My First Fluffies, Part 3, Author: Ryan Fullmer

My First Fluffies Part 3

The fluffies ran up to my back door and began to pound upon it with their hooves. Soft thumps came from the other side along with the sounds of their hysterical weeping. “Cum backies daddeh! Fwuffy nee nyu daddeh!” and “Why nyu daddeh hidies? Nu wike dis game! Am fwuffy bad fwuffy?” and “Babbehs nee daddeh! Nee daddy tu gif nummies an sketties an huggies an toysies!”

I locked the door and fled into the bathroom, slamming the bathroom door shut and locking it as well, my fingers dialing 911 on my phone as I did so. I was just about to hit the call button when I heard my own voice in my head saying “Help! I am under attack from a herd of fluffies! They want me to be their daddy!” to the dispatcher on the other end. I then mentally heard his or her resulting laughter and the phone hanging up on me. I also could see in my hand the indictment charging me with making a prank 911 call. My thumb slowly moved from the call button in shame. What was I doing! I had locked myself in the bathroom, hiding from a fluffy herd! A freaking fluffy herd! They were the equivalent of walking, talking marshmallows and were about as dangerous as such.

But on the other hand, a walking, talking marshmallow would probably terrify even the stoutest of souls. These creatures were utterly unnerving! With their UwU language, strange obsession with pasta dishes and their desperate need for a “daddeh.” Quickly consulting the online Flulfspeak dictionaries I found confirmed my suspicions that they now thought of me as their owner, which seemed to be putting it mildly to me. Whatever drove them was clearly far stronger than the affection a dog or cat might have for it’s owner. To them I was more of a God combined with a co-dependent’s enabler.

Instead of calling 911 I settled for searching for the number for Animal Control, a service I had never had the need of before. As it turned out my city didn’t even have such a service. The nearest establishment was two cities away and was run by the county. A few brief phone rings later and I was talking to Utah Valley Animal Shelter.

“Utah Valley Animal Shelter,” said a chipper, young female voice on the other end.

“Ah yes, hello. Sorry if I sound nervous, this is my first time calling,” I said.

“No need to worry! What could possibly be intimidating about adopting a new family friend?” she responded.

“Oh! I am so sorry. I was under the impression you also provided animal control services. I’m really sorry, I’m not looking for a new pet.” I thought for a moment. “Though on second thought that might be a really good idea,” realizing that I had been living alone without any animal companionship for some time.

“Oh, I see. Yes we do provide stray animal pickup. What city do you live in?” she said.

“In American Fork,” I responded.

“Then you are in our service area. To let you know we do not handle wild animal emergencies. If you have something like a deer or a skunk that is handled by Wildlife Resources. I can give you their number if you need it.”

“No, these animals are definitely not wild. Well, they kind of are.” said with a laugh. “I suppose their status is debatable!”

“Exactly what kind of animal do you have on your property?” asked the receptionist.

“I have fluffies,” I say.

There was silence for a second or so. “Did you just say fluffies?” she asked.

“Yes, I am the victim of what I believe is called a yard invasion and they are freaky little things.”

She was quiet again. “Fluffies, as in fluffy ponies?” she asked.

“That is what I said,” I replied, feeling a bit awkward now.

“A herd of fluffies?”


“After all these years we actually have a wild herd!?” she said in astonishment.

“You mean that I am first?”

“You just might be! I’m not even sure if we are allowed to take in fluffies.” I heard her voice get distance as she shouted to somebody “Hey Mel! I’ve got a guy who says he’s got a fluffy herd in his yard!”

I heard this Mel shout back what I was pretty sure was “What!?”

“Yeah! He says he has a herd of ferals in his yard!” said the still unnamed receptionist, still talking away from the receiver.

“Seriously? After all these years?” said Mel.

The receptionist came back on the phone. “You are serious right?”

“Indeed I am,” I said, feeling even more awkward. “I didn’t know this was such a major event.”

“It is! We have a feral herd! Even with all the Total Kill laws in place!”

“I thought they repealed that.”

