“Dis ams Smawty wand nao!”
The words every homeowner dreads to hear. Ever since the advent of fluffy ponies, fencing has become a major industry. Keeping out ferals, keeping yours in. Wherever reasonable, people put up walls. Was it a real problem? A little. The occasional fluffy family would find their way into a neglected shed, maybe under a porch. Desperate creatures yearning for a bit of respite. No malice, just wanting a better life for their tiny families.
The yard invasion was not one of those tales. Often led by a smarty driven mad, either by the pressure of keeping a group of idiot horses alive or the temptations that come with power, they were excuses to show off their leadership. They almost never went well for anyone involved.
Homeowners would take matters into their own hands, traumatizing themselves and any survivors. Carnage would break out in the yard, tens of fluffies dead with mangled bodies and a smell of blood on the hands that just wouldn’t go away.
The vast majority of smarties were good honest fluffies who wanted to live up to the fullest potential of “Huggies and Wub.” A well performing smarty would create so much joy around them that their little hearts could almost burst. It was a hard job, but seeing the joy of a prospering herd made it all worth it.
A good smarty would avoid humans whenever possible, usually taking their herd to secluded areas full of grasses and a lack of predators. Not hard to find in most of the States, the worst you’d have to contend with would be wild cats and birds picking off stray foals. Fluffies could eat just about anything and fasten simple shelters given enough time. So why bring a herd to the absurd danger of invading human land?
Was it because the enclosed yards were defensible positions? The allure of a well tended garden? More often than not the smarty never survived to explain their reasoning. The bad press made it nearly a death sentence for the poor domestic who proclaimed their desire to be a smarty. They were masters of bad PR.
And today Rick had the misfortune of dealing with one. A call came in about a yard invasion that was just announced. At least 15 adults, an unknown amount of babbehs. These jobs always got priority. A bad leader can get good fluffies to do heinous things, and the amount of property damage a misbehaved herd can do is impressive.
Rick pulled up to the driveway and stepped out of his van. “As if they were never there!” read the tagline. Today that’d be put up to the test. First things first, Rick had to find out how the fluffies got in. He circled around the outside of the fence checking for any disturbances in the grass that might indicate a loose board or a concealed hole. Bingo. A line of dirt and disturbed grass, indicating entry. It was unlucky. Had it been a hole he could have set up a trap but fences left things too obvious. He taped the board down, jostling it to make sure it was secure.
Next, any other possible means of exit. Anyone that escapes is going to be a problem for someone else in the future, so one more lookover around the fence is always a good idea. A loose bit of dirt he covered up with a spare plank of wood. He confirmed the fence was intact. The fluffies were now inside a trap of their own making.
It was time to observe. Figure out a plan of attack to make this go with the least amount of stress for everyone involved. He got a step stool, a pair of binoculars, a directional microphone and most importantly his lunch. Looking around the yard he spotted a few mares eating grass, some fluffies playing tag, and then he found his mark. A fluffy making an address to a small crowd. Bingo. He munched on his sandwich and listened.
“Heh heh heh. See dummehs? Smawty towds yu dat dis ams bestest ideas ebah. EBAH.” a large green stallion was gloating in front of the herd, “Habs aww da pwetty nummies ans gwassies hewd couwd wan. Nao aww yu bettah gib thankies ow get wowstest huwties!” The fluffy was cackling to itself as it showed a pair of trembling mares to the flower garden.
“Dese… dese ams vewwy pwetty…” a mare said nervously, “vewy good jobbies.”
“Yuh, vewy good…” the other said in wary agreement.
“Yous dummeh mawes nuh gon gets nummies.” The smarty said as she slapped them across the snouts, “Dummehs saids dis ams bads ideas? Den yu onwy eats gwassies!” The smarty thought for a moment and smiled, “Ans be gwads yu nuh hab tu noms poopies!”
