Douglas made a note to pick up some more Earl Grey.
The big man carefully prepared himself another mug of tea; stirring in the sugar and adding a hint of milk, just the way his mom taught him. Sure, it wasn’t fancy, but it was what she taught him, and Douglas loved what his mom taught him, and her as well.
His smile faded. The thought of her reminded him, once again, he couldn’t tell her about his business. She was very…critical of fluffies; viewed them as bothers. He assumed it wouldn’t sit well with her that one of her sons made his living off training fluffies. Maybe when he made that big score, he could convince her it was worthwhile but, until then…he learned to deflect her questions about his job. Hurt a bit, but it had to be done.
In the meantime, his thoughts wandered to the fluffies he kept outside. The latest batch of trained foals got sent off weeks ago, and thus he made two of the outside ones breed to hopefully replenish the count. The knocked-up mare was already in the saferoom, and she was colorfully informed what would happen if she killed any of her foals when they were born or, God forbid, showed Bitch Mare Syndrome. While it was a bitch to work out, it could be. Just often at the expense of the mare’s happiness…and legs.
Still, maybe he could go “recruiting”. Last he checked, there were only six outside fluffies left. Used to be nine, but a few more decided to try having “special huggies” while he was away, and instead of tormenting them mentally, like whats-her-face, he opted to just kick them both to death. Shame too, they had good colors.
Douglas pulled the spoon from his tea and took a testing sip. A smile crept along his face and he sat down at his table, ready to enjoy his breakfast of some eggs and toast.
Guess it was time to make some new friends and see who made the cut.
The shelter reeked of fluffy piss.
Douglas had to steel himself as he stepped into the small, clearly overcrowded shelter. All along the walls were cages, large enough for a fluffy to move around in, yet small enough to deny them the freedom their insipid little hearts longed for. Each cage was filled with a fluffy and, at a glance, he could tell which were ferals and which were domestics. Some were even with their foals, evident by a mare on her side, feeding her brood.
All the same, Douglas approached the front desk where a tired, shriveled old woman sat. “You here to adopt?” She asked, without looking up from her paperwork. “If so, I’m legally obligated to inform you that, in a few days, the shelter is changing its policy on ferals.” The way she said that made it clear she was just reciting something.
“I am, yeah. Fact, where are your problematic fluffies?”
She finally looked up. One of her brows raised as she sized him up, curling her lips into a tight scowl. “Why? You’re not…”
“I’m not an abuser, no.” He corrected. “You want the short version, or the long version?”
“Gimme the long. Anything to get outta paperwork.”
“I run a farm where I train fluffies; I take crappy ones and train out all the bad stuff about ‘em: demands for ‘sketti’, constant begging, shitting as a defense. Stuff like that. I try to source from Fluff-Mart rejects and shelter fluffies but, sometimes, I grab ferals and use them too.”
“Hah,” She snickered. “Training out the shitty parts of owning a fluffy…sounds too good to be true.”
“Sometimes, the best things in life are.” Douglas shrugged. “But it’s my business, and it’s worked for about a year. Even if I can’t train them, I can at least get a good colored one to get good, trained foals. People pay a lotta money for foals that come pre-trained.”
“Shit, I would. My grandkids would love that. Anyhow, take your pick. Try to ignore them. They already know if they try and shit at someone it’s an instant euthanatizing.” Douglas nodded and browsed the wall of captive, somber fluffies. Immediately, he could tell most of them were ferals and had poor colors. Made sense; brighter colored fluffies were seen easier in the city and were killed off early. Yet, despite that, mares continued to favor them over their puke green or shit brown foals, then wail in despair when their brood was slaughtered by a bored cat or a pack of hungry dogs.
Or, as he saw one time, a hawk. He didn’t even know hawks hunted in the city. Cute bird, though. Made him wish he could afford falconry…one day.
He came to a stop at one of the cages. Inside was a well-maintained, burgundy colored mare. Her mane was a copper orange color and, nursing from her crotchtits, were five foals. Each was, surprisingly, a good color: baby blue, electric green, sunny yellow, zebra striped, and maroon. They all had their eyes open, too, so they had to be at least a week old. If anything, they were at the perfect age for his program.
“Heyo, what’s with this one?” He called to the lady. She rose from her chair with a grunt and sauntered over, taking one look at the mare and grimacing.
“She’s yet another domestic who ran away to have foals behind her owner’s back. I didn’t catch the full story, but the highlights I did catch was that she caused quite the mess in his house for retaliation, then snuck out while he was at work. That was around a month ago; we picked her and her brood up out behind a grocery store and, after giving her an alright bill of health, called her owner. He told us to colorfully terminate her. Seems she broke some expensive stuff before she left.”
Douglas scoffed. “And what’s she think?”
“She says she’s forgiven her ‘dummy daddy’ for leaving her here so long and is waiting on him. Seems like she was spoiled a bit before she got the baby itch.” Douglas couldn’t stand spoiled fluffies; they were a step below smarties for him. Overall, the mare seemed like a shitbrain, but she had alright colors, and her foals had good colors. He wasn’t sure if she told them stories about her domestic life, but they could probably be used for the program. And, if not, they could at least be the guinea pigs for a new idea.
