Jared was content creator. He did mostly gameplay stuff, but with the economy the way it was, the $5000 a month made simply wasn’t quite enough.
He would need a job, nothing requiring overtime or extra shifts, just enough to keep him living comfortably and having extra income.
Enter, his local FluffMart. Well, it was a FluffMegaMart, if anything. With hugboxers gaining ground, fluffy mills all over the state were shut down. This led to HasBio upgrading many Fluffmarts to fill the niche left by the mills, as well as the euthanasia of tens of thousands of failed rehabilitation and maimed, mutilated milkbags and breedmares. Jared wondered if it was worth the literal tons of fluffy carcasses generated to get the horrible mills shut down, but he supposed they were all eggs broken to make a hugbox omelet.
Jared didn’t like fluffies. He didn’t hate them, how could he? They were just little retarded horses that would never surpass the mental capacity of a human preschooler. But he found them to be annoying, stupid, smelly, and, if not raised right, entitled and bratty.
Orientation took a week, 8am-4pm, Monday through Friday. He was shocked how much there was to know about fluffy care. No water dishes in pens with foals, they WILL drown. You should monitor new mothers at all times, they will almost certainly favor foals and may reject others. Only use fluffy safe blocks as toys, rounded edges and corners, and made of super light material that won’t injure a foal.
Finally, it was Jared’s first day on the floor. He showed up bright and early to get ready for training. As he went back to the manager’s office, he realized how big the place was on the outside, but the actual store was a mere fraction of the whole building. Well, it seemed like several building connected to each other by a single doors to the back room of the store. Probably for the breeding operations the FluffMart was running.
Jared made his way to the managers office and knocked on the door.
“Cmon in!” A voice from inside called.
Jared entered the office and found a man going through papers on his desk.
“Jared, right?” The man replied, his eyes looking up from the paper to him.
“Yes, that’s me.” Jared replied.
“Welcome to Fluffmart!” The man had a big smile on his face. “Let’s get right to the tour! My names Edward, but you can just call me Ed.”
Ed immediately started walking towards the door, gesturing the new blood to follow.
“Nice to meet you, Ed. I have to admit, I’m not super fond of fluffies.” Jared sheepishly admitted.”I don’t dislike them, particularly, but, well….” Jared trailed off.
Ed just chuckled. “Don’t worry, kid. Believe it or not, basically no hugboxers work in Fluffmarts. Too much euthanasia and disappointed, unadoptable fluffies. There’s a phrase that is somewhat true. ‘Fluffmart; you either leave a hugboxer, or you work here long enough to see yourself become an abuser’. In truth, many just become apathetic towards the little fluffy turds.”
“You… put them down?” Jared was confused. “I thought that’s why fluffy mills were shut down.”
Ed chuckled again. “People are stupid, kid. What constitutes a fluffy mill is vague at best, and very few practices are illegal now. But the masses get to feel good about themselves because the fluffiest get bigger pens and aren’t bred as often. I mean, milkbags are a no-no now, but breeder mares having their foals taken away after birth and put in a can is still common.”
Something clicked in Jared’s mind. Something he’d been wondering since he was told he was hired and started looking into the fluffy world.
“Yeah, about that.” Jared spoke up, genuinely curious. “Why put foals in a can? They can’t possibly live in there too long, and don’t they need affection or such? I’ve heard that even with food, water, and shelter, their bodies can shut down if they don’t have company and stuff.”
“That’s mostly true.” Ed replied. “Truth is, it’s still a mystery why neglect can be fatal after a given time, and yeah, the foals can only survive for about a week in a can, even if the waste is removed and the formula is replaced. They need love. But there’s a reason why we do it.”
“What’s that? I imagine you put down a lot of them, so why do it?”
“Cmon, kid, I’ll show ya. It’ll be easier than trying to explain. I was gonna take you through the breeder and feeder areas, but we can check the foal-in-a-can machine first.”
Ed and Jared went to pick up a cart and three boxes, and headed out the front door of the store. As the two men approached the foal-in-a-can machine, Jared took in the details of the machine.