“Huu… smeww pwace…” the first mare said as she rubbed her snout, “ams… thankies foh gwassies… yu ams bewwy goodeh smawty.”
The smarty paced back and forth, plotting out his next moves. He looked over the mares and changed his mind. “Bewwy goodeh? AMS BESTEST. Toughies, take dese dummehs ans get dem weady foh wowsest enfies. Smawty ams gonna fiww dis pwace wid smawty babbehs!”
The mares looked at each other in shock as the smarty’s toughies dragged them off to the other side of the yard, “Nuuu bad uppies! Nu wan nu waaaan. Screeee!”
The Smarty was rolling on the ground laughing hysterically as the mares were dragged off, weeping. Today was the best day of his life! He was living large, the herd was so impressed by their new home that they’d do anything he told them to. Not that they ever said no. Not until recently, at least.
Rick had seen enough to get a feel for the dynamics of the herd, no sense letting this drag out any longer. He went back to the van and got himself geared up. A pair of fishing waders to deal with any sorry poopies he’d face. Long dishwasher gloves, goggles, rope, treats, a net and a few nylon bags with mesh in case he needed to get anyone quickly restrained.
Finally, he got out the big gun. The sorry carrier. Metal box lined with foam padding for any particularly monstrous fluffies he’d come across. Completely pitch black inside, and the walls were adjustable to keep the fluffy inside from moving and hurting itself with flailing.
Rick charged in before anyone could even register what was happening, grabbing the smarty by the nape and throwing it into the carrier. He slammed the lid shut without a word and adjusted the walls. As soon as he felt resistance, he gave it another good turn of the crank and stopped.
The Smarty was in a state of shock. The fwuff just happened? One minute he was laughing his poopie place off at the top of the world and the next he’s in complete darkness. And… he can’t move. And… It’s cold. And… kind of scary.
“Hewp smawty! Hewp! Ams twapped!” The fluffy shrieked from inside his metal cage. But no sounds escaped. He was trapped in the dark in absolute silence. He screamed and screamed but none could hear him. He had never felt so alone.
“Well, there’s that taken care of. Next I should rescue those poor mares.” Rick thought to himself as he took a look around the yard. The herd had noticed him now, toughies were rushing over to attack, fluffies were crashing into each other in panic, scared poopies were flying. Pandemonium. It was going as expected.
“Wet smawty go dummeh! Get soww-” A toughie started to say as it reared up to shoot off a stream of feces before getting cut off. It was picked up and swiftly placed into a nylon bag. The toughie was already starting his attack and it was too late to stop. “Nuuuuuuuuuu huuuhuuu nuu wike”
Rick winced as he zipped up the bag, “That’s rough bud. I’ll rinse you off before we leave.”
The toughie was placed on the ground and cried, “nu pwetty nu pwetty! Fwuffy nu wiiiiiiike! Huuu huuu”
The other toughies in pursuit stopped. One skidded on the grass and face planted with many tears. Their leader and one of their own had been effortlessly taken care of and disposed. Their eyes bulged with fear, their limbs trembling with a terror so strong they could barely keep up straight. What could, what would they do?
Had this been a good smarty, these toughies would have the kind of morale to keep fighting to give the rest of the herd a chance to escape. Actual tough fluffies, willing to get hurt to protect. Maybe even go forever sleepies. These were just bullies playing pretend. Easy to disarm, but Rick still had to be careful. These cowards were prone to take hostages with tragic results.
He made his way over to where the two mares from before were getting roughed up, two toughies were beating on them just enough to break their spirits. Rick stood behind them and coughed. “Hello, I believe this is yours?”
Rick placed the sorry box on the ground and lifted up a view plate.
The smarty was sobbing and crying, trapped in what felt like an eternity of darkness when a blinding light pierced through. “Toughies!” he said as his eyes adjusted and focused on his goons, “Sabe smawty! Wight nao! Nao nao nao!”
