Margaret tuned out the screams of “Wawa bad fow fwuffies!” and began to scrub the first stallion, the green and purple one who she had designated as the speaker for the herd.
Quite frankly Margaret was amazed by the diminutive creatures. How could something so small be able to tear a garden to pieces in less than a week, how could it have gotten so dirty, and most importantly, how much shit could these creatures hold? It took 3 changes of water before the stallion was out of “scawdy poopies” and she could finally start scrubbing the filthy fluff of the stallion using good old fashioned ivory soap. But, at the end of it, she had a shiny clean fluffy who needed a name. Margaret thought for a moment before naming him Grapenut after her old Yorkshire terrier.
Next came the other toughie of the herd, a dull grey stallion, whom had fared somewhat better, but still appeared shell shocked after the cold bath. “You have a name little one?” She asked the dazed stallion. “Fwuffy no haf name mummah” he replied quietly. “Then your name is now Button. Go stand in the sun with Grapenut and dry off.” He quietly obeyed; none of the fluffies seemed to want to go against the old woman, especially not with their smarty currently incapacitated in a heap by the fence.
After finishing the naming of the stallions with a two toned brown and orange stallion becoming Jackson, she moved onto the mares, starting with the only one of the three who wasn’t pregnant as far as she knew, a red mare with an interestingly dull metallically silver mane. “Do you have a name little one?” Margaret asked softly to the soaked, sobbing fluffy. “Am cawed Buwwit.” The mare muttered softly. ”Bullet? That’s a lovely name dear. Where did you get it?” the mare began to sob softly. “Owd daddeh gif name to Buwwit.” “Really? Did you run away?” The mares sobs intensified “Daddeh wa’ nice to Buwwit, bu’ he teww Buwwit no babbeh til buwwit weawn we-spun-sa-biw-i-tee, bu’ Buwwit WEAWWY wan babbehs, caus babbehs awe bestest ting evah! So Buwwit wun away, fin hewd and haf babbehs wif speshu’ fwend.” Margaret was amazed again at the idiocy of fluffies. To leave a loving home just to be able to have babbehs on the street. Margaret looked at the stallions trying to dry themselves in the sun. “Who’s your special friend? Where are your foals?” Bullet was full on bawling now, the pain of recalling memories and the terror from being in a bath too much for her to handle. “Dey aww got nummed by da’ swoopy munsta in da fowwest!” Bullet devolved into a series of huu huuing and chirps. Margaret felt a twinge of sympathy. “Alright dear, go dry off with the rest of them.”
Margaret continued with two of the other mares, a pregnant maroon mare with a blue mane she named Scarlet, and a yellow and orange maned mare so heavily pregnant that she couldn’t reach the ground at all anymore that she named Clementine.
Finally, she got to the pink and black mare she suspected to be the mate of the smarty, who she already had a name picked out for.
“Well Punky, time for your bath!” Punky, obviously terrified of water, kicked and screamed as she tried whatever she could to escape the clutches of the old woman, who simply held the squealing creature at arm’s length and carried her to the bath. “WAWA BAD FO’ TUMMEH BABBEHS!” Margaret tuned her out, having been the small towns only school teacher for half her life, she had grown adept at tuning out the squealing of children.
After finishing bathing the now sobbing dam, Margaret walked over to the unconscious body of Bumbler. Leaving his head overhanging the side of the wash basin, his bath was the quickest and easiest of the entire herd. Margaret looked out at the herd, then looked with surprise at the rapidly darkening sky. “Well darlings, it’s time for dinner. Wait here while I go fetch it for you.”
Margaret rooted around in her kitchen; looking for something the fluffies wouldn’t die eating. Grabbing the only harvest she had made this season, a meal consisting of a dozen heads of iceberg lettuce, julienned spring onions, and some fresh green beans she had been looking forward to canning. She also added the remainders of the kibble left over from when the first Grapenut had passed. Given it was only three months old, she assumed it would be fine. They had been apparently getting water from the small fountain her oldest son had bought for her for her 80th birthday, so she could forgo the water bowl.