“I’ll take her. Any paperwork I need to sign?”
“Nah. Lemme grab you a carrier. Shelter’s got a lotta ‘em ever since we converted from an animal shelter to a fluffy shelter.”
Douglas scowled at that. “Did the original animals here find good homes?”
“Yep. We didn’t really have many animals to begin with, about eight dogs and two cats, but most of the dogs got adopted to be used as guard dogs and cats for companions.” Douglas’ scowl faded. That was good to hear. Regular animals were to be protected and cherished; almost made him wish he could adopt a big goofy German Shephard. The thought brought a smile to his face, though that quickly faded when he watched the old lady return and, with quick hands, take the mares foals and drop them into the carrier.
“Scawy dawk!”
“Nu wike!”
“Mummah! Sab bestest babbeh!”
The cries, naturally, rose the mare from her sleep and set her into a panicked state. “Whewe babbehs? nu take babbehs!” She wailed. “Daddeh nee tu see dem! see dat peach gud mummah!”
The old lady was about to bark something at her. Douglas saw an opportunity. “I’m taking you to your daddy’s house.” He cut in. “We’re good friends, so I’m gonna take y’all straight there, alright?” The mare’s fear evaporated in an instant and she basically tossed herself into the carrier, much to the lady’s relief.
“Do whatever with her. Honestly, it’s either your weird farm or an abuser for her. No one’s gonna want a mare like her.”
“It’s one reason I pick up unwanteds.” Douglas gently grabbed the carrier from the old lady and started for the door. He was almost excited to try out his new project, enough to let him tune out the mare’s relentless barrage of questions and pleas to be let out the carrier.
Honestly, the carrier was as good as it got for her. She wasn’t gonna enjoy the barn.
“And…here we are.” Douglas opened the pet carrier inside the barn. The mare, cautiously, stepped out, with her babies following suit, glancing about with clear confusion and skepticism over the old barn they were in. The other fluffies were in their nesting areas, though they already approached the mare, eager to see the new arrival and make friends with her, something she eagerly responded to. Douglas already heard her talking about her owner and that she was just there so he could find her. So, he took that chance to, with a swoop of the arm, shove the foals back in the carrier and seal it, ignoring their cries as he stood. Their mother was too occupied talking to the others that she didn’t even notice him leave the barn, not even when he sealed the door and left her inside with the others. He gave it about ten to fifteen minutes before she caught on and realized what was happening, but…fluffies weren’t known for being smart.
All the same, with the screaming, crying foals, Douglas made his way inside and, first, stopped in the kitchen to grab a tin from the fridge before stepping into the saferoom. With a flick of the fingers he undid the latches to the carrier’s gate and the foals came tumbling out, complaining about their fall and crying for their mother still.
“Mary, don’t bother with these ones yet.” He looked over to the nurse-fluff who, at the time, was nearby the pregnant, grape colored mare, awaiting the moment she popped. “But…please ignore what’s about to happen next, ‘kay?”
“Mawy undewstand.” With that, she resumed her task and Douglas waited for the crying foals to…well stop. Needed to make sure the test would work in the first place. A quick examination of all five of them told him that the maroon, baby blue, and zebra-striped were colts and the electric green and sunny yellow were fillies. It also told him they had a semblance of teeth growing in, which meant they could eat soft foods.
Good.
“So, has your mother told you five about ‘sketti’?” They exploded into excited babbles and rambles about it. Seems she did more than simply tell them about it. Meant the next part would be simple.
With that, Douglas set down a plastic tin of the stuff, taken from a microwave meal he forgot to finish eating. Now, it was going to be used for a rather cruel test. As predicted, the foals went ballistic, yet when the maroon one waddled towards it he snatched the tin up and out of their reach. “Wha? why nu sketties fo’ bestes’ babbeh?” He complained.
“Because I need to explain the game first.” He was gonna fix that ‘bestest babbeh’ shit soon. Later, though. “This is some ‘sketti’. You can eat it if you want, but if you do, I give you forever sleepies.” That took the wind out their sails in an instant. Four of the foals turned the waterworks back on, but the maroon one puffed his cheeks at Douglas.
“Nu! Nu wan game! Wan mummah! A-And sketties! A-An toy—” Douglas enclosed his hand around the colt’s head and, with a crunch, ended him. The foal’s body hit the ground, spraying a jet of liquid shit out to stain the ground, prompting the other four to screech and scream in utter terror over their sibling being killed.
“So, now that you know I’m not playing,” He set the tin back down. “Eat and you end up like your brother. In five minutes, you can go for it.” The foals huddled against one another, staring at the tin and silently sobbing. Douglas took a step back and rested against the wall, staring down at them as he entered some stuff into his phone, setting the time. It was a cruel test, but one that needed to be tested; could fluffies learn restraint? It was a simple thing to learn for animals, yeah, but fluffies weren’t animals. To them, restraint was a myth, and they should be given all the “sketties” and other inane shit they begged for or demanded. From the things he read online, most owners disciplined their fluffies severely if they did this, but if they knew restraint from the beginning, they’d never even need a sorry stick.