It was like a typical vending machine with goals arranged in 6 rows, the top 2 had the words ‘Newborns, Canned at Birth’ underneath them. The foals were tiny, and they had plenty of room in their cans. They didn’t seem to move much, except to suckle from the little nipple at the top of the can.
The middle two rows had the words ‘Chirpy Foals, Canned at One Week’ underneath them. These foals would squirm and, presumably, as he couldn’t hear it, chirped every now and again, but didn’t move much except to suckle on the rubber nipple in the can.
The final two rows had the words ‘Walky, Talky Foals, Canned at Two Weeks’ on them. These foals were more competent with their flailing, and many had their eyes starting to open. They too, would presumably chirp, but some seemed like they were trying to make words, based on their lip movements.
Ed took a key off his ring and put it in the keyhole under the card swipe and money slot, allowing the front of the machine to open up.
“The boxes are numbered. Any can that expires today goes in the corresponding boxes.” Ed explained, starting at the top rows.
Upon being disturbed, week old foals made chirps and peeps of confusion and fear at being disturbed, many pooping and peeing into the pad covering their anus and genitals, moving it through a tube into a small waste collector at the bottom/back of the can. They were placed in the 1 week old box.
Jared did the next rows, putting them in the 2 week old box, getting a similar response to Ed’s as the foals, and since they too were still blind, were confused and startled.
The bottom two rows had several ‘expired’ foals, that had their eyes open. Rather than be scared by the movements of their can, they had obvious joy and even ecstasy on their faces being picked up by a human, only for them to respond with muffled cries and ‘huuhuuhuus’ from their can.
All in all; 11 week olds, 7 two week olds, and only 5 three week olds.
Ed closed the machine and locked it. But when Jared turned to walk back in the store, he noticed Ed pulling his wallet out.
“Hold on, kid, remember? I’m gonna show ya what a foal-in-a-can is all about.” Ed produced a $20 bill, and inserted into the machine.
The gentle selection rod goes to a little yellow newborn foal, due to ‘expire’ tomorrow. I slowly and steadily pushed the can forward into a waiting ‘cradle’ of sorts that seems to take forever to place it in front of a door that then opens.
“Here we are!” Ed says as he pics up the can and sets it on the cart, outside of the boxes.
“Why are you just leaving it there? Wait, doesn’t it expire tomorrow?” Jared was confused.
“I want to show you the point of a foal-in-a-can, kid. It’s mostly a novelty, but it isn’t pointlessly cruel.” Ed replied. “Well, not entirely, at least. Follow me, I’ll show you what happens to these little ones.”
Jared was a bit nervous. What would happen? Obviously ‘expires xx/xx/xx’ didn’t mean they went bad, they were alive after all. Maybe it was to be similar to other products? He couldn’t be sure.
“Here we are, kid, the ‘mummuh’ room.” Shane a mocking hand wave as he opened the door. “This is where mares raise their little ones until they’re weaned, and old enough for sale.”
Jared was surprised how big the area was, despite it only having 8 enclosures on each side. The smell of fluffy shit and the sound of babbling baby talk and out of key singing was coming from every direction.
“These pens are huge!” Jared was slackjawed. He expected smaller areas packed fuller.
“Of course.” Ed replied. “Realistically, we only sell a handful a day. Any customer in here to adopt more than once or twice a year is either an idiot that couldn’t protect their fluffy from itself, or an abuser. Though some people do like to buy companion fluffiest they aren’t alone while the family are at work or school. We give them plenty of space, and even areas where the fluffiest can have some privacy. They don’t use it often, but typically if sibling start bickering, it helps if they can go somewhere away from each other, at least enough to calm down. Improves sales, if you look at the numbers. Less bratty foals ahaha!”
Jared wasn’t sure if he got the joke, or if pissy fluffies were just funny to Ed, who was opening a storage closet and pulling out some tiny spaghetti cans and putting them on the bottom shelf of the cart.
“Alright!” Ed walked up to the first enclosure, and gently clapped his hands to get the mare’s attention. “Plum, we just need to check your foals and make sure they’re healthy!”
“Otay mistah Ed.” The purple mare gently put the foals on her back and waddled up to the gate.
The gate to the enclosure was a little over waist high to Jared, with a sign above it that indicated the mare had given birth only days ago.
