Margaret was lamenting her rashness in dealing with Bumbler. As he was the only horned fluffy she had, she needed to make the holes for planting the seeds herself. She hoped that the red unicorn colt, who she had named Cider, would shape up as a good planter, but he had yet to even open his eyes. According to the book, it would take him about three days before opening his eyes, then two more before he reached the point most foals began talking.
On the bright side, Bumbler had proven to be a different fluffy after Margaret had disciplined him, any of his occasional outbursts instantly quelled at the mere mention of the pecan tree. The other fluffies seemed to have forgiven him, allowing him to join the fluffpile, albeit on the outskirts of the pile. While he seemed somewhat bitter, he also appeared to have accepted his new place in the herd, which Margaret took no end of enjoyment from.
With the plowing finished enough to begin planting, Margaret had decided on radishes, as they grew very fast and would be a good way to instill a message about the fruits of labor. She had stayed up late wrapping the tiny seeds in pieces of tissue paper so as to allow the fluffies to plant the seeds themselves without swallowing them on accident.
Walking outside, Margaret saw the fluffies engaged in a game of ball. She stayed quiet, attempting to understand the rules of the game, if there were any. As she watched, it became pretty clear that this was much less of a competitive game than she had thought. As soon as a fluffy reached the ball, they would turn around and kick it as hard as possible using their back legs, sending the light foam ball bouncing to the other end of the garden, the rest of the fluffies chasing the ball for the privilege of kicking it the other way.
Margaret stood watching the herd for about five minutes before a familiar tune assailed her ears. “That little bitch” Margaret muttered under her breath. Quietly setting the small bucket full of paper wrapped seeds on the deck, she crept over to the side she heard the singing coming from.
“Bestest, bestest, babbeh am da bestest, aww da othah babbehs am not as pwetty ow smartie as da bestest!” Margaret scowled at the horrible song. Looking over the railing, Punky was lavishing attention on the black and pink filly foal, which Margaret had named Candy, while her others peeped and chirped at her, kneading her legs in an attempt to get some attention from the mare. Margaret’s scowl deepened. While Punky would feed all the foals when it was time, she would only ever pay attention to Candy.
“Goddammit Punky EVERYTIME.” The mare jumped in shock, dropping her foal to the ground, screeing in terror and dropping a load of ‘scaredy poopies’ directly onto the rest of her foals. Margaret sighed. It looked like another round of baths was in order. Swiftly grabbing the mare by the mane, she raised her to eye level. “Punky, what are the rules about bestest babies?” Punky stared back defiantly. “Dewe awe no bestest babbehs.” Margaret smiled mockingly. “That’s right! So tell me,” the smile dropping from her face to be replaced by an angry glare, “Why do you only ever sing the ‘bestest babbeh’ song?”
Punky was silent for a moment, obviously attempting to cook up a lie. “Fwuffy no know othah mummah songs.” Margaret felt a vein in her forehead begin to bulge. “Really? And why do you never pay any attention to a baby besides Candy?” Punky turned her eyes away from the glare of the old woman. “Fwuffy pay attenshun to othah babbehs when owd munst- mummah is awound.”
Margaret was furious. A little bit about how she was lying, but she had known that Punky was never going to be honest. She was furious about her answers, as they held enough plausibility that she couldn’t punish the fluffy for them. She desperately wanted Clementine and Scarlet to know that they could feel safe and secure that as long as they behaved.
Looking down, Margaret suppressed a grin. “Okay, Punky, I believe you.” The fluffy looked surprised at first, a look that then morphed into a smug smile. “It am da twuth.” Margaret nodded soberly. “But you still made poopies outside of the litter box dear. As this is the second day in a row you’ve done this, normally I would put you in the sorry box,” Punky’s smug smile was replaced fear. Margaret grinned. “But seeing as you have to clean your babies, I’ll let you off.”
Setting the mare down, she pulled the three foals out of the pile of shit and placed them down in front of Punky. “Clean them up please dearie, im sure they don’t like smelling like poopies.” Punky’s look of relief quickly turned to one of horror. “Buh dem am no smeww pwetty poopie babbehs!” Bending down to her level, Margaret looked at her impassively. “I don’t care, if they aren’t clean by the time I get back her, it’s the sorry stick, THEN the sorry box.”
Punky began to desperately clean the foals, their chirps of distress turning to coos of happiness as they finally received the maternal attention they so desperately craved. Punky muttered comments under her breath about how it tasted “Not pwetty” as Margaret walked to the deck, picking up a shovel.
