Welcome to Part 2! Malva, Crimson, Sticks, Bark, Olive, and Caramel are all about to find out what life is like as living composters. Malva has her litter and it ends up being a fucking mess. Part 1 here.
The part where Malva’s litter gets pillowed ended up being longer than I wanted for one post, so it’s here as a sequel!
“Alright, welcome to your new home.”
I sat each of the fluffies in a row, and gently pushed little rope hammocks I had made under their bellies so that their asses were dangling above the drop into the compost. First, was Crimson. He craned his neck back to try and look at the drop. He saw a glimpse, and I felt him tense up a bit before shaking himself back into this façade of confidence.
“Cwimson don cawe. Not scawy.”
“It’s not supposed to be scary, Crimson. I made sure none of you will fall.”
“New housie not that good. New housie bowing. Cwimson think new nummies bowing too.”
“You haven’t tried any of the food yet. Calm down.” Next was Bark, who happily looked around. I’m sure from their vantage point, it looked like some sort of homey old barn. The fence boards I used to build it weren’t flush against each other, so air could circulate and light could shine through just fine. Bark was so excited she didn’t even notice me harness her in. Next was Malva, then Olive, then Sticks. They all looked around with wonder.
“So much bettah than littah box,” Olive squeaked, “no meanie sissies and bruddahs.”
“Exactly. Now, this is how you’ll all eat…”
I slid a thin metal trough right in front of them, which connected to an angled chute outside the box. I had prepared a bucket of carrot, zucchini, garlic and onion scraps, with bindweed, stale bread and crushed eggshells, which I promptly emptied down the chute and into the trough.
Ah, how wonderful is the mind of someone who doesn’t know any better?
Olive, Sticks, and Bark gasped and began shoving their faces into the trough.
“Good nummies!”
“So much bettah than poopies!”
“Tank you! Tank you daddeh!!!”
Malva also began to politely eat, although she clearly wasn’t quite as enamored as the former litter-pals were. Crimson, unsurprisingly, leered at the food and looked at me with both contempt and vindication.
“Cwimson towd dummeh fluffehs. Dummeh hoomin gib fluffies BAD nummies.”
“Cwimson siwwy. Nummies so good! Cwimson twy it!” Sticks chirped, his face absolutely covered in mashed up veggies.
“Yeah, listen to Sticks, Crimson. The food is good.”
“Dummeh Steecks don knowe bettah. Dummeh Steecks littah-pal. Eat poopies.”
“That’s true, but did you like bad peepees or no-no juice or kibble?”
“…Not wiwwy.”
“Okay, then this might be better okay?”
“Wooks wike poopies…”
“No it doesn’t. Now eat, Crimson.”
Crimson sighed and took a bite of mashed veggies. He chewed as if he was about to performatively spit it out, but looked side to side and swallowed.
“Well. Is it good?” Crimson grumbled.
“Otay…”
“What was that.”
“Nummies otay.”
I chuckled.
“Okay fluffies. I need to put Caramel in her new home, so I am going to close this now. All you have to do is keep eating, and I’ll check on you every day, okay?”
“Yes daddeh!”
“Tank you daddeh! Wub you!”
“Tankies daddeh…”
“Whatever. Don cawe.”
“Wub you daddeh!”
I closed the door and looked down at Caramel, who I had placed in a small dog pen for the time being.
“Cawamel hab new housie?”
“Yes, and it’s right here, under the other fluffies.”
I took Caramel out of the pen and opened the main compost door. Dangling in my arms, she squinted at the darkness.
“Is dawk. Wooks wike poopie place.”
“Well, sort of. There is poopie inside it. But remember - you don’t have to eat it. All you have to do is dig around and mix it up, okay? And your new housie is right here-” I pointed to the left to the little box I had attached to the side of the box. It was simple, but elevated and dry and full of nice comfy pine shavings. I put Caramel on top of the pile, and she looked around hesitantly.
“Otay…Cawamel jus dig awound…wike dis?” She stuck her hooves in the pile and kicked it around. Her hooves acted like an efficient little trowel, and I was glad I put some hardware cloth down around the compost - she probably could dig herself a tunnel.
“Yes, exactly! Good job Caramel. That’s all you have to do. You can also do poopies in that pile, okay? You’ll be helping daddeh a lot.”
“I hewp daddeh? How?”