Rick watched the smarty with a bemused grin. The little jerk wasn’t in any danger but a little bit of turmoil was the least he deserved. The two toughies broke away from the mares and attempted to free their leader, kicking and pooping on the box. Neither had any effect.
While they were busy fighting a metal box, Rick scooped them up and placed them into bags of their own. Four fluffies down, the leadership of the herd broken and their ‘defenders’ mostly neutralized. He’d leave them here for now, they weren’t going anywhere.
Crouching down and taking some candies from his tool belt he spoke softly to the terrified mares, “Hey there. It’s all right, I’m Rick and I’m here to take you to a safe place with all the good nummies you could want. Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you anymore. See?”
The mares looked over to their tormentors attempting to break free from their nylon cages and their would be rapist trapped behind an invisible wall, screaming soundlessly in frustration. “Th-thankies mistuh Wick. Ams… ams…” the mare started wailing, “Ams su happies thankies! Thankies thankies thankies!” She tried to waddle over but the bruises and injuries caused her to stumble over.
“Hey, take it easy ok? We’re in no rush. Can I pick you up, miss? And do you have a name?”
“Yuh! Namesie ams Cwoudy cuz ams cowow wike cwoud!”
“Makes sense to me.” Rick said as he picked up the mare who was giggling and squealing in delight. Definitely born feral, looked a bit underweight and from what he could tell her teeth were a bit of a mess. Her wounds weren’t too bad, nothing they couldn’t fix at the shelter and nothing of immediate concern.
“And can I get you too, little lady?” Rick asked the other mare.
“Yuh. Ams Webecca.” she said matter of factly. Definitely a domestic. He’d have to make sure to check for any chips when he got to the van. Rick picked her up and noted that she was starting to lose some weight but was still plump. She must have recently joined the herd.
“I’m going to take you two to a nice place with food and toys, all you have to do is promise to behave, okay?” Rick said as he made his way back to his van. He spotted a pair of fluffies trying to escape back through the loose fence out of the corner of his eye. Good luck with that, guys.
“Dummeh waww wet out!” The fluffies cried in frustration.
“Toysies!? Neba hab toysies befowe!” Cwoudy said in astonishment.
“Webecca wiww shows hao tu pway, nu wowwy fwen.” Rebecca said, recovering a state of dignity that the mare had not felt in some time, “Ams bestet at bwockies.”
Rick smiled as he opened the back of the van. Fluffies were timid, weak little things but they could bounce back from just about anything with a bit of affection. He watched as the mare’s jaws dropped at his mobile safe room, “Now help yourself to any of the toys and food you want, girls. I’ve got to gather up the rest of your herd and we’ll get you to a nice new nestie even better than this.”
“Waooooow” The mares said in unison. They were still pondering what to do first when Rick put up a baby gate at the exit and shut the door. Those two were definitely going to the nicer parts of the shelter, good temperaments both. The smarty and his cronies? Where they were going wasn’t nearly as nice. Re-education was a painstaking process but it’s not like the little jerks don’t deserve a bit of what they gave out. Still, even the worst parts of the shelter were miles ahead of the average accommodations a fluffy could expect.
He made his way back to where he left the smarty and his bagged toughies. Bringing them all to the center of the yard he yelled out, “I’ve got your smarty and most of your toughies. There’s nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. This land isn’t the smarty’s land anymore, it belongs to me and I want you all to join my herd.”
The fluffies murmured to themselves from their hiding spots in the grass which mostly amounted to them lying down and trying not to be noticed. Given that most of them were primary colors, it wasn’t particularly effective.
“My herd’ll get toys and huggies AND wub.” He declared authoritatively.
“Toysies, huggies, AND wub? Weww, fwuffy ams sowd.”
“Wan huggies!”
“Now, before we can get our toys and hugs we need to point out who the toughies are so I can make sure they can’t hurt anyone. Can you all point out the toughies for me?”