“Nu cwy babbehs, mistah ed nee’ see dat babbehs nu hab huwties ow sickies.” The assured her litter as Ed gently picked up the first foal.
The foal immediately protested by peeping and squirming in the direction of Plum. She looked like she was going to try and comfort her baby, but Ed put a finger up to his lips, silently shushing her.
Plum looked a little stressed by her foals peeps, but complied all the same.
“See that?” Ed suddenly said. “Separation anxiety. Now watch.”
After giving the foal a once over, he began stroking its fluff and whispering “good, fluffy, good fluffy” to it. Its squirming slowed and its peeps were near silenced, but it still suckled its hoof and peeped every now and again.
Ed handed the foal back to Plum, and it squirmed as fast as it could onto its mother’s fluff. Plum set her foals down off her back and sat on her rump, so she could cradle the foals as Ed repeated it for all five infants.
“Good girl, Plum!” Ed pat the mare’s head. “Looks like you’ve been feeding them equally, and they’re all at a healthy weight for their age.”
“Tank ‘ou mistah Ed.” Plum replied, not looking up from her foals. “Am gud mummuh, an gud mummuhs wub aww babbehs.”
“That’s right!” Ed popped open a can of spaghetti and poured it into her food dish, again shushing her so as to not let others know which fluffies got spaghetti. Even good mothers could fall into bad habits, so this was extra incentive for them to avoid favoritism.
The two men went to the other areas, inspecting all the foals to make sure they were being fed fairly. Ed explained that it only took one ‘munstuh babbeh’ or ‘poopie babbeh’ to get a mare who’s foals ended up in the next area, their milk, pumped for the feeders there.
The place he was referring to was their next stop. It was a smaller room, with much smaller nests of sorts.
The room had walls lined boxes about 3 feet by 3. In the center, fluff piles containing foals laying on a heating pad could be heard either cooing while hugging litter mates, or chirping for various reasons. A pair of fake teats with rubber nipples surrounded by artificial fluff to give the foals something to hug was located on the back wall, and above it, the age of the foals. There was also a litter box in the corner to the right of the teats. There were various employees tending to the foals.
“Believe it or not, it was recently discovered that a foal can be litter trained at about 2-3 weeks, before their eyes open.” Ed explained. “Not like they have much else to do, so they might as well shit in the litter box and get ‘Huggies’ out of it haha!”
The two men approached a girl, looking about 20, cleaning out a foal pen. She looked up to greet them.
“That time of the week, eh, Ed?” The young woman smiled. “I’m glad you stopped making me do it.”
“Well, Penny, some people don’t have the heart. But at least these two boxes are lucky!” Ed replied as Penny handed him a slip of paper.
“7, 14, 19, ok, they ALL lucked out, plenty of room for all 11!” Ed clapped his hands to emphasize the point.
“Wait, 11? I thought there were 23.” Jared asked.
“We’ll get there.” Ed replied. “Time to get these little ones set up.”
Ed grabbed the boxes labeled ‘two weeks’ and ‘three weeks.”
“Let’s see.” Ed looked over the paper. “14 has 4 spots.”
Ed walked over to the box labeled 14 and looked at the foals inside. There were three, peeping at the disturbance. The nest had ‘3 weeks’ written on it. The foals, immediately noticing the men looking at them, began babbling.
“Chirp, daddeh?”
“Peep, wub?”
He pulled up the box containing the 5 foals from the ‘canned at 2 weeks’ box, and took out a can. He tipped it upright, earning a peep for dissatisfaction from the foal, then opened the can. He tipped the can, ‘pouring’ the foal into the nest box. Jared noted the pad had a tube in it, likely for siphoning waste from the foal’s ass as to not soil the can, but it still reeked.
The foal squirmed and wriggled until it righted itself and ended up on its rump, sucking a hoof. It looked up at the two men. The large, expressive eyes of a fluffy, even a foal, showed a wide array of emotion; awe, excitement, loneliness, and hope for love.
There was a quiet ‘pop’ as the foal removed its hoof from its mouth.
“Chirp wub?” It took the ‘wan upsies’ pose.
