tiny, trembling bodies huddled in wire enclosures, some pressing themselves against the bars while others curled into themselves, sobbing into matted fluff. The sheer desperation in their voices sent a chill down my spine.
Owen squeezed past me after I hesitated in the doorway. “This isn’t the most pleasant stop on the tour, but it’s one of the most important. Right now, these fluffs are scared out of their minds, but this is where their second chance begins. Pregnant mares, abandoned foals, lost stallions—even so-called smarties—we take them all in and start the process of turning their lives around, right here in this room.”
Owen moved over to a large desk at the center of the room. “Keith writes a capture report for each individual or herd,” he explained. “It includes the capture location, the method used, and whether there are any smarties to be aware of.”
He gestured toward the desk, where stacks of papers and digital devices were neatly arranged. “From there, our team of integration specialists assigns each new intake to the appropriate location within the facility. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they’ll end up across the hall for a 24-hour quarantine before moving to their proper pens. That’s exactly the situation with Blueberry and Sugarplum. Keith found Sugarplum hiding in a culvert covered in dirt and her own waste with her foals nearby, and shortly afterwards he found Blueberry while on his lunch break. She had been hiding behind the dumpster at a Wendy’s with three fresh foals and one stillborn.”
Owen paused, shuddered, then added, “Every now and then, we get a few with updated vaccinations who can go straight to a pen, but that’s pretty rare.”
I took another cautious step inside, my nose wrinkling as the stale scent of fear clung to the air. Some of the fluffies in the wire enclosures quieted as they noticed me, wide eyes peering up through tangled manes. Others, too lost in their own terror, continued their miserable cries.
Owen moved toward a small enclosure set apart from the others. Inside, a tiny, scruffy-looking foal huddled in the corner, barely bigger than a fist. Its pastel green fur was patchy, and its ribs pressed against its thin skin. The moment Owen approached, the foal flinched, squeezing its eyes shut as if willing itself invisible.
“This little guy was picked up just this morning,” Owen murmured, crouching down. “Barely weaned. Found alone near a storm drain, probably abandoned.”
Something about the sight of the tiny thing sent a pang through my chest. It didn’t cry or beg like the others. It just sat there, trembling, its frail body curled into itself.
“What happens to him now?” I asked.
“If he makes it through the next couple of days, we’ll try bottle-feeding to help him gain some strength,” Owen said. “He’s a tough one, though—hasn’t taken much yet. Might not make it.”
I swallowed, my gaze lingering on the fragile little creature. The thought of him just… not making it didn’t sit right.
Owen must’ve noticed something in my expression because he stood and dusted his hands off. “Come on, there’s more to see. The rough stuff is why we do what we do, but I promise the next stop is a little easier on the heart.”
I tore my gaze from the foal and followed him toward the door, back out to the hallway, and out the door at the end of the hall. There, a short distance from the main building was another smaller steel building with “Nursery” plastered above the door. Murals of happy “mummahs and babbehs” were painted all over the sides.
As we stepped through the front door i was greeted by the smell of hay and sweet milk, as well as the sound of contented cooes.
The difference between this room and the last was night and day. Instead of cold metal and harsh lighting, the nursery was bathed in soft, golden light from heat lamps positioned over cozy nesting boxes. The air was warm and smelled of fresh bedding, milk, and the unmistakable sweetness of baby fluffies.
Several larger mares rested in spacious pens, each surrounded by tiny, wobbly-legged foals who nuzzled close or snoozed in little fuzzy piles. A few chirpies—newborns still blind and earless—squirmed inside incubators near the back, tended to by staff in soft gloves.
Owen smiled as he gestured to the room. “This is where the real second chances begin. Some of these foals came from rough starts, just like the ones in intake. Others were born here to rescued mares. Either way, we do everything we can to make sure they grow up strong and loved.”
As if to emphasize his words, a tiny, bright pink foal crawled up to the edge of the closest nesting box.
“Chirp?” it peeped, tilting its head.
I felt my heart melt just a little.
“Hewwo nice wady! Yu say hewwo to mummah onwy babbeh? Babbeh no can use see pwaces yet, but am speshuw pwettiest babbeh!” The pink plump mare that sat in the nesting box said.
I looked down at the placard fixed to the front of the nesting box. It read “Bubblegum and One (1) foal.”
Owen leaned down to the sweet little mummah and held his hand to her cheek. She nuzzled it and cooed softly. “Bubbahgum wuv yu nice mistah Owen! Fank yu fow wawm nestie fow mummah and beste-” she hesitated. Her expression dropped slightly as she said “lastes babbeh.”
“You’re very welcome my beautiful Bubblegum! You’re such a good mummah. You take good care of that baby!” Owen said.
Bubblegum’s mood lifted once again and her soft sobs reverted to contented cooes.
“Bubblegum has been through more than most could imagine.” Owen glanced at me, his expression somber. “She was bred for pageants, designed for bright colors and intelligence—fluffies like her are trained to perform tricks, to be perfect little trophies. But when she got pregnant, her owner saw her as ruined, no longer fit for the stage. Her punishment was cruel. She was forced to watch as every one of her foals was fed to a cat. But Bubblegum is a survivor. She managed to hide one baby within her fluff before being cast out. Keith found her shivering in a shrubbery by the mall, still clinging to that last little piece of hope.”
“Oh my.” I said as I processed the heartbreaking story. I smiled back at Bubblegum. “I think you should name your baby Hope.” I suggested with a warm smile.
