My name is, well people call me Augie, I hunt fluffies by trade to sell, rescue, or cook. I’ve done
it for about 8 years and I’m rather good at it. Though right now I’m crashing at a friends place
to rest up, take stock of supplies, and repair a few things.
I sit on the fire escape trying to patch my hoodie when I hear a small chirping
of newborn fluffies. I look up and down the allyway for the noise until I spot her.
She walks at a rapid pace, ignoring the loud chirps of her babbehs snuggled on her
back seeking warmth and love.
Rather dirty but I can see a brite pink coat with a blue mane, I pull on my hood and quietly
climb down the escape to get a closer look at her babes. She must be a good mummah
as her foals are a rather unpleasant yellow, green, and brown all with grey manes.
The mother appears overworked and weary with filty matted fluff. She trots forward softly
singing her mummah song. I take another look at the babies as best I can, straning my eyes to focus on them.
I frown each one is horribly emaciated and peeping loudly, dried shit caked on their rumps.
I silently stalk her as she pokes and roots through piles of garbage, the smell of her grimy body making her easy to follow. Her dedication to her offspring
speaks volumes as each time she with draws her head from a pile she is more and more mired in
filth. Each moment and every rotten morsel making her more frustrated with the lack of safe food for her babehs.
She continues down the alleyway trying to knock over trash cans and boxes, wanting to find sustanance
and return her children to warmth and safty. she passes a large dumpster with a small hole rusted in
the side, carefully setting her children down on a dryish looking newspaper she desperatly tries to
squeezes in her thick matted fluffy giving her some protection.
I hold no hate for fluffies, they chose not to be created and they definetly didn’t choose to
be thrown into the wild by misguided ecoterrorists. I think to snatch the foals away while she digs
in the dumpster but before I can act some clattering can be heard as her rump appears coming out of the hole.
“Babbehs Mammuh hav da milkies fow oo tummies.” She practicly sings pulling out not only a half empty carton of spoiled milk and a half slice of pizza which she quickly eats. she then loads the demanding children
onto her back grabs the milk carton and triumphantly returns with it sloshing along the way.
I have to pratically hang upsidedown from another fire escape to avoid being seen as she bolts the opposite direction we
were headed, surpisingly swift by fluffy standards. I follow her to the back of what looks like
an abandoned store as she enters a small hole in the back door which had been rotted in a long time ago.
I lose sight of her as the door no longer has a knob and the hole to small to fit, so I need to find another way of entry. While
I do that she tears the carton open poors the off color milk on to a dirty paper plate. With each foal plopped
before the liqued they begin to drink without question all unaware of how badly turned it really is.
Not before long I manage to squeeze myself through a broken window but I soon hear whine and cries of the foals as they clutch their tiny stomachs. the mother begins to
fret and pace asking them whats wrong. “Babbehs? Wat wong, babbehs? Nee huggies?” the brown one wretches violently, the blue simply peeps
franticly, the yellow trembles in pain and releases a stream of loose black filth from his anus.
Soon they all are screaming and crying between violently vomiting and expelling what little they
have in their intestines. I enter the room as the mother tries her best to hug her childrens pain
away. She sees me and instantly begs for my help sobbing for her progeny.
I shake my head as there is hardly anything to do for these little ones, I take the child from her hooves
and pull a small glass dropper vial from my pocket. It’s filled with a strong CBD oil and a few other things
to make it more sweet and palatable for the ferals I hunt . I fill the dropper I press it gently in the throat of the child.
the mother seems to have calmed a bit not knowing the help I provide is a release, I place the last
foal down as it cheeps slowly, the sweetness seems to have helped them from the previous onslaught
of vomit and spoiled milk. soon they all slow their breathing and then stop.
The mother looks on aghast in silence, she turns to me. “Fwuffy nu did wan’ fwuffy’s babbehs go
foweba sweepies, fwuffy just wanted to gib nummies tu them an’ wub themm.” She sobs harder her
words turning to gibberish I can only make out words like Dummeh and Bad Mummah.
I gently stroke her head she cheeps and hicups between sobs. I turn her towards me and place her foals in her arms,
she hugs them tight. I fill the dropper and I bring it towards her, her eyes widen in fear but she opens
her mouth, I feed her 3 dropper full more than enough, soon she sways and smiles slightly.
I lay her down with her foals and wait until she passes. After some moments I exit the abbandoned
store with a trash bag and gently place it in a dumpster. I sigh and look as I seemed to have torn my hoodie again. I return to my fire escape and begin attempting to patch again.
I’d like to thank my editor @SpaghettiDave for his assistance in grammar, spelling, and much more.