A fluffy started to look nervous and made a run for it, careening towards the taped up board. Little guy could really move, which was unfortunate as he slammed face first into the plank of wood. “SCREEEE! NU FAWE!” it screamed as its nose bled from the impact. He didn’t have long to complain as he was promptly scooped up and placed in a bag.
“Any other toughies?” Rick asked as he gathered up the sacks of begging and crying bullies, “Good. Now make sure you gather up all the babbehs. And I mean all of them. We have a new nestie with all the toys but everyone needs to go. If you have any monster or poopie babbehs, we need them too or else we won’t get all the toys.”
“Mummah undastans, wiww get aww da babbehs!” A mare said as she ran off towards a bush. The rest of the fluffies meandered off, checking around for any missing babies. One lifted up a small rock and looked under, asking if any babbehs were there.
“Pwease wet out! Ams good fwuffy!” Cried a toughy from the bags.
“I really doubt that, friend. But don’t worry, you’re not in any real danger. Will be an unpleasant ride for you guys though.” Rick carried the toughies back to the van and opened the middle compartment where he had kennels set up to store problem fluffies. One by one he filled up the slots with the bagged fluffs and one by one their pleas were muffled out by thick foam lined doors.
He sighed as he closed the van back up. That toughie was honestly probably telling the truth. Most are too timid or unimaginative to do anything but follow orders and the fluffy likely thought he was doing everything for the good of the herd. They’ll be shown how wrong the things they’ve done were after the shelter gets the herd’s story sorted out, made to apologize and then most will be let into the general population after getting a vasectomy.
Walking back over to the sorry box and the captured smarty he made sure to remind the fluffies that he needed every babbeh and every fluffy in the herd. He picked up the case and turned the opening to face him. The smarty snarled with fury.
Rick could only laugh. Little hellion had spunk, at the very least. Probably not for long, these ones don’t get to keep their lumps, too much testosterone. He tapped on the plexiglass a few times and shut the lid, throwing the bad smarty back into absolute isolation. Technically speaking it was a kind of torture but the little asshole deserved it. Most people would put him down immediately after verifying he was a bad smarty, and Rick couldn’t blame them. They were vile things that corrupted the fluffies around them.
Still, killing fluffies wasn’t his thing and if the smarty was beyond saving he’d leave that call to the professionals at the shelter. He loaded the sorry carrier into the car and secured it, stopping a moment to check in on the mares in the safe room.
“Hewwo mistah Wick! Ams pway baww!” Cloudy said with a renewed light in her eyes.
“Glad to hear it. Getting the rest of your herd too, minus those meanies. Don’t worry, nobody’ll be hurting you folks again.”
“…Otay.” Cloudy said, unconvinced. She went back to playing ball with Rebecca but her shoulders drooped along with her mood.
Rick bit his lip and nodded. He’d have to keep a close eye on the monitor camera on the drive over to the shelter. He didn’t want to restrain any fluffies he didn’t have to but he got the impression that the bullying problem had gotten deeper than just the toughies. He opened the middle of the van again to the acrid smell of fear and feces.
“Huuu wet go wet go!” cried a toughie.
“Ams gud! Huuu pweas mummah sabe fwuffy” pleaded another.
Rick ignored them as best he could. He’d love to let them out of the bags but they couldn’t be trusted right now. Instead, he took out a large pet carrier with plenty of openings to let light in. He shut the door without a word.
Rick headed back to the lawn and did a head count. 12 adults and quite a few babbehs of various stages. With the two in the safe room and 6 in the middle compartment he had a decent sized herd corralled. “Is this all the fluffies in your herd? I’ll know if it isn’t real soon.”
“Ams aww da fwuffies, can habs toysies nao? Babbehs nee bestest toysies.” said a mare with peeping chirpies on her back, “Gib toysies.”
Rick rolled his eyes and took a closer look at the chirpies. A few ‘lesser’ colors near the rear of the mummah. They were probably telling the truth. He’d do a look over while cleaning up the mess but was fairly confident he got them all.