Ed ignored it, and did the same with 3 of the other foals, bringing the total in the box nest to 7. The new foals were acting distressed, looking around and chirping with tears running down their face. The look of near heartbreaking disappointment and loneliness was evident.
They were breathing heavily, as if trying to understand why they were freed only to be abandoned, when the original inhabitants of the box crawled over to them.
“Peep huggies?”
The new foals eagerly fell into a hug with their new foster siblings.
“Coooo……” was coming from the original inhabitants of the box nest as they comforted their littermates.
“One more for this one.” Ed said as he picked up another can.
This foal, Ed poured into his hand. The foal looked up at him, doe eyed.
“Chirp wub?”
Ed began to pet the foal gently with his thumb, stroking its mane, and tickling under the chin.
The foal looked so content, cooing and nuzzling into Ed’s hand. It wrapped around his fingers in a hug, smiling so wide Jared thought its face would rip apart.
“Good baby, good baby.” Ed said softly to the foal.
It looked so happy! Until Ed set it into the nest box.
It sat on its rump, confused and a bit stressed, and made the ‘wan upsies’ pose.
“Chirp Huggies?”
Ed ignored it.
The foal let out more chirps and peeps to get attention from Ed, but would receive none.
The goal started breathing faster and peeping harder in an attempt to tell the men it needed affection. After a minute, the goal curled up into a ball, chirping and sucking its hoof.
The other foals, hearing the distress, wriggled and squirmed over to invite the heartbroken thing into a fluff pile.
The little fluffies all looked at the men with longing eyes, but warmth took them, and they dozed off.
“They crave affection.” Ed suddenly said. “They miss it. These guys had mummuhs for 2 weeks. The last one got a taste of what it was missing. The next box, they had it for one. Watch.”
Ed walked with Jared over to box nest 19, which had 7 2 week old foals in it. None had their eyes open, and were squirming around in front of the artificial teats where the heater was. It seemed like they were trying to get activity in to develop their muscles and motor control.
Ed then took a single foal, 2 weeks old, and opened the can like before, ‘pouring’ the foal into the box nest. This disturbed the chirpies who began to nervously peep, sniffing around for whatever was intruding on them.
He started to pet and stroke the little thing as it leaned into his touch and cooed. The continued to pet it, and it began to hug his fingers tightly.
Then, Ed pulled his hand away. The foal tried its hardest to hold onto Ed’s hand, but was shaken off.
The foal peeped in protest, and began to make louder and more distressed peeps.
It peeped, chirped, and peeped some more, until they began to get more desperate for reassurance from the hand that had held it moments prior.
“Peeeeeepeeeepeeep Chirrrrrp Peeep” the new foal was crying out, overwhelmed by all the new sounds and smells, and not having any ability to see or really interact with anything with its underdeveloped legs.
The foals already in the box nest seemed distressed by this as well.
“Peep….”
“Chirp…”
They were all chirping for any sort of comfort and assurance.
“Got some pipes on……” Ed looked at the can, “ah, HER, doesn’t she?”
“She seems terrified.” Jared responded.
“She is.” Ed said flatly. “Only had her mummuh for a week, and was canned. Her whole world was in that can since. She’s crying for comfort and affection. But watch.”
After less than a minute, the new foal began squirming towards the warmth of the fake teats, and even with awkward movements seemed nervous about the smell of the other foals. It could smell the mare scent on the teats and the smell of milk, so chanced it.
Upon reaching the other foals, they sniffed the newcomer and after recognizing the scent as a foal, let her into the fluff pile. She calmed a bit, but was still chirping to herself in distress and longing.
The rest of the were deposited into box 7, which only had 2 foals in it. Ed poured the canned foals in like the rest, and they all began squirming around in every direction, peeping and chirping like their little lives depended on it, desperate for comfort and reassurance that all would be well.
Sensing the warmth an milk from the fake nipple, they wriggled over to it, and upset the foals already there, unsure what to make of the intruders. The first two gave up the nipples, and formed a two babbeh fluff pile on the pad in front of the fake mare.
The new foals were all trying to get to the nipple. They nursed(their only source of comfort in the can), as long as they could until they were forced off by their sibling.
