You’re Applefluff! Nice daddy is letting you play in the yard today!
You roll around in the grassies happily, giggling, nibbling on the tender green leaves and bouncing around gleefully. You stay away from the pokey-flowah-bush that gave you bad owies when you tried to nibble the pretty flowers growing on it. You also stay away from the meanie-bewwies bush that gave you bad, buwnie poopies. You’ve been extra good lately, so daddy’s been letting you play in the yard every day for a week! He even gives you nummies out here, so you don’t have to come inside until it gets dark and scary. He’s such a good daddy!
You noticed that the nummies in the bowl are gone in the morning when you first go outside, even if you leave some in the bowl when you go back in the house. But you never stop to think about it, because daddy always fills the bowl up for you and laughs while you play and dance in the nice grassies!
You’re on your back, hugging your favorite ball, when you hear a funny sound. What’s that? You drop your ball and get up. The sound is coming from the other side of the fence! Maybe it’s a scary monster! You tremble a little, afraid of what it could be. But… you look over your shoulder. Daddy’s right there at the table, using his scribble stick to write on paper. If it is a monster, daddy will come save you. And you’re really, really curious to find out what it is.
So instead of running away, you very cautiously sneak up to the fence and sniff.
Eugh! Whatever it is, it doesn’t smell pretty at all! You hear it sniffing too, and scratching at the fence. You follow the scratchy noise, trying to catch a glimpse of it through the fence.
Oh no! There’s a- a- a HOLE in the ground! How did that get there?! You hope daddy doesn’t think you broke the ground and punish you with the sorry stick. The sniffing and scratching gets louder on the other side of the fence, and then the dirt starts moving! Something pokes its head through the hole in the ground!
Wait, what IS that thing? It blinks at you and climbs out of the hole, waddling toward your food bowl. You thought it was a kitty monster at first, but you’ve seen a kitty monster up close, and this isn’t the same. It’s kind of pretty though, with the stripey down its back.
It ignores you and starts eating the kibble out of your bowl. Hey! Those are your nummies! You didn’t say you would share! Who is this, and why does he think he can just come take your nummies without asking?! Now you’re angry and you stomp a hoof, puffing your cheeks up.
“Hey! Dose Appuwfwuff’s nummies! Nu eet Appuwfwuff’s nummies! Yoo haf tu ask fuwst!”
It ignores you. You start to get even angrier, but then you think. Maybe it’s not being a meanie, and is just really, really hungry? Maybe it has bad tummy owies? Maybe it needs your nummies more than you do. Now you feel bad for getting angry and yelling at it. Maybe you just need to be nice to it, and it will want to be friends? You run back to your ball and roll it near the strange creature.
You kick the ball and the ball bounces off the thing’s nose. Oops! You didn’t mean to do it that hard.
It turns its back on you and you feel sad. You hurt its feelings. Wait, why is it lifting its tail?
You’re finishing the paperwork for your new car loan when you suddenly hear a blood-curdling screech of purest suffering. Leaping to your feet, you run out into the yard, wondering what Applefluff has managed to do to herself this time.
Oh, oh HELL! The stench is so bad it hits you like a physical object. Your eyes are tearing up and burning, your sinuses are on fire, and you literally bend over and puke, the smell is that horrific. You stand up and blink your eyes several times and the scene before you is one out of Dante’s Inferno.
There’s a skunk, a big one, nonchalantly devouring your fluffy’s kibble. Your precious, adorable little fluffy is screaming, beyond words, and thrashing blindly in the grass. You grab the garden hose, turn it up all the way, aim the high pressure sprayer at the skunk from what you hope is a safe distance, and let loose.
The water from the hose comes out at such a high pressure that it physically blasts the food dish and the kibble inside and sends it flying against the fence. The skunk fares little better and you keep a continuous blast of high-pressure water aimed at it. The skunk scrabbles to get traction in the wet grass and flees, squirming into a hole it dug under the fence. You run up and kick it in the ass before it gets all the way into the hole, then jam the hose into the hole and fill it with water.
Vengaence wrought, you turn to your gasping, thrashing fluffy. The skunk spray is affecting you badly, making it difficult to see