Margaret walked slowly to pick up the poop, making sure to give each foal enough time to get fully cleaned. Margaret scooped up the pile of feces on the shovel, carrying the load over to the compost pile. The pile had gotten pretty big, with eight fluffies producing shit constantly she would have plenty of manure for expanding the field.
Walking over to the deck, she picked the bucket of seeds and called the group of fluffies over to her. She collected the toys, and then began to outline the day’s work. “Dearies, today is a special day!” Jackson gasped. “SKETTI DAY?” All the other fluffies began to prance in place and squeal in joy. Margaret sighed. “No its not sketti day Jackson.” She tried to ignore the look of crushed disappointment on the stallions face. “Today is planting day!” Instantly, 4 hooves were raised in the air. “Bullet, you can ask your question first.” “What am pwanting mummah?” Margaret smiled. “Planting is how we can make yummy grass nummies grow in the garden.”
Jackson hoof shot up again. “Bu’ mummah, why do we need to gwow gwass nummies? ‘Ou bwing good nummies ewey bwite time aweady!” Margaret laughed softly. “Jackson, what if I told you that these grass nummies were even BETTER than the usual nummies?” The herd gasped. “Betta nummies?” “That’s right! Now, each of you take one of these.”
Margaret passed out a little seed pouch to each of the worker fluffies. “Gather round me dearies, I want to show you something.” Unwrapping one of the seeds, Margaret held the little round pellet. She smiled as the fluffies crowded around her hand. “Suuu smaww!” Bullet marveled as she nudged the tiny round seed with her snout. “Mummah wut am dis teeny baww fo’?”
Margaret took a seat on the deck. “This is called a seed. If you plant them in the ground, and give them enough water and time, they’ll grow into delicious grass nummies.” Retrieving a wooden stake that used to be the sorry stick, Margaret walked over to the field and made a shallow hole in the dirt.
“Bumbler dear, can you come here and place your seed in this hole?” Obediently the unicorn walked up and deposited the pouch into the hole. “Now, you need to cover it with dirt dearie, just kick some over with your hoof.” The one eared fluffy followed orders without complaint, kicking a small mound of dirt over the seed. “Great job Bumbler, you did very well.” She reached down and stroked his mane. While he shying away at first, he quickly leaned in towards her hand, albeit without the usual cooing that came from other fluffies.
“Alright, as I go down the line, I’ll make more holes. As I do, I want you to put your seed in the hole and bury it just like Bumbler showed us. Okay?” The chorus of “Otay mummah!” pleased her, as the little line of fluffies trotted behind her, each dropping a seed and kicking dirt over it. After each of the fluffies had finished depositing their seeds, Margaret sent them to pick up another from the bucket.
They continued this train until they had reached the end of the plowed rows. “Alright!” Margaret turned to face the line of fluffies. “If you are holding a seed please go place it in the bucket. Bullet and Button, are you ready to do a few more rows?” As the rest of the workers deposited their seeds in the bucket, Bullet and Button took their places on the plow.
Whilst hooking them in, Margaret asked if they still remembered the outside and inside legs. “Yes mummah! Dese awe outside weggies,” Button shook his legs on the outside of the plow. “An’ dese awe inside weggies!” Bullet shook her legs on the inside, tickling Button, who giggled.
Margaret lined the plow up and set the fluffies to work. Carrying her stake with her, she made holes in the mound as they walked. They managed to complete three lines, still somewhat tired from the previous day’s work. Margaret had the three remaining worker fluffies plant the new rows.
Walking to the box she kept her gardening supplies in, Margaret grabbed an old, cheap, child-sized watering can, and twisted the cheap tin handle horizontally, the wood handle now in the perfect position for a fluffy to carry and use. While this would work for now, she would have to see if she could coerce Thomas into making some actual fluffy watering cans.
Walking over to Grapenut, she softly stroked his mane. His limp had significantly lessened since he was gored, only the faintest trace remaining. “Grapenut, dearie, can you follow me, I am going to teach you how to feed the seeds.” Grapenut looked at her with confusion in his eyes. “How seed eat wiff no mouf?” Margaret looked at the fluffy with a smile. “Not everything needs a mouth to eat dear. Come here.”
She lead the fluffy pegasus over to the spigot on the side of the house. Filling the watering can half full, she showed the fluffy how to hold the can in his mouth without losing teeth. “Now Jackson, follow me over to the field.” Jackson followed behind Margaret carefully, water sloshing loudly in the can as he walked.
