Hack, kaff, cough"
A tiny talkie babbeh was alone on a cold metal table. Its lungs burned. Breathing was hard. “H-hewwo? -kaff- Anee won hewe? Babbeh ams scawed…” It wanted to get up off the ground but found itself too weak to rise up. “Pwease hewp… nu can bweathies…”
Dr Lao Huang looked into the examination room and sighed wearily. Times like these were the worst part of the job. A babbeh getting cancer feels like a sick joke. Aware enough to know something is wrong and to plead for help, but too dim to really get what’s going on.
The shelter he worked at, Green Meadows, could work miracles. Legs? Wounds? Trauma? He had that easy. But cancer was still something that eluded him. Fluffies were prone to it more than natural animals, and by the time they caught on to something being wrong it was often too late to do anything.
He took a deep breath and put on a brave face.
The big door crept open and a mister came into the room. He looked sad. “H-haff… hewwo nyu mistah. Whewe ams babbeh?”
The mister smiled faintly and moved closer to the babbeh, “You’re in the fluffy hospital. You have… worstest sickies.”
Babbeh stopped and considered for a moment. Babbeh did feel very ill. “Wiww mis -cough- mistah hewp babbeh?”
“There’s not much we can do for you except make you comfortable before you go off to skettiland.” A white lie. As far as he knew there was nothing after this.
“Oh… can babbeh wun an pway den?” babbeh asked as tears began to well up in its eyes.
“You can run and play as much as you want, little guy.”
“Dats… dats -cough- goodie. Huuu huuu huu” the babbeh was bawling now, “Nuh wan sweepies… -kaff kaff- buh no wan huwties…”
Huang brushed the fluffy’s tiny mane with his finger.
The fluffy sniffled and reached up to hug the finger itghtly, “Wiww… wiww nice mistuh be nyu daddeh? Neba hab daddeh…”
“…”
“Sure.”
The babbeh hacked and coughed violently as a bright smile came over it, “W-wub daddeh. Ams su happies.”
Dr Huang took a vial of morphine from his pocket, “This will make you feel happy and make the hurt go away, but you might feel a little owie.”
“Otay daddeh. W-wub yu.”
Huang rubbed his chin, “You know what, you never got a name did you.”
The foal sniffled, “Neba hab namesies… tuu widdwe…”
“You have one now, Leon.”
The foal gasped which only made it cough more, “Daddeh ans namesies… bestest bwite time ebah…” Tears ran down its little snout as it looked lovingly up at Dr Huang, “Bab- Weon… nu wan sweepies buh… Weon ams suh sickies…”
“Weon ams wedy. Wub daddeh su muches, su manee heart happies.”
Dr Huang filled a syringe with morphine and injected Leon in the rear.
The foal’s eyes drooped. He giggled, “Weon ams suuuu sweepies an feew siwwy -kaff kaff- nee… sweepies… nao…” Leon fell asleep on the table, never to wake again. He died happy, with a Daddeh and a name, free from pain and full of love.
As sad, as it is, to see you go too soon. The positive of this somber situation is you are free from the chains of earthly bondage. Rest easy sweet prince. No more pain, no more sickness, no more hurties. You’re in the big pasta pot in the sky now.