“That pile of dirt you’re standing on is compost. When daddy adds that compost to his plants, they make the plants grow really big. It also makes heat when you do a good job, and it’ll keep you and the other fluffies warm in the cold.”
“Weawwy? Pwants fwuffy can eat?”
“Well - yes actually. Yes. That’s one of your rewards for being such a good, helpful fluffy. I But I’ll also feed you good nummies everyday. I have some here…” I tossed in a handful of scraps from the bucket, which she sniffed and took an apprehensive bite out of.
“Oh…otay. Bettah than poopies.”
“I thought so. Okay, Caramel, like I told the other fluffies, I’m going to check on you everyday. Just eat the nummies, and dig around, and you don’t ever have to eat any poopies or deal with any mean fluffies again. Okay?”
“Okay daddeh. Tank you.”
For the first few days, everything went great. My veggie scraps were quickly depleted, so I started feeding them weeds I couldn’t normally toss in the compost. I was elated watching Sticks slurp up a long strand of bindweed, which he appropriately called “green skettis.” Everything was going as planned, until I was working in the yard and heard a shriek.
“DADDEH! DADDEH! HUUHUUHUU!” It was Malva, and I was shocked to hear her voice so loudly. I rushed open to their enclosure and opened it.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“M-Malba hab biggest poopies! Babbehs faww into compwos!” She was crying, wiggling her nubs furiously. The other four were looking at her concerned and distressed by their inability to comfort her.
“Oh jeez, already? I wasn’t prepared for that. I thought you had a couple more weeks. Uh, don’t worry Malva, I’ll get your babies.” Just give me one second…"
I closed the top enclosure and opened the bottom door to the compost. There were no chirpies.
“Um…Malva, are you sure you had babies? I don’t see any.”
“MALBA KNOW!! NO BABBEHS IN TUMMEH ANYMOWE! HUUHUU!”
I listened for a second. I did hear tiny, tiny chirps, but they weren’t coming from the pile. I poked my head in and looked to my left. And sure enough…
“Caramel? What are you doing with Malva’s babies?”
Caramel had gathered all of the babies in her arms, and was sitting with them and cooing. She looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Daddeh! Dees are Cawamel babbehs. Best babbies evah.”
“Caramel, you know that the other fluffies are above you. Those aren’t your babies, you didn’t give birth to them. You can’t give birth at all.”
“Nuh-uh daddeh. Dey fall fwom the sky-place. Dey gwfts to Cawamel. For digging in poopie compwost all dey.”
“I - ugh. Those aren’t your babies. Give them to me.”
I reached into Caramel’s box. She shrieked and held the foals tighter. They squirmed and chirped in her arms.
“NO DADDEH! MY BABBEHS!”
“No, they aren’t. You can’t feed them!”
“DUMMEH DADDEH! NO NEED MILKIE PWACES TO FEED BABBEHS!”
“What? How are you going to feed them?”
“I feed babbehs same food that dwops from sky-place!!”
“Caramel, no, they’re foals. They can’t eat that. They need milk.” I grabbed her by the scruff. She screeched and thrashed around, dropping the babies on the ground. The foals cried out, wriggling around helplessly. I heard Malva sob above, asking where her babies went.
Caramel struggled violently, much more violently than I expected, flailing her hooves at me and trying to bite.
“HATECHU! HATECHU! CAWAMEL GOOD FLUFFY! CAWAMEL BUWWIED SO MUCH! CAWAMEL DIG IN DARK POOPY COMPWOST ALL DAY! CAWAMEL DESERVE BABBEHS! CAWAMEL DESERBE WUB! HUUHUU!”
“Caramel, just fucking - hold on a minute, okay??” I quickly grabbed all of Malva’s foals up in one hand - there were seven of them total. I quickly tossed Caramel back in the compost box and shut the door, locking it. She banged against that door and the door of her little box, screaming at me for taking her babies away.
Christ. I didn’t think this would happen. I knew the foals might be born soon, and that they might fall into the compost, but I expected Caramel to simply tell me about it. Maybe she wasn’t better off alone. Maybe a stallion would have been a better choice, but maybe a male would have killed the foals? Who knows.
I looked down at the chirpies. Their eyes were closed, and they all wriggled and squeaked in my hands. It was cute, but in that grotesque pinkie rat way. They all had survived the fall from birth to the compost, presumably cushioned by it, but one foal looked in slightly worse shape from when Caramel dropped it. It was still breathing, but wasn’t moving much.
