Margaret woke up to the sound of her alarm, shutting it off quickly and getting dressed in her usual attire of loose, thick jeans and an over sized knit sweater, picking her favorite green and red one from near the back of the closet. She was in a good mood, the expansion was nearly complete, the new watering can was on it’s way, the garden was progressing wonderfully. She did feel an odd sense of foreboding, but pushed it aside, walking to the kitchen and preparing a cup of coffee.
Sitting on the deck, she watched as the fluffpile softly snored, smiling at the adorable creatures. The garden was peaceful, and Margaret couldn’t be happier. When she had first met them it had taken a lot of self control not to grab a switch and beat the daylights out of them, but now she couldn’t really imagine how her life would be without them, just days and days of monotony.
As the sun continued to rise, its light shone upon the garden, which is when Margaret first realized something was wrong. An entire row of the radishes had been stripped of leaves, only thin green stalks remained protruding from the ground. Abandoning her coffee, Margaret strode over to the garden, looking at the leaves. It wasn’t fair to say the stalks had been completely stripped, but each leaf on the plant had a bite taken out of them, with tiny little teeth marks left in each.
The teethmarks were far too small to be an adult fluffy. This left only four possible culprits, all of them in Punky’s brood. And Margaret was willing to bet the farm she knew who. But she still needed a confession or evidence, as well as to know if the mother was involved.
Margaret walked back to the deck, rage building. “LINE UP!” The bellow startled the herd, who scrambled around in a panic, screeing and huuhuuing in the case of the fully grown, chirping and peeping in the case of the foals. Margaret felt bad for a second, but felt this was a necessary evil, as she needed to convey how serious of an issue this was.
“LINE UP!” she shouted again. The fluffies, realizing there was no imminent danger, began to calm down and slowly got into formation. After waiting for the last of the foals to be in place, Margaret began to pace up and down the deck, letting tension build.
Slowly, Button raised his hoof, Margaret waiting a few seconds before acknowledging him. “Yes Button?”
“Good mawning mummah!”
Margaret shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry to say, but it is not a good morning dear. In fact, you could say it’s a very, VERY bad morning.” The herd gasped, Clementine muttering an “oh noes” under her breath. Margaret resumed pacing, waiting for the inevitable question, which was asked by Dawn, Punky’s pastel pink foal. “Why am mawning bad mummah Mawgawet?”
“Last night, someone hurt the plant nummies.” There was a collective gasp from all the ponies, Bullet crying out angrily. “Who huwt pwant fwiends?!”
Margaret shook her head sadly. “I don’t know. But I do know one thing. It was one of you.” The herd instantly devolved into chaos, each fluffy loudly proclaiming their innocence. Once the herd had quieted down, Margaret nodded, retrieving one of the radish stalks and holding it in front of her. “Look at these toothmarks. Its clear a big fluffy didn’t do this, it was a foal.”
Margaret watched as Bumbler suddenly got a furious look on his face. He gathered his foals close to his chest as he turned to give a deathglare to Punky, who was currently pretending no one else existed. Her bestest baby, currently clinging to her head, was a different story, staring back at Bumbler with an equal amount of animosity.
“So, we have narrowed it down a lot. It couldn’t have been any of the big fluffies, and Clementine’s foals don’t have teeth yet. So who does that leave us?” The herd was silent for a second before Grapenut raised a hoof. “Punky’s babbehs?”
Margaret gave him a smile. “Thats right.” Turning to the three foals peeking out from behind Bumblers legs, Margaret gazed at them sternly. “Do any of you want to make a confession?” Honey shook her head. “Honey nu num da pwant fwiends. Sweep aww dawk tiem.” Margaret nodded. “Cider? Do you have anything to say?” The red unicorn shook his head, holding back tears. “Nu, nu num wadishes.”
Before Margaret could respond, Punky interjected. “WIAW!” The whole herd was startled by her outburst, Margaret included. “Excuse me?”
Punky turned to face Margaret. “Cidew wake fwuffy wast dawk tiem, teww Punky dat he gonna num da pwant nummies!” Cider gazed at his mother in horror, tears quickly beginning to stream down his face as she attempted to sell him out to protect her favorite child, who blew a raspberry at him from his mother’s head.
The herd gasped in horror, Cider sobbing and crying as he professed his innocence, before beginning to peep and chirp, swept up in a hug by his now enraged father, now sucking his hoof. Margaret fully expected Bumbler to rush over and attack Punky, but to her suprise, he slowly raised a hoof, trembling with rage. Which is really too bad, she would have been able to get rid of them both in one fell swoop.
“Yes Bumbler?” Margaret asked softly. “Punky am wiaw.” His voice was cold. Margaret nodded. “What happened dear?”
Punky stared at her special friend in shock as Bumbler began to recount the night’s events. “Bumbwah was sweepin, wen Candy began scweamin, so wake fwuffy up. She say she nu wan’ miwkies any mowe, wan odda nummies. Caww Bumbwah meanie namsies, den fwuffy teww dem to gu sweepies an’ wait tiww mawning fow nummies, den gu back to sleepsies.”
Margaret nodded. Before she could interject, Bumbler continued. “Den, befowe fwuffy faww asweep, heaw Punky tawk to babbeh.” He turned to look at Punky, rage in his eyes, fear in hers as she realized she was about to be exposed. “Punky teww babbeh dat mummah fownd bestest nummies fow bestest babbeh.”
Instantly, Punky began to screech that Bumbler was lying, panicking as the herd stared at her in shock. Not only had she ruined their hard work, she attempted to sell out her own flesh and blood to protect a favorite child she chose on color alone. Huggies and love only go so far, even for fluffies.
The herd turned to Margaret, awaiting the impromptu trial’s verdict. Margaret deliberated for a few seconds, which must have felt like an eternity to the herd. “I believe Bumbler.”
“Munstah mummah!” Honey cried from between the legs of her father. “NU WUV MUMMAH NU MOWE!” Dawn cried, beginning to tear up as the rest of the herd began to join in denouncing Punky, gazing at her with a mix of anger and disgust. Cider stared angrily at his mother, still suckling his hoof. “Hatechu.”
Punky began angrily stomping her feet. “Dummeh fwuffies! Punky HATECHU!” Margaret reached down and snatched Candy from the head of Punky, the mare screaming “GIB BESTEST BABBEH!” and attempting to batter Margaret’s legs with sorry hoofsies, her soft foamlike hooves bouncing off the old woman’s legs.
“I have been very nice to you Punky. I have given you so many chances. But each and every time, you shit on them, sometimes quite literally.” Margaret turned to glare at Punky, Candy still flailing in her hand. Punky screamed and ran after her as Margaret carried Candy inside, the door slamming into Punky’s snout as it slammed closed in front of her.
“MUNSTAH!” Candy screeched at Margaret, suddenly bit into the old womans hand, the tiny teeth pinching the webbing of her palm. “You little shit!” Margaret swore before slapping her hard in the side of the mouth, Candy screaming and spluttering, three teeth falling from her mouth and clinking softly to the floor. Margaret reached under the sink, retrieving a steel bucket. Placing it under the faucet, she half filled it with water, before grabbing a handful of Kosher salt and dumping it inside, a plan already forming in her mind as she dumped Candy inside, the foal chirping and peeping as she spluttered in the cold salty water.
Walking to her bedroom, she retrieved an old braided leather belt, as well as her old fabric shears. Snipping off the end of the belt, she partially unraveled it, knotting the tips of the leather strips into a makeshift cat of nine tails, before heading to the tool cabinet for some baling wire. It was time to visit the tree.
Picking up the bucket containing the half submerged and chirping foal, Margaret walked outside to be met by a head on charge from Punky, the mare screaming and butting her head into Margaret’s leg before the old woman kicked her softly in the chest, the mare screeing in shock and pain as her front legs were suddenly tightly tied together and she was hauled to her back hooves. “You going to dance for us Punky?” Margaret asked humorlessly, leading her out the gate. “Punky is going on a trip dearies. Say good bye.” The herd was silent with the exception of Jackson, who blew a raspberry at the mare as the gate shut.
Punky’s screaming devolved into huuhuuing as she stumbled forward awkwardly on her back hooves as Margaret led her to the pecan tree, tying her to the tethering stake as Punky began to cry.
“Huuhuu, meanie munstah mummah gib wowstest huwties! Punky hatechu! HATECHU!” She sobbed out between tears, her baby peeping and chirping inside the bucket as Margaret roughly dropped it to the ground. “PEEP! Mummah! Babbeh nu wike cowd wawas! CHIRP! Sabe babbeh!”
Punky’s tears subsided a bit as she turned, craning her head to see the bucket containing her offspring. “Bestest Babbeh! MEANIE MUNSTAH WET BESTEST BABBEH GO!” She screamed, fruitlessly attempting to bite Margaret, her teeth clacking in air as the old woman stared at her stonefaced. Punky screeched loudly in anger, before unleashing a torrent of sorry poopies, which due to her position only served to coat her entire backside in foul liquid shit.
“You know Punky.” Margaret’s tone was eerily level. “I knew this day was coming a long time ago. After how I felt dealing with Bumbler, I dreaded this. You, and your ‘Bestest Baby,’ are irredeemable.” Margaret uncoiled the belt, giving it a couple practice swings. It whistled through the air, Punky flinching at each snap.
“But now, Punky, I don’t feel anything but sadness. I’m going to be honest, I take no joy in this. I really don’t. But I need an example more than anything.” She sighed, the noise drowned out by the mares loud, wet sobbing and threats of violence. “Sometimes, kindness isn’t enough. Sometimes,” Margaret suddenly lashed out, the makeshift cat of nine tails ripping through the weak fluff and into the soft, fatty skin of the mare, “A show of force is necessary.”
Margaret had thought that Bumbler’s scream would be the loudest she’d ever hear, but she had severely underestimated Punky’s lungs, a horrible, piercing scream so loud, Margaret dropped the belt in suprise, quickly picking it up to continue the lashings.
The first three strokes drew blood.
The next three strokes tore chunks of skin.
Next three ripped chunks of muscles from the mares back.
And by the end of the twenty strokes, Punky’s spine was visible through the mangled mess of ripped and shredded fluff, muscle and sinew, a gleaming white mountain peeking between rivers of red blood that dripped onto the roots of the pecan tree. Margaret huffed with the strain of exertion as she rolled the belt up and stuffed it in her pocket.
To her credit, Punky hadn’t passed out, instead screaming louder each time she was struck until Margaret was sure the neighbors would have heard it four miles away. By the end, the mare was panting hoarsely.
Retrieving the fabric shears from her back pocket, Margaret cut the fluffy down, the mare collapsing in a near faint in the puddle of effluent she produced “I need to go get something, I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”
Margaret walked into the garden, the herd still in their designated positions, whether out of fear of repercussions or respect for the old woman would be a question for later. The fluffies looked at her with a level of fear she hadn’t seen since she first beat the ever loving shit out of Bumbler. “I’m sorry, I will be right back. I need to go put the trash out by the side of the road.”
Walking into the house, Margaret retrieved a roll of extra strength duct tape, walking back outside to find Punky had managed to drag herself over to the bucket, wrapping her legs weakly around the pail from which her bestest babbeh still chirped in fear from, straining to stay on her back legs and keep her head above water. Margaret looked down into the bucket, the foal screaming “MUNSTAH! MUMMAH SABE BABBEH!” as it began to flail desperately.
“You know, according to the book, I’m supposed to leave you in their for at least thirty minutes to really emphasize how bad you were,” the foal ignored her, the water slowly turning brown as it began to chirp more desperately, “But I believe that is only to rehabilitate fluffies that are good at heart.”
Margaret reached down, plucking the foal up by it’s scruff. “And I don’t believe you are.” Margaret plopped the foal down on her mothers back, eliciting a new scream of pain from Punky as the salt water soaked from the foal’s thick fluff into her gaping wounds, startling the baby who began to chirp for her mother, who began chirping back.
Margaret tore off a large strip of the duct tape, pinning the foal to Punky’s back before she lifted the mare and began to carry her out to the side of the road. “You know Punky. I believed that there is good in everyone. Truly I did. I believed with the right guidance and love, anyone could change for the better, it’s why I didn’t just outright kill you all when you first ruined my garden.” She roughly dropped the mommy daughter package on the side of the old country road she lived on, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “I was wrong.”
Margaret walked back into the garden, the fluffies still at attention, before sitting down on the deck and wiping the tears from her eyes. She collected herself for a few moments before addressing the herd. “I’m sorry it had to come to that. Punky had been too mean for too long.” The herd quietly stared back at her. “I should have done something sooner. I could have, but I was too naive. I’m sorry.” She put her head in her hands and sighed.
Slowly, Button raised his hoof from his spot in formation. Margaret gritted her teeth, preparing to answer some hard questions. “Yes dearie?”
“Mummah nee’ huggies?”
Margaret smiled. “Yes dear. I think I do.” No sooner had she said these words before the herd had converged around her, wrapping their tiny legs around her and cooing gently. And right now, it was just what Margaret needed.
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Punky slowly regained consciousness, roused by the distressed peeping of her foals. “HuuHuu, whewe am babbeh?”
“Babbeh am hewe mummah!” Candy chirped from the mare’s back. “Bu’ nu can move! Mummah sabe babbeh fwom meanie not fwuff!”
Punky turned in circles as she desperately tried to see where her baby had gotten to, the cheeps of the foal just out of reach of her. “Whewe am babbeh?”
Candy wriggled. “Babbeh am on mummah!” she peeped as Punky stopped spinning, staggering a bit as her semicircular canals caught up. “Babbeh am on mummah?” It was odd she couldn’t feel the weight of her baby. Mayber it had something to do with the immense amount of pain she just realized she was in, collapsing to her knees in silent agony.
As Candy continued to beg for her mother to get the icky not fluff off of her, Punky heard a rumbling sound, looking to the road to see a beat up metal monster rumbling towards them. “Qwiet babbeh, munstah am coming!” She crouched low into the well mown grass, confident she was hidden from the monster as it slowed to a stop in front of her and a figure hopped out of the cab and walked over to her.
Punky had seen the dark maned human before. He was one of monster mummahs friends, he worked on the outside of the herds land doing something, she didn’t know what. He crouched down and smiled at her. “Hey there girl!” He said cheerfully.
Somehow, he had managed to see through her flawless hiding spot. She still could use this to her advantage though. “Hewwo nice mistah!” She rose to her hooves shakily. “Punky nee’ hewp!”
The dark maned human smiled and pulled something out of his back pocket. “Yeah, I bet you do.” Punky suddenly felt a sharp pain in her neck before the world slipped away, the last thing she heard being her foal’s desperate pleas for help.