“Ok. I’m going to bring you in a few at a time, there’s plenty for everyone so behave.” He placed the carrier on the ground and opened the front gate, “You can go first, mummah.”
The mare looked suspiciously at the pet crate, “Dis ams sowwy box. Nu wan.”
“No, no. See? Plenty of light and room for you to move. This is a good uppies box.”
The mare looked between Rick and the box, back and forth contemplating. She looked back at the blocked entrance to the yard. She looked back at Rick. She bolted.
“SCREEEEE! AMS TWICK! WUN!” she screamed as she ran as fast as her little legs could take her. Rick sighed and caught her by the rib cage. Can’t take a risk with the chirpies. “Nuuu! Hewp! Sabe mummah!”
“Not a trick, you silly mare.”
She screeched and squirmed to escape with her babbehs hanging on for dear life. Too dangerous. Rick immediately put her in the crate. This was definitely a problem herd.
The rest of the fluffies looked at Rick with renewed terror. “Munstah!”
Taking a deep breath Rick carefully herded them to the corner of the yard and put up a barricade made of plastic tent poles and part of a tennis net.
“Nuuuuu ams twapped! Nu wan fohebah sweepies! Huuuuuuhuuu”
The fluffies were crying and doing the usual things fluffies do when terrified out of their little minds. These ones would have to wait.
“Mummah, take some deep breaths.” Rick said to the pet carrier, “You need to calm down or else you won’t get any toys.”
The screaming mare immediately changed her tune at the mention of toys, “Oh wite! Toysies foh babbehs. Wan. Wan Nao.”
Rick would have to take what he can get. He picked up the crate and hefted it back to his van. Big decision time. Would he separate the chirpies from the mare to keep them safe? Would the mare behave?
He opened the back of the van and placed the carrier on the inside of the safe room. “DUMMEH MAWES!? DESE AMS WOWEST DUMMEH MAWES GIB WO-”
Rick plucked the crate up, cutting off the mummah. Question answered. The mares looked up to him with a tired look in their eyes.
“Sorry girls, didn’t expect her to freak out like that. Give me one moment.”
Rick opened the top of the carrier and started plucking out chirpies. The little fluffies clung to his hand trying to give hugs as best their little limbs could. Some good babies. A few colors that didn’t line up with the mare. Curious.
“Dose ams mummahs babbehs! NU TAKE BABBEHS!”
The mare tried to hide the remaining chirpies under her fluff which put them at risk of asphyxiation. Rick tilted the box and plucked the remaining chirpies out before the mare could reorient herself.
“Cloudy, Rebecca, mind watching these babies for me?” Rick asked as he placed them one at a time in the safe room.
Cloudy began bawling, “Dese… dese am cwoudies babbehs! Huuuhuuu ams suu happies.”
Jesus christ. This really was a problem herd. “Taking that as a yes then. Thank you.” Rick shut the door and let Cloudy get reacquainted with her family. He opened up a nylon bag and rolled the apparent baby thief into the sack.
“So you’re the real babbeh thief, huh.” Rick said as he lifted the mare up to look him in the eyes.
“HMPH. Dose dummeh mawes nuh desebe babbehs. Dey mummah babbehs nao.”
Rick was sure there was some great and tragic tale about how things got to this state of affairs but honestly he didn’t care at this point. He placed her in the middle with the crying toughies and went back to the herd proper.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can join my herd and get toys and nummies, or try to run and get trapped with the toughies and smarty.”
“Wiww… wiww join hewd…” the fluffies said, the attempts to escape wearing them down. Rick eyed them suspiciously and nodded. This time they were telling the truth. “Oh, and if I catch any of you being mean to Cloudy and Rebecca I’m tossing you in with the smarty.”
The fluffies groaned but filed into the carrier. It took 6 trips but the whole herd was in custody. Rick started the clean up process. Removing his barricades, picking up feces, marking any damaged areas. It was a bit of an endeavor but he was making good progress.
