So, I don’t really like shit content, but doing the chicken story did give me another idea - chickens are shit factories, but all of that shit makes fantastic fuckin’ compost. Fluffies, with their voracious appetites, presumably make even more of that compost.
This is a direct sequel to Chicken Food. This is also just part 1 of a two part story. Part 1 is more about the grand scheme to turn fluffies into a composting system and acquiring these fluffies, whereas part 2 is going to involve amputating chirpies for more compost-generators, and what life is like for the brown fluffy tasked with mixing the compost. Stay tuned!
After a series of bloody rampages, the microfluffy invasion ceased to be a problem for my garden. My chickens were fat and happy and their eggs were feeding me well. But as I kept up with my garden forums and park service friends dealing with varying degrees of fluffy infestations, I kept thinking about the nest of micros I found in my compost. Really, it was such a perfect place for them. Didn’t matter what they ate in there. Didn’t matter if it was chicken shit-caked pine shavings, didn’t matter if it was rotting apple cores, didn’t matter if it was cardboard. They’d eat anything, and anything that came out of a fluffy would be just one step closer to being quality compost. Shit, they could probably eat a lot of the things you can’t typically put in a normal compost - onions, garlic, seeded weeds (mygod, if they could eat bindweed…).
Well, that settled it. My newest project was to make a fluffy composter. In the blazing glory of energy that comes with a new garden project, I got to work.
Obviously I wasn’t the first one to think of this. There were a small handful of ideas floating online. The ones that came from the fluffy forums were hilariously elaborate, and usually involved fluffy breeders coming up with entertaining uses for their “poopie fluffies.” But I didn’t care about that, a brown fluffy was no worse to me than a blue or purple fluffy. They all eat, they all fuck, they all shit. And they could all be making me delicious, delicious compost.
I had a couple things to consider. As with all compost systems, there was the question of temperature, aeration, microbial composition, security, and accessibility. I could, as I originally figured, throw a couple fluffies into my current setup, which was just three large wooden boxes with doors. In this case, a hungry fluffy would dig around and do the aeration work for me. However, I couldn’t do this with micros, as they could escape too easily, and there was the question of temperature too - a micro certainly wouldn’t be able to handle the heat a compost generates, and a regular fluffy would also struggle. It’d be great for the winter months, but not in the summer.
I was quite surprised to read that the NPK ratio of fluffies was 1-0.8-0.6, which is much more comparable to a chicken than a very small horse. It would be great for my compost, but pretty bad for any fluffy stepping in it regularly. I don’t know how so many fluffies can manage to live literally wallowing in their own shit, its a shock they’re not burning themselves constantly on all that putrid nitrogen, or how litter-pals aren’t developing chemical burns in their stomach. Well, maybe they are, actually.
Full of FAR too many ideas, I decided to consult a fluffy forum.
TheLurkerr: Hey guys, I’m thinking about building a fluffy-powered composter. I’m trying to figure out if having mobile or pillowed fluffies would be better. I thought about just locking some adult fluffies in my composter so they can eat and shit and mix the compost up, but I’m worried about them escaping or getting burnt or suffocating. So, I had the idea of rounding up some feral fluffies and pillowing them and building a system where they can eat and shit directly into the system, but that doesn’t fix the mixing issue. Thoughts?
ShittySentry: why dont you just get litter pals? you can always find them at shelters.
TheLurkerr: I thought about that, and I’m considering it, but part of what I wanted to do was work to reduce the feral fluffy population. But them to better use, you know? A litter pal is already removed from the environment.
XxBleakboxxX: u def gotta pillow a feral fluff if ur goin to do that tho they will try to escape or might not wanna eat anything u give them. if u pillow them it doesn’t matter but they’ll also b traumatized and b hard to deal with. they might go into a wan die loop. i would find a preggo mare than pillow her babies
TheLurkerr: That’s not a bad idea. I guess that’s where buying a bunch of old litter pals would be an easier option. Is amputating adult fluffies hard?
XxBleakboxxX: not rly. babies r easier but their still p easy. ill dm u a guide
TheLurkerr: Oh thanks!