“Nice wady wan gif name tu babbeh? Humm…Bubbahgum wike dat name! Babbeh name am Howp!”
I turned back to Owen. “My heart is so full right now.”
As we moved to the next nesting box, a stark contrast to Bubblegum’s warmth greeted us. A stout, deep purple mare with a puffed-out chest glared at me, her cheeks puffed in an exaggerated display of defiance.
“Nyu hooman nu wook at Spangle an’ bestest babbehs! Go ‘way!” she huffed, her tail flicking as she shielded the tiny foals nestled beneath her fluff.
Owen let out a small sigh but kept his tone gentle. “Now, Spangle, we’ve talked about this. No need to be rude. This is our guest, and they’re just here to see how wonderful all of you are.”
Spangle snorted, turning her head with an indignant “Hmph!” but didn’t protest further.
I glanced at the placard on her nesting box: “Spangle and Three (3) foals.”
One of the little fluffies peeked out from beneath her, a tiny blue foal with a curious expression. “Hewwo?” it chirped tentatively, only for Spangle to immediately nudge it back under her with a stern “Nu! Babbeh stay wif mummah!”
Owen chuckled. “Spangle’s got a strong personality, but she means well. She came from a breeder who favored ‘show fluffies’ with big attitudes. We’re working on her manners.”
Spangle simply huffed again, clearly not ready to warm up just yet.
As we moved deeper into the nursery, a bright pink and blue area caught my eye. The walls and floor were padded, creating a soft, cushioned space. Above the area, a large sign read: Soon Mummah Zone!
Inside, at least seven plump mares were all facing a big TV mounted on the wall, some up wobbling around and some sitting still on their haunches. Undoubtedly, this is why the “Soon Mummahs” pen by the door was so sparse. The screen played an upbeat program called Soon Mummahs Time! on FluffTV, featuring an expertly trained fluffy leading an exercise routine.
The mares were transfixed, clumsily following along as the little instructor on-screen demonstrated simple stretches and movements. The program was designed to keep expectant fluffies active and healthy, ensuring they stayed in good shape for motherhood.
“This is the Soon Mummah Zone,” Owen explained with a chuckle. “A lot of rescued mares come in underweight or unhealthy, so we give them plenty of good food, rest, and gentle exercise to prepare them for their babies. They love this program—it’s simple, fun, and keeps them engaged.”
One particularly round mare, her pastel blue fluff tinged with pink, lifted her chubby legs in slow, exaggerated motions. “Huff! Soon Mummah am twyin’ bestest! Wuv Soon Mummah Time!” she panted, grinning at the screen.
Owen grinned. “They really get into it. It helps them bond with their babies before birth, too. Happy, healthy soon mummahs make for happy, healthy foals.”
We exited through another door, stepping into a small hallway before arriving at a dimly lit room labeled RIP. Inside, Keith Martin stood conversing with a stern-looking woman with short curly hair and a thick German accent. The red stallion from earlier was now fully awake and sitting in a structured class setting.
Owen leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone. “This is the RIP program. It’s our way of rehabilitating smarties so they can become adoptable. Smarties tend to be aggressive, entitled, and difficult to rehome. This program incites their behavior and then corrects it through light negative reinforcement. It’s the worst treatment they’ll ever see here, but it’s necessary. Otherwise, they’d be unmanageable.”
As if on cue, the stern woman purposely provoked the stallion, tapping the ground in front of him with her boot. The red fluffy immediately puffed up, his cheeks swelling as he stomped a hoof. “Dummeh hooman! Smawtes fwuffy nu take owdas! Smawtes fwuffy am bestest!”
Without hesitation, the woman flicked a leather paddle against his sheath. The stallion let out a high-pitched yelp and flopped onto his back, kicking his legs in shocked distress. “SCREEE! NU HUWT! WHY HUWT NU NU PWACE! Huu… NU HUWT SMARTY!” he wailed, writhing on the padded floor.
“Nein! Zis is not acceptable! You vill learn respect!” the trainer commanded, her voice firm but controlled.
She turned to me, her sharp eyes assessing before she nodded in greeting. “I am Greta Vogel,” she introduced herself, her accent thick but her words precise. “I run ze RIP program. Zees smarties, zey are stubborn, entitled. But zey can learn. It is about breaking ze bad habits and reshaping ze mind. Zey must understand zey are not in charge.”
She gestured toward the stallion, who now lay whimpering. “Zis is only ze first step. He vill be challenged, tested. He must learn to follow orders, to trust humans, not demand from zem. In time, he vill be a good pet, not a danger. Zat is my job.”
Greta turned to Owen, a smirk playing on her lips. “You know, Owen, if you ever tire of all zees fluffies, you could run avay vis me huh?”
Owen chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, well, I think I’m pretty busy here, Greta. But I appreciate the offer.”
Greta let out a hearty laugh, patting Owen on the shoulder. “Ach, always ze polite one. Maybe one day.”
Keith walked up beside me, nodding toward the training area. “So, how are you liking the place so far? Met any fluffies you’re thinking about adopting yet?”
I exhaled, taking a moment to process everything. “Honestly, it’s been an unexpected but welcome whirlwind of behind-the-scenes action. I didn’t expect to see so much of the operations, but it’s been fascinating. And, well, all the fluffies have been cute and more or less pleasant.”
Keith grinned. "Good to hear. We’ll make sure you find the perfect one before you leave!’
End Part 1