A cry from the bushes told him he wasn’t out of the woods yet, “Hewwo? Pwease nu weab enfie mawe… nu wan be awone…”
Rick had to stop himself from facepalming with his shit covered gloves. Really? This too? He washed off his gloves and took a look inside the bush. Sure enough a heavily abused brown colored mare with broken legs was cowering inside.
“Hey there girl, I’m here to save you.” Rick as he took in her injuries, “You… you’ll get to ride with me and we’ll go to a nice place to help your hurties.”
The mare looked up at him with pleading eyes full of tears, “W-weawwy? Yu sabe wowstest fwuffy? Huuhuu nu wun ebah wan hewp wowstest enfie mawe…”
Rick felt tears welling up in his own eyes. Such a pathetic little thing, probably hurt since the day she was born. He carefully lifted her out of the bush and wrapped her in a towel. She whimpered, the movement hurting her mangled limbs.
“It’s ok. I’ve got you.” Rick stopped what he was doing and took her to the front of the van. He got out a soft blankie and placed her on the passenger’s seat. She wasn’t going anywhere. He offered a sketti treat which she devoured hungerly. Malnourished. Probably forced to eat feces. He never got why they do that. Likely never would.
“Thankies nicest mistah! Pweas be nyu daddeh?”
Rick ruffled her mane and shook his head, “No can do, sweetpea, but I’ll make sure you get yourself a good mummah or daddeh. Promise.”
“…Otay.”
Back to cleaning up, Rick kept finding “ugly” colored chirpies discarded around the yard. The fluffies had tried to trick him by taking a few to seem like they had listened to him. He had half a mind to take the chirpies to the safe room and sack everyone but Cloudy and Rebecca but he was out of room in the middle compartment. These chirpies would have to join the mare in the front until they got to the shelter.
“Hell of a job, this one.” Rick said to himself as he finished up his closing checklist. Monster smarty had corrupted nearly the whole herd into selfish little bastards. Most of them could be saved through a bit of effort, but those that couldn’t would wind up isolated in their own cells. Well cared for but alone, a miserable fate for a fluffy.
Still, The babies, the two mares, and the poor enfie mare were all saved because of him. And everyone avoided death from the homeowner taking matters into his own hands. It was an annoying and upsetting day, but Rick was proud of what he had done here. He hopped into the driver’s seat, gave the enfie mare’s fluff a ruffle and drove off to the shelter. What happened next was beyond his control, but he kept an ear to the ground.
The enfie mare, who had taken the name Sweetpea, made a miraculous recovery and got adopted out quickly. One of the more ironic things about shelters is that the more abused you were, the more likely you are to get brought home. People love a tragic story.
Cloudy stayed at the shelter until all her babies were adopted out. She had tearful goodbyes, her heart full of joy that she got to see her babies grow up and go to loving homes. She wound up working as a foster mummah for orphaned foals for the rest of her life.
Rebecca turned out to be a runaway, as suspected. Her family was ecstatic to bring her back home. Apparently Rebecca had wandered off on a shopping trip and fell in with one of the worst crowds imaginable.
The babbeh thieving mare was put in with other babbeh crazy mummahs. She had apparently lost her litter and wound up sterile from complications. She wasn’t allowed any babbehs, but she made do with a convincing stuffy double.
On the whole, the herd was rehabilitated. Shown why what they were doing was wrong, made to offer penance and apologies to the fluffies they hurt. The toughies were kept separate from the general population but allowed to remain together. A few even got adopted out from families wanting a larger, dumber fluff.
The Smarty refused to change and wound up as part of a scared straight program. Unruly fluffies would be shown just what their actions would lead to, a miserable angry ball of hate and anger. The fluffy had all the food and warmth it could ever want, but none of the love and admiration it desired. A golden cage he would live out the rest of his days in.
nice to see I’m on the same page as one of my favorite creators in the fluffy space 