Positioning the fluffy in front of one of the rows of tilled soils, she taught him how to tilt his head to pour some water. “Wuwu bab fu’fwubbies” Grapenut muttered quietly through the mouthful of handle as the puddle slowly began to soak his hooves. Margaret grinned silently. He was such a darling. They repeated this process down the line, frequently stopping to refill the watering can.
She decided to end the day early, as she heard a truck rumbling up the gravel driveway to the old farmhouse. Dismissing Grapenut and returning the toys to them, Margaret walked out of the garden to see Bill’s old work truck trundling to a stop by the house.
Bill hopped out the truck and ran towards Margaret, sweeping her up in a big hug. “How you doing Marge?” Margaret smiled. “Hello Bill, I see you’ve put on a few pounds since last month.” Bill laughed and slapped his protruding beer belly. “It’s your fault for teaching Sue how to cook so damn well!” Motioning to the lanky teen climbing out of the passenger side of the truck, Bill asked, “And I believe you’ve already met Nick.” Margaret shot a glance towards the teenage boy. “We are acquainted.”
The dark haired teen gave a half-hearted wave, going to the back of the truck to receive a shovel. He walked over to the places Thomas had marked days earlier, and began digging holes for the fence posts.
“SO!” Bill walked over to the fence, peering over at the fluffies. “Are these the little darlings that you’ve been raising?” Swiftly walking inside he bent down and picked up Jackson, holding him like a baby. “What’s yer name lil’ fella?” “Am Jackson!” Bill laughed, a deep belly laugh that bounced Jackson up and down. “A good and manly name!” Placing the fluffy down, he walked back over to Margaret, pulling a crumpled order sheet from his back pocket.
“So from what you discussed with Thomas, you want to get a six foot fence wall around half and acre with fluffy proofed bases, and two retrofit deluxe chicken coops able to house fluffies. Plus, a water trough hooked into the well system.” Margaret thought for a second. “Can I also have a foot pedal operated fountain? I need the fluffies to be able to fill watering cans on their own.”
Bill wrote it down on the order sheet, muttering something about custom orders. “Marge this is shaping up to be pretty expensive.” Margaret chortled. “Bill I have more money than I know what to do with. I can afford to spend as much as I want on the little rats.” Bill shrugged. It was her money after all.
“So, where exactly do you want the coops?” Margaret motioned to the corner opposite the pecan tree. “On the end furthest from the pecan tree.” Bill jotted it down on the crumpled sheet of paper. “Any reason?” Margaret smiled. “That’s the tree for what’s called ‘severe’ punishment, and we will leave it at that.” Bill cocked an eyebrow but simply jotted it down on the order form.
Margaret and Bill continued to iron out the details as the fluffies played and Nick sunk the posts into wall and set them in with quick set cement. Margaret saw Nick throwing glances at the fluffies playing ball. She knew he wouldn’t dare try anything, if Bill fired him he wasn’t going to be able to find a job in the county with his criminal record. Still, the way he looked at them made her uneasy.
Pushing the thoughts from her head, she finalized the plan with Bill and cut him a check for a down payment on the custom orders. The posts setting, the two men said their goodbyes and headed back to town. Margaret headed inside and prepared the fluffies dinner, before retiring back to her armchair to continue reading up on fluffy care.
Margaret was getting ready for bed when she heard an odd sound. “Enf, enf, enf, enf…” the sound, which Margaret determined to be coming from the garden, was unlike anything she had heard before. Silently, she grabbed the old shotgun and loaded some shells.
She quietly crept to the window to the garden, flipping on the dim porch light. The deck was illuminated enough for Margaret to count the fluffies. Six, plus Punky’s four foals, currently asleep curled on top of their mother. Quickly doing a head count, it became clear who was missing. Button and Bullet were nowhere to be seen.
Gazing into the darkness of the garden, she managed to make out two dark shapes separate from the fluffplile on the deck, almost hidden from sight by the rose bushes. “Enf enf enf enf enf enf enf.” Squinting, Margaret was able to make out the shape of Button, currently mounting Bullet. Margaret sighed deeply, flipping off the lights. Losing Bullet as a working fluffy seriously put a wrench in her plans for the garden expansion. Margaret walked to her bed. Hopefully Bumbler would be able to pick up the slack left by Bullet.