Hugboxer99: go play in dirt faggot
HouseplantAbuser: Heyyy a fellow gardener! I like this idea, but is there any reason you can’t use a setup with a tumbling composter? Or why you can’t mix it yourself?
TheLurkerr: Hi! I’m a bit worried about a tumbling composter filling up too fast. The box setup I have right now is pretty big and I can modify it easily. I CAN mix it myself but I feel like it’s appropriate to try and use fluffy labor for that too.
AbooserCabooser: lol “appropriate” yeah, it’s fun to make them do work for you XD
TheLurkerr: It’d save me some time for sure.
ShittySentry: id still look into enfie pals or litter pals. i get wanting to take ferals so theyre less of a problem but idk if itd be more trouble than its worth. like XxBleakboxxX said they could go into a wan die loop and not eat anything you give them.
TheLurkerr: I’ll keep that in mind, thanks!
HouseplantAbuser: Why not find a poopie fluffy to mix the compost for you? It’s already used to dealing with shit, and it doesn’t have to be in there all the time. You can also throw whatever the other fluffies don’t eat directly in there with it.
TheLurkerr: I didn’t think about using a mix of pillowed and intact fluffies, and I could definitely make a little protected enclosure for one fluffy attached to the compost. Thanks!
So, I settled on a plan. I was, admittedly, still sadistically enamored with the idea of grabbing feral fluffies and pillowing them myself, putting an invasive creature to work for the environment and such. But, the commenters made a good point - It was easier to find an enfie or litter pal, and it did occur to me that I would be clearing up space in the shelters for more feral or unwanted fluffs to be taken off the streets.
Before I went to find my pre-pillowed fluffs, I modified my composter box to have a platform above it and a hole in the compost’s celling. The whole thing was enclosed with old fence boards, and fortified with hardware cloth to protect from predators. The fluffies would be situated right near the edge of the platform, with their little behinds hanging over the drop into the box.
I cut another hole into the side of the composter and made a simple box with a door on the side. This is where my “poopie-fluffy” would be, preferably one that was used to being mistreated by its litter mates but had all of its limbs intact. That fluffy could move freely between the side box and the main compost so that it wasn’t constantly being subject to the feces and temperature. I would not require it to eat any of the shit, only what the other fluffies didn’t eat. It probably would be so happy to not have to deal with other fluffies, it wouldn’t even want to escape.
It only took one trip to a fluffy adoption center to find what I needed.
Figuring my small local adoption center (where I got Pip) wouldn’t have a high number of pillowed fluffs, I drove into the city to a large municipal adoption center, opened just for fluffies and run by the massively overworked sector of animal control dedicated squarely to fluffies. They never seemed to have a hard time hiring people, though.
I walked in and was immediately hit with a humid, piss-drenched waft of air. Cages upon cages upon cages of fluffies were stacked to the ceiling of this warehouse, accessible by a rapidly constructed system of scaffolding. A cacophony of shrill cries and screams rang out from every direction. Employees were zipping around, some pushing massive bins of cages to rooms marked “NEUTER STATION,” “EUTHANASIA STATION” and “FURNACE.” There wasn’t any sugar coating here, it felt less like a shelter and more like a disposal factory, making a teeny tiny bit of money selling the desirables (or in my case, the undesirables) on the side. It was perfect.
I walked up to the front desk, which was situated strangely in the middle of all this action, like an afterthought, or as if they didn’t actually expect anyone to come in here. The woman sitting there looked like hadn’t slept in three days, her eyes rapidly darting between her computer and various charts. She looked up at me and mustered a broken customer service smile.
“Hi, how can I help you today?”
“Hi, I have a bit of a weirdly specific request. I’m looking to take home six fluffies. Five pillowed, like enfie or litter pals, and one, um, ‘poopie-fluff.’” She laughed, this time with a more genuine grin.
“Oh honey, we don’t care what you’re using these things for. As long as you’re taking them off our hands, we’re happy. And luckily for you…” she turned to her computer and practically smashed her keyboard with a flurry of typing, “we have eleven amputated fluffies in today, and a hundred and three brown fluffies.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s kind of a post-holiday rush. Everyone bought fluffy foals back in April for Easter, and now they’re getting bigger and uglier and more demanding, and the kids are all getting tired of them because its summer vacation and they have to deal with fluffy nonsense all day long. So, a lot of them are getting surrendered. And that’s in addition to the hundred or so we pick up off the streets daily. Anyways, do you want to go look at the pillowed fluffs? They’re somewhat popular so we have them in their own section. Oh, and do you want anything more specific for the brown fluffy?”