They would cry at being detached and protest with cheeps and peeps of anxiety and stress. Eventually, they would tire, and instinctively formed a fluff pile, calming them down. Almost like they remembered hugs as a source of comfort.
Ed picked up one of the original foals inhabiting the box, and it chirped in confusion, until the pets came. It cooed and hugged his hand tight, nuzzling the fingers embracing it in a hug of sorts.
Ed put the foal down, and it began to peel and chirp in protest, sniffing around and squirming, trying to find the comfort and love of a hug. Clearly distressed, the foal awkwardly made it way to the fluff pile for comfort, and seemed to calm down a pit, but still made sad peeps.
“Learn something bout foals from cans compared to the other methods?” Ed said watching as the little chirpies calmed down, one after another, and fell asleep cuddling their littermates.
“Well, they seem to respond better to affection, and are upset more when ignored or let go.” Jared replied.
“Yup. They bond stronger, faster. You can get there with a normal foal as well, but some prefer this.” Ed gestured to the box of cans containing the one week old now chirpies.
“So, what are we gonna do with them? Is there room in the box nests?” Jared asked.
“No.” Ed replied. “Cmon. I’ll tell you in the back, where we can put them away.”
Walking into the back room, Ed picked up the box of week old chirpies and set them on a shelf by the shipping and receiving door.
“They go to local pet stores.” Ed stated with a somewhat sad look on his face. “Unfortunately for them, having never felt love or affection, they won’t last at this stage. They’ll shut down and begin to fade. Messed up as it is, they end up as live reptile food.”
“That’s horrible! They’re just babies!” Jared stated as he held back his shock.
“It’s likely too late for them at this stage.” Ed said, picking up the last can, containing the yellow foal. “But I want to show you one last thing about foals-in-a-can.”
Ed opened the can and poured the tiny thing into his hand. It chirped a bit and trembled. He began to pet the foal, and after a while, it seemed to come back to life. It nuzzled into Ed’s hand, and began to make little peeps, hugging as best as its undeveloped and awkward limbs would allow.
“Good fluffy, good fluffy.” Ed softly said, tickling the foal’s tummy.
The foal seemed so content and happy, as Ed showered it with affection.
“Now, watch.” Ed set the foal down.
It squirmed around and sniffed the air, letting out a peep.
Then another.
And another, more desperate.
But Ed made no sound.
The foal began to cheep and chirp more desperately by the second, until it was crying and sobbing, begging for affection.
Ed picked the foal up, and wrapped his hand around it. The foal was still crying, but calming down as Ed put his thumb under the infant’s jaw.
“What are you doing now?” Jared asked, fearing he knew the answer.
“It’ll be quick. A flick of my thumb, and its neck’ll snap, and it’ll be lights out.” Ed said, strangely calm.
“So you’re just going to pop its head off like a dandelion?” Jared asked with a look of horror on his face.
“She expires tomorrow anyway, and you know what’ll happen.” Ed said flatly. “Unless someone wants to take her home today, it isn’t likely to end well for her.”
“I’ll take her!” Jared blurted out. “Just…… don’t. I don’t wanna see that.”
Ed handed the foal over to Jared, and it started crying again, reaching as best as it could for the comforting touch and scent of Ed, that it longed for.
“Hold her close, calm her down.” Then, Ed leaned in and whispered something into Jared’s ear.
“It’s ok, baby, daddy loves you.” Jared said as sweet as he could.
The foal began to find comfort in Jared’s touch at those words, and snuggled into his hand. She nuzzled and hugged Jared’s fingers as if her life depended on it. She was still to stressed to coo, but that would come after some more words of assurance.
“How about a name for her before we go to the floor and pick out your foal supplies?” Ed spoke up drawing Jared’s attention away from the emotionally stressed foal.
“Hmmm, well, she’s yellow, and you WERE gonna pop her head off, so I’ll just go with Dandelion. I’m not good coming up with names.” Jared stated, unsure of what he got himself into.
“Word of advice, kid; don’t get attached to the product. You’ll just get your heart broken.” Ed said. “And you may go broke, too.”
Jared looked at the foal he was holding onto his chest, as it snuggled into his shirt as tightly as possible.
“This is gonna be rough for both of us, Dandy.”