They were all decent colors, light pinks, blues, greens, and whites.
Well, I guess I had to deal with this now.
I opened the top enclosure.
“Okay Malva, I found your babies. But I need to do something first, okay?”
“Daddeh? Nu, where babbehs? Wan babbehs nao! NAO!!” I didn’t think Malva could physically get that loud.
“Malva, stop it. I need to make sure it’s SAFE for your babbehs, and so they don’t fall down again, okay?”
“S-sorry daddeh…jus wan babbehs…”
“I know. Be patient.”
With the foals in one hand, I quickly ran inside and grabbed a plastic container roughly the width of Malva’s body and a small cup. I put the foals down on the counter, they squeaked at the cold, then I cut a third of the plastic off. Grabbed the fluffies, ran back outside, opened the box, placed them gently on the wood, Malva gasped to see her babies. I grabbed Malva and untied her lower half, then positioned her upright. I used the rope to fashion a tiny little harness for her so that her ass was still dangling over the drop. I squeezed the plastic container around the sides of her body, so that there was no openings between this little dish and her body. I secured the plastic to her body with rope, then that rope to holes in the wood, preventing the dish and Malva from moving around, and finally, I placed six babies inside the dish, so there was a nice, protected little tub of chirpies with full access to milkies that Malva could look down on, without impeding her ability to defecate off the ledge.
“Gasp! Malba mummah! Malba so happeh! Wub babbehs!! Tank you!!! Tank you daddeh! Wub you so much!!” The other four pillows chirped happily. Even Crimson gave a kind smile.
“So happy for Malba! Cute babbehs!”
“Wub babbehs! Make such good chirpies!”
“Good mummah Malba!”
“Wait, daddeh. How Malba eat nummies now?” Bark asked.
“That’s…a good question. One second.”
Ran inside. Grabbed another plastic container. Poked holes in it. Ran back outside. Hung it from the celling with rope. Secured it at the height of Malva’s mouth. Caught my breath. Grabbed some of the food from the main trough and put it in the container. Malva chirped and gave a happy little munch.
“Whew. Okay. I need to do one more thing Malva, okay?”
“Otay daddeh!! Malba so happies!! Anyfing for daddeh!”
I reached in and grabbed one of her teats, squeezing a small stream of milk into the cup I had grabbed earlier. She squeaked and watched shyly, but was immediately distracted by one of her foals latching onto her other nipple and starting to suckle. She cooed happily, and I closed the box.
I took the seventh chirpie left out of my pocket, the one who had taken a bit of a fall. He was a very sweet blue color, and was moving around a little bit without chirping much. He didn’t look like he was going to die, but I had a feeling he might end up with SBS or something.
I opened the main box again, and cringed.
Caramel was sobbing and actively eating shit instead of the scraps I had tossed in for her.
“Huuhuu…Cawamel bad fwuffy…don deserve babbehs…onwy deserve poopies…huuhuu…”
“Caramel.”
“Dummeh daddeh…” She didn’t look up.
"I have a present for you.
“No want nummies. Onwy want poopies. Onwy deserbe poopies. Huuhuu…”
“It’s a baby.”
She gasped and immediately turned her head to see the chirpie in my hand!
“Babbeh! But…why onwy won? Where oder babbehs go?”
“I already told you, those babbehs were Malva’s, okay? But this one is yours.”
“Cawamel baby? Told you daddeh! Babbeh gift for Cawamel from sky-place. Cawamel so smart.”
“Yes, yes, but, before I give it to you, I have to make sure you understand the responsibility, okay?”
“Cawamel know babbehs, daddeh. Cawamel no worry.”
“No, Caramel, you know you don’t have milkie-places, right? You can’t feed this baby.” I put the cup of milk down.
“Use this cup to feed your babbeh, okay? You have to be very gentle, I will get some rubber nipples and formula tomorrow, but until then you can, uh, dip your fur into the milk and have the babbeh suck it off. Sound good?” Caramel nodded, and I gave the foal to her.
“One more thing - that baby cannot be in the compost, okay? It’s not safe for it. It’s too hot and it will burn its skin.”
“I undewstand daddeh. Babbeh will be in little housie. Cawamel be good mummah!”
“Good, thank you Caramel.”
Next in this fluffy saga - Malva’s babies are gonna get pillowed!