“Oh, that would be fantastic, thank you. And for the brown fluffy, uh, I don’t have anything more specific in mind, I just need it to be, um, a victim of abuse from its siblings?”
She laughed again as we started walking towards a different part of the building.
“That doesn’t narrow it down much, honey! Most brown fluffies born to mixed-color litters are abused.”
“Ah, right, right. Um, how about…I dunno, female? And actually, maybe on the larger side?”
“Wonderful, that cuts it down a bit.”
We walked over to a short stack of cages. It was a little bit quieter over here, only small, helpless sobs and sniffles coming from the cages. I glanced over the eleven cages, and saw a group of brown and dull green litter pals, but there were two others that caught my eye.
One was a brilliant rich red stallion with a dark purple mane, and an expression on his face that read “try me.” I looked at his information sheet:
Hi, I’m Crimson! I used to be a bad fluffy, I had smarty syndrome and was punished for being mean to my mummahs. My leggies and no-no places were taken away, and I was used as an enfie-pal. While I might act like I don’t care, I actually love brushes and love! Take me home today!
In the cage next to him was a sad, meek little mare with a nice white coat and a bright pink mane. Her sheet read:
Hi, I’m Malva! I was bred to be an enfie-pal for a bunch of stallions, but I was given up after I bit one’s no-no place. I am very sensitive and gentle, and I would love to be taken to a kind, caring home. I am also pregnant! According to local law, this fluffy and its offspring must be taken back to this shelter to be neutered after giving birth. Please fill out a special notice form if you intend to neuter the fluffies yourself. Failure to comply will result in up to $100 in fines.
Maybe I’d get to amputate some fluffies after all.
“I definitely want to take these two enfie pals.”
“No problem. I’m sure you saw the sign for Malva there - do you want to neuter them yourself?”
“Well, I feel more confident about neutering the males. Can I bring Malva and whatever female babies she has in?”
“Oh definitely. That’s not a problem. I’ll go grab that form for you, and let me know when I come back if you’ve chosen the other three you want.”
I thought to myself - quite relaxed, for how much of a problem feral fluffs were. What was stopping me from lying about how big Malva’s litter was, and only bringing one of her chirpies in to be neutered? And only a hundred dollar fine? Wasn’t going to do it, but it crossed my mind.
I looked at the former litter pals. At a glance, all of them looked roughly the same - sad, matted, dirty brown or green lumps sitting quiet or sobbing gently. All of their information sheets were half-assed, and several of them didn’t have names at all. I decided to choose three on the younger side, all who looked like they had been amputated as chirpies and specifically sold as litter pals - a dull green male named Olive, a light brown female named Bark, and a dark brown male named Sticks. Only Sticks looked up at me with any excitement.
“N…new daddeh?” He chirped.
“Yes, new daddeh. I’m gonna take you, and Olive, and Bark, and Crimson, and Malva home. You’re all gonna have a big new housie.”
The other four heard me and responded in either gasps or confused chirps. A big smile stretched across Stick’s face. He was pretty darn cute, a dark chocolatey color with a similarly chocolatey mane, and big amber eyes.
“Steecks going tu new housie! Steecks hab new bwuaddahs and sistahs! Steecks so happeh!”
The front desk lady came back with the form, which I signed, and I told her who I wanted to bring home. An employee came with a large cardboard box, where he consolidated the five pillow fluffs. They all looked at eachother with bewilderment and excitement, Sticks, Olive, and Bark gleefully greeting the other fluffies. Malva seemed to greet them sheepishly, whereas Crimson huffed and looked away.
Another employee came over, holding a very ratty and neurotic looking light brown fluffy.
“You wanted a brown, right?” he said, “How 'bout this one? Her name is Caramel. She’s a former feral who’s been in our foster system for a minute, but she always gets bullied and crapped on by the other fluffies. She’s super quiet but pretty well behaved.”
“That’s perfect. Can you put her into a separate box?”
“No problem, sir. How was your experience today?”
“Oh, wonderful, thanks. Y’all looked really busy, but this was super efficient and easy.”
“That’s great to hear. Come to the counter and I’ll ring you up - your total is 17 bucks.”
“17? Really?”
“Mmhmm. Litter-pals were two bucks each. The enfie-pals were three. And this one brown was five.”
I rang up and walked out with my two boxes of fluffies. The pillows attempted to crane what little neck they had to look at Caramel in my other hand, an act entirely in vain.
“Why poopie fwuffy wif leggies in othah box mistah?”
“Oh, because she doesn’t like being around other fluffies.” Caramel, who had been silent this entire time, poked her head up a little bit.
“Cawamel otay…Cawamel jus don wike buwwies…don know if piwwow fwuffies are buwwies…no weggies mean no hurties…”
“Well, to tell the truth Caramel, I chose you because I wanted a fluffy who wouldn’t mind a little peace and quiet. Does that sound nice to you?”
“Dunno daddeh. Cawamel don know qwiet.”
“Oh, well, I think you’ll like it, but I also want to make something clear to all of you.”
I put both boxes of fluffies in the passenger seat of my car and leaned down to address all of them.
“I am bring you home to a new housie. None of you ever have to get bad enfies or eat poopies ever again.” All of them, even Caramel and Crimson, lit up in excitement.
“Hooway! No bad poopies! No bad enfies!”
“Yes, yes. However, you all are not my pets exactly. I am giving you all jobs to do.”
“Jowbs?” It was finally Malva who spoke. Her voice was incredibly quiet and squeaky. “How fwuffy hab jowbs wif no leggies? Malba onwy know enfies and babbehs.”
“An Owib onwy know enfies and poopies! Wat Owib do?” Olive chimed in.
“Well, Malva, Olive, Crimson, Sticks, Bark, you five are going to have a very simple and easy job. Your job is just to eat whatever I give you.”
“Wike poopies?” Malva squeaked.
“No, no, I already said that you will never have to eat poopies again. I’m gonna give you much better nummies to eat, okay?”
“Otay daddeh!”
“Otay!”
“Otay! Yay for good nummies!”
“Otay…”
“Hrmph,” Crimson finally huffed, “Cwimson fink hoomin gonna feed fluffies BAD nummies.”
“Don’t worry Crimson. Anything’s gonna be better than poopies, right?”
“Cwimson nebah ate poopies. Cwimson ate bad peepees and no-no juice. And kibble.”
“Right. Well, this is gonna be better than all of that, 'kay.”
“Cwimson don’t bewebe dummeh hoomin.”
“Um…Daddeh? Malba nebah ate poopie eider…Malba also ate no-no juice and kibble…am bad fwuffy like Cwimson?”
“No, no, oh goodness. Neither of you are bad fluffies. Just try and believe me when I say that I am going to feed you better than what you ate before, okay?”
“Otay…”
“Hmmph. Dummeh.”
“Daddeh…I hab anober qewshun.” Malva squeaked again, “Malba is soon-mummah. Do babbehs have jowbs too?”
“They do! I’m gonna give all your babies the same jobs as you, so you’ll get to spend all the time you want with them.” There was a sweet little light in here eyes. I don’t think it registered for her that that would mean I was going to take her babies’ leggies.
I turned to Caramel, who was very politely sitting in her box, her eyes wide with curiosity and definitely some anxiety.
“What Cawamel jowb?”
“You, Caramel, get the most special job. You don’t have to eat poopies, but I want you to dig around in a big pile of dirt and poopies. You get the same food as the pillows do, and you get your own little housie.” Caramel looked a little disappointed at first, but perked up a little at the mention at her own housie.
“Own housie for Cawamel? Onwy hab to dig?”
“That’s right.”
“O…otay daddeh. Don souwnd too bad.”
“Right? Okay babies, let’s go to your new home.”
Stay tuned for Part 2! Where the six fluffies learn what it’s like to be living composters and compost-mixers, and where Malva learns what happens to her babies when they get their new jobs!