“No, they didn’t. I think they might have been changed. But wait just one more second sir,” she said, and then she was talking to Mel again. “We don’t have any fluffies in the shelter. Do we even take them in?”

I heard Mel shout “Hell no! And I hope we never will! Fluffies are still a police problem!”

“Then what do I tell this guy?”

What Mel said next was not completely intelligible. But he or she was making it known in no uncertain terms that the animal shelter would never cater to the fluffy species.

The receptions came back on the line. “Sir? I think I know what you need to do now. You need to call the American Fork police department and tell them you have fluffies that need to be killed.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s actually in their purview? Not to mention that it sounds a bit harsh.”

“Mel says that is what the law is. Tell you what, if the cops say any different call back and I’ll see if I can find out what is really going on.”

“That would be wonderful. If I don’t I don’t call back you can assume the cops handled it then.”

“Alright! And if you are still thinking about adoption also feel free to call back. That’s a lot funner to talk about than fluffies.”

“I will! Thank you ma’am.” I hung up and then searched for the police station number. Hopefully they wouldn’t insist that I call 911 to get them to come to my home to kill fluffies. Did they really have to kill them too? I hoped they could clarify things.

The phone rang again. “Thank you for Calling the American Fork Police Department. If you know your party’s extension please dial it now.” Darn it, It’s a phone tree. I listened to all the options and managed to call in to whomever handles civil disturbances. It seemed like the most relevant option.

“You have reached dispatch, Sheryl speaking,” said a lady with a Tennessee drawl.

“Good morning madam,” I said. “I just got off the phone with the Utah County Animal Shelter. I have an animal problem that they said that this particular situation fell under your jurisdiction.”

“Well it usually doesn’t but tell me what you got honey and I’ll tell you if we can handle it,” she said sweetly. At least she wasn’t upset that I wasn’t sure.

“Thank you so much. The animal shelter sounded confused because according to them this is a highly unusual situation.”

“Well darlin’, that might be a job for Wildlife Resources. Have ya got a rabid wolf in ya yard?” she laughed.

“No, nothing that serious. I have a fluffy herd trapped in my backyard.”

Once again the phone was silent for a few seconds. “Did’ja say fluffies honey?”

“Yes, fluffies. Plural. More than one.”

“I’ve only lived here for a few years but I’ve nevah heard of a fluffy herd. Not with that nasty Total Kill law on the books!”

“Yeah, what’s up with that? I thought they would have repealed that by now.”

“Amended, not repealed honey,” said Sheryl. “At least I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. They allowed people to own fluffies and breed ‘em but they are still a kill on sight pest. Give a minute honey, I need to call this in upstairs. I’m gonna put ya on hold for just a bit.”

“I’m standing by,” I said, and the jazzy hold music came on the line. So the core of the Total Kill initiative never was never changed? I wondered if anything kept people from sneaking into and killing fluffies in their owner’s yards. Perhaps there wasn’t! My bathroom window opened out to the backyard and I could hear fluffy voices coming up through it. Feeling curious, I slowly opened the window, trying to not be loud enough for the fluffies to notice. The herd had left my back door and were once again in the backyard though they were still sobbing.

“Wai daddeh weave!?” one fluffy wailed, plopping itself down on its rear and throwing its hooves over it’s eyes. “Daddeh nu wuv fwuffies! We am wowstest fwuffies!” Now that they weren’t trying to assault me with affection or attack me with crap I was beginning to pick out individuals from the herd. The one weeping over my absence was baby blue with speckles of white and a celery green mane and tail. And he was mourning my loss with the enthusiasm of a professional griever. I could see all the way up from the window that his face was now soaking wet with tears. “Nu wan be wowstest fwufffy! Am gud fwuffy! Huhuhuhuuu!”

The Smarty walked up to the sobbing one and bopped him on the nose. “Dummeh tuffie quit cwyin! Smawty get dummeh daddeh to come outsies! An den he gif Smawty bestest sketties and bestest housie!”

Wait a second, they want my house!? I hoped Sheryl would hurry up. If this Smarty riled up his herd enough this could turn into a literal siege!

“But how am Smawty gun get new daddeh to cum backsies?” the blue one asked through stifled sobs.