Of course, he had his doubts it would work. It was why he was testing on foals that, honestly, were probably worthless anyhow, primarily because of the fact their mother probably filled their heads with drivel about her home and what would be theirs when her owner came for her. The maroon one was, at least, considering the little bastard was already showing signs of Smarty Syndrome. Thus, a quick end.
“Nu! nu num sketties!” He glanced up. The baby blue one was trying to pin down his electric green sister, to try and stop her from approaching the tin. The zebra-colored one stayed right where he was and sucked his hoof while the sunny yellow one continued to sob. “Munsta daddeh wiww gib babbeh foweba sweepies if 'ou num dah sketties!” Douglas was surprised. He wasn’t expecting one to actively try and stop his siblings from marching to their doom, yet all the same, the electric green filly managed to shove him off and waddle towards the tin.
“Am hab tummy owwies, bwuddah! babbeh nee nummies!” She cried back at him, and dunked her head into the tin, sealing her fate. Douglas sighed and walked over to her, and with a snatch he scooped her up and CHUCKED her into the wall. Her bloodcurdling screech blotted out the sounds of snapped bones and ruptured organs as the filly fell to the floor in a bloody, crippled, dying heap. She cried and cried, even dipping into chirps, but ultimately went still, and was gone.
“Munsta daddeh gib sissy foweba sweepies! why?! why gib sissy foweba sweepies!?” The sunny yellow one screeched at him, stomping her hoof as she quickly broke down into sobbing, no doubt having a tantrum induced from crippling fear. “Babbehs am fo’ wub an’—”
“I told her what was gonna happen, yet she didn’t listen. So, she went the same way as her brother. Not my fault she refused to listen.” The sunny filly said nothing else and continued to cry, all while the baby blue colt stared at the tin with what he could only figure to be resentment, yet longing. And, lastly, the zebra-stripped one continued to suck on his hoof and chirp as well. Douglas hoped he wasn’t regressing; that was usually a sign that they were approaching the “wan die” loop, or essentially becoming braindead and, therefore, worthless. It never happened to him before, no, but he knew it could happen when a fluffy’s denied love by its owner. Happened to his cousin’s when he refused to spend time with it, because of work.
Still, the foals weren’t going near the tin, and their sobs had, for the most part, quieted down. They had two minutes left on the clock. Douglas pocketed his phone and stepped out the saferoom. He needed to take a piss and, with it, him being gone would test another phase to his plan; would fluffies continue to show the intended behavior even when eyes weren’t on them.
So, he quickly stepped into the bathroom and did his business. A hand-washing later and he approached the saferoom once more.
“Nu! nu num sketti!” He faintly heard. Douglas poked his head around the corner and caught the sunny yellow one right in the act, with spaghetti sauce coating her chin and her brother on the ground, rubbing his head. She probably knocked him out the way when he refused to let her by, and thus sealed her fate.
When the filly saw him, she screamed and let out a torrent of shit on the ground. Douglas said nothing and snatched her up, wrapping his hand around her torso and squeezing. Hard. He felt each rib snap against his palm like toothpicks and every bone shatter into bits, and with a bloody gurgle her innards spilled from her mouth, and the filly was gone. Douglas unceremoniously dropped the corpse and shook his hand off, trying to ignore the bits of blood, bile, and fecal mater that clung to it…glad he didn’t have any open wounds. Was still a shame to kill her, but it had to be done.
The gristly deed left the baby blue foal, who was sobbing uncontrollably, and the zebra-striped one who…was still making chirping noises. And didn’t even seem to be looking in the right direction. “Fuck…did I…?” He scooped the foal up and a quick look confirmed his suspicions; the fucker was too far gone. He regressed to the point where he believed himself to be a mere chirpie, which meant any higher brain activity he had, which was already pretty low for fluffies, was gone. So, with an annoyed sigh, Douglas wrung the foal’s neck and ended its ruined life.
“Well, you won,” He looked down at the colt who continued to weep for his dead siblings. Douglas shook his soiled hand off again and stepped over the fence to the saferoom. “the food’s yours. Mary, show him the ropes. Let’s see if I can salvage something from him.” Truth be told, the test was a bit unnecessary, and even a little wasteful. Those foals had some alright colors, especially the zebra-colored one, but the well was already poisoned. The mare told them about her life and all the things they were “entitled” to. Made him wonder if he could administer another test; make foals associate their “loves” with pain, like spiking their spaghetti with hot sauce or something like that. He didn’t have any ideas, but maybe some abuser forums would. He didn’t enjoy visiting those, though; sure, they were creative, but they often wasted a lot of good-colored fluffies for shits and giggles. They could at least do that shit to the unwanted ones…
…then again, if they did that, that’d cut right into his business. Life was weird like that.
[I lost some of my steam for this near the end. On one hand, I like this story series, but on the other, I don’t want it to run on long enough to become boring to readers, so those two forces tend to fight against one another. I dunno, let’s hear what the readers say about the story and the main char. Don’t want him to come off as a cunt.
So, thanks for reading, and I’ll see what I can make next. Might do an exterminator story. Don’t see too many of those on the site, for some reason…]