Grabbing one of the garish trays her daughter had bought her for decoration, she carried the salad out to the waiting fluffies. The fluffies had quickly gotten over the trauma of the bath, the still mobile fluffies had begun giggling and playing with each other and the three pregnant mares had been rolled together. The three were singing loudly and off key to their “tummeh babbehs.” Bumbler appeared to have regained consciousness and was sullenly standing off to the side surveying the herd, standing grumpily as his backside hadn’t quite recovered to the point where he would be able to sit down yet.
Margaret stared at the herd silently, wondering how they even managed to live in the wild long enough to form a herd, let alone procreate. They were so jarringly innocent Margaret almost felt sorry for them. Almost. “LINE UP!” The fluffies screeched in terror and had they anything left in their bowels, Margaret was sure there would have been yet another round of “Scawedy poopies.”
“Dinner time, mares will eat first, then stallions. Grapenut, Jackson, please roll the two mares who cannot walk over here, then go play until I call you.” The two toughies moved to follow the old woman’s orders before they were suddenly stopped by a hoof to their respective heads, courtesy of Bumbler. “Dummeh fwuffies, Smarteh AWAYS get nummies fiwst.” Bumbler walked over towards the tray of food, puffing out his chest as he walked. He stopped in front of Margaret and looked with disgust at the platter full of greens. “No wan gwass nummies. Bumbwah wan skettis!” He turned, being the only fluffy left who hadn’t been completely cleaned out during the mandatory baths, and lifted his tail, fully intent on giving “sowwy poopies” to the meal Margaret prepared.
She was sure he would have too, had she not swiftly stuck her foot under his stomach then flipped him over, ass pointed away from the salad. Not a moment too late, if the rancid spray of effluent was anything to judge by. Margaret was irritated by the little shitrat. Not only had he disregarded her orders, he had then attempted to ruin dinner for the entire herd. She picked the little shit up by the scruff of his neck, and carried him over to the currently empty compost bin her grandkids had bought her years ago but had never gotten around to using.
Dropping him inside, she gave him a glare. “You will NOT be getting any dinner tonight, nor breakfast tomorrow.” He looked at her with horror. “Bu Bumbwah haf tummie owwies! Need nummies to mak’ owwies go ‘way!” Margaret glowered at him. “You should have thought about that BEFORE you tried to ruin the meal for everyone.” Closing the lid, she walked back to the tray of salad and kibble.
“Alright, now that that bit of nastiness is out of the way, Jackson, Grapenut, be dearies and roll Punky and Clementine over here will you? Bullet, Scarlet, you two are also welcome to eat.” The fluffies, not daring to go against the undisputable new leader of the herd, swiftly followed her directions.
Margaret smiled and called Grapenut over to her. The pegasus walked over to her, shivering and huu-huuing in fear. Margaret softly stroked the mane of the fluffy, his fear instantly turning to contentedness as his hard coded desire for human interaction took over.
“There there, dearie, as long as you behave and follow mothers’ orders, I won’t hurt you.” Her hand moved up to the top of his head, feeling a hard bump on his forehead. Grapenut flinched as she touched the bump, eyes tearing up but still not daring to upset Margaret. Noticing his discomfort, Margaret moved to instead scratched behind his ears.
“Grapenut, how would you like to be my little helper?” Margaret asked him softly as she scratched behind his ears. “Wut ‘wittwe hewwpa’ do mummah?” he asked as they watched the three mares eat. “I want you to tell me what happens when I’m not around. Mother can’t be out here all the time. So when I’m gone, I want you to tell me what happens when I come back. Tell me who misbehaves, who follows the rules, and if anyone is planning to break the rules.” Grapenut sat quietly, thinking about the proposition. “Owkay. Gwapnut wiww be mummahs hewwpa.”
Margaret smiled warmly at him. “Good boy. It looks like the mares are done eating, why don’t you, Jackson, and Button go eat your fill, Mother has to go make a phone call.” Margaret watched as the three stallions huddled around the plate of food and began to eat their fill. Walking into her living room, she picked up her land line and dialed in the number of her grandson. After a few rings he picked up. “Heya granny, what’s up? You forget something when you left?” Margaret smiled. “Not exactly Jimbo, I need your help. What can you tell me about fluffies?”
I tried to break up the story into easier to read paragraphs. Any and all criticism is appreciated