The Smarty smacked the blue fluffy on the nose again. “Dummeh tuffie shaddup! Smawty knu wat du! Dummeh tuffie jus du wat Smawty say! Nu ask stuppie queshuns!”

“Ouchies! Huuuuhuuuu!” the blue one cried. “Why Smawty huwt gud tuffie! Am gud fwuffy! Du wat Smawty sez huhuhu!”

Jeeze, that Smarty was a regular Musolini.

Another fluffy, this one bright pink with a solid green mane and tail began to cry as well. “Nu huwt speciaw fwen Smawty! Wiww be gud fwuffies! Huuuhuuu!” it cried while it held tight to many small light colored splotches. I recognized her as the one who begged my backyard fence to set her free while dropping all her little fuzz balls off of her back. Was this one a female with offspring? It was impossible to tell their sex by sight alone. They were all fat and round with no secondary sex characteristics one could say were male or female. And if there was any difference in pitch in their child-like voices I wasn’t catching it. “Babbehs jus nee daddeh’s bestest huggies an wub. Daddeh gif toysies tu gud babbehs! Gif bestest sketties fow make bestest miwkies fow babbehs! Babbehs gwow up an be bestest fwuffies wiff daddeh!”

I started searching for the definition of “Special Friend” as this fluffy continued to propound upon all the benefits of a daddeh. It seemed that is what fluffies call their mates. So this pink one and the blue one are together then. Now to figure out which ones are boys and girls.

“Dun wowwy about dat! Hewd stiww hab yawd and aww da bestest gawden nummies. Hewd dun nee dummeh daddeh!” said the Smarty. He sure couldn’t keep his decisions straight. First he needs me, then he doesn’t! But what was this about garden nummies? I didn’t even have a garden. Just a few herbs in some pots in the backyard.

A fluffy was by my side fence was up on his hind legs pushing against it. This one had an olive green coat with big purple blotches and a two toned light purple and green mane and tail. “But Smawty!” he whined. “Gawden am on odda side ob fencie! Fencie am meanie an nu wet fwuffies in!” Oh! They were after my neighbors gardens. Both of them had backyard gardens. The fluffies probably saw them and thought my backyard held a way to get into theirs. But wait a minute, it was only April! No one has their garden plants this early in Utah lest they tempt a spring frost to come! Those fluffies were in for a cruel disappointment.

“Nu cawe! Dummeh hewd quit whinin! Stiww nee to finish cweanin Smawty!” The Smarty isn’t going to get very far with his herd if he keeps insulting them.

Yet another fluffy cried out at the Smarty, this one much more hostile. “Nu wan gif wicky cweanines to dummeh speciaw fwen! Smawty am yicky and nu taste pwetty!” Oooh! This is the Smarty’s special friend? This should be good.

“Dummeh mawe!” shouted the Smarty. “Get cweanen ou bestest speciaw fwen! Bestest Smawty facie am itchy and scwatchy! Nu can use weft eyesie!”

He called her a mare! If they use the words mare and stallion sexing this crazy crew was going to be much easier. The mare in question walked towards her mate, a fluffy with a stunning pastel rainbow mane and tail with a periwinkle coat that was mottled with orchid that actually sparkled in the sunlight! This lady had to be expensive! She looked exactly like a sparkling stuffed toy! “Dummeh Speciaw fwen get cwean aww by himsewf! Nu am Babbeh! Bestest mummah nu wan wick hoomin sickies! Nu am gud fow bestest tummeh babbehs!”

“If nu fow Smawty dummeh mawe nu ebbah haf tummey babbehs!” said the Smarty. “Stupie speciaw fwen gif wicky cweanies wight now!” the Smarty shouted, and bopped his mate on the nose.

His special friend was stunned into silence. “GASP! Ou gif sowy hoovsies to bestes mummah! Get two sowy hoovsies back!” And she reared up and came down on his face with both hooves.

“GASP! Ou nu gif sowy hoovsies to bestest Smawty! Get wostest sowy hoovsies!” And he reared up and bringing both his hooves down on the mare repeatedly. Not backing down in the slightest the she also reared up and started doing the same with her hooves, and the whole altercation dissolved into the fluffy equivalent of a child’s slap fight.

Sheryl finally came back on the line. I’d been so wrapped up in the fluffy drama down below I had forgotten about her! “Okay! I’m back!” she said, sounding out of breath. “I had tah run all the way to the third floor just tah find out what tah do!”

“Oh, do not worry madam! I’ve been listening to the fluffies outside. They have kept me quite entertained!” I said.

“Well I’m glad for that. The brass had to argue over what tah do for a good twenty minutes before they figured it out,” said Sheryl. “The police haven’t been involved with fluffy control since the last owned fluffy in the state was killed fifteen years ago. And it did such a good job keep’n thah state fluffy free that everyone’s forgotten what to do!”

“Then what do we do?” I asked.

“It’s not a life and death emergency so you aren’t gonna get any support right away but we’ve called up a bunch of patrol officers who should be arriving at your location in about twenty minutes. Are you absolutely sure the fluffies can’t get out though?” she asked.

“Yes, there are no holes or breaks in the fencing and it looks like they can’t break through them and are unwilling to dig under them.”

“Good, just keep them in your yard until the squad cars come. Once there the officers will discharge their duty and terminate the fluffies.”

I was silent for a second. “Kill the fluffies? Just like that? The cops are coming over to shoot the them all?”

“Oh no, not shoot,” said Sheryl. “They aren’t allowed to use firearms to kill them. They’ll just have to use…alternative means.”

“And just what are those?”

“Just like fifteen years ago they’ll just have to, well, beat them to death.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, not believing my ears.

“No kiddin’! Back during the early years people were too disturbed by the gunshots and didn’t want to shell out the money for euthanasia syrum!”

“But what about the fluffie’s owners? Will any lost fluffies be returned to their owners?”


“You’re kidding!”

“Ah’m now summin’ up the Genetic Product Mitigation Act I just had to read so we could figure out what any of us are supposed to do. Utah residents are now allowed to own and keep fluffy ponies. If any fluffy gets without one hundred feet of its owner, it’s owner’s legal property or that of a specified guardian the fluffy must be killed by anyone using any means at their disposal. The owner shall receive no compensation. Essentially, any runaway fluffy is fair game as far as the law is concerned.”

“Unbelievable,” I said. “So if a fluffy gets anywhere beyond a small yard they’re dead where they stand.”

“There just wasn’t enough support in the legislature two years ago to remove the kill orders out of the law. They had mercy on would be fluffy owners but they better watch them like a hawk if they want to keep them alive. Now listen, honey. You’ll have to refer any further questions to Sergeant Cory once she gets to your place. She’ll be in charge of the officers who shall ahem dispatch the fluffies to a better place. Ah’ve got to get back to my ordinary day job sadly, however interestin’ this may be.”

“I understand completely,” I said, feeling a bit weak. “I shall wait to receive Sergeant Cory. Thank you so much for your help.”

“It’s alright honey. I’m just so sorry about those fluffies. I’d tell ya to call me back and fill me in but ah get the feelin’ ahm gonna be hearn’ bout it soon enough from the boys. Take care honey!” and with that Sheryl hung up.

I looked out the window again. The Smarty and his special friend had stopped fighting and were now lying on the grass huffing and puffing. I tried to imagine their beaten and bleeding corpses being loaded off of my lawn once the cops were finished with them. Was that really how this was going to end?


I hope not can’t he just kill the smarty and take in the herd plz


this is getting real good. Hope he keeps atleast 1


He has yet to decide what to do with them! But they won’t all die.


Still haven’t decided! He still have to figure out what to do with the bunch!


This has been fun :slight_smile:


Just found this
well written Ryan :heart:


Wish he would get the blue one with his mare and have the rest off to skettiland with the cops.


The big Time fluffy authors are noticing me! SWEET, SWWET DOPAMINE!


I still have so much characterization to get through before I start sentencing them to death!


Big time author *blushes
I don’t know about all that but thank you. :heart:
And yeah, your writing is really good and I’m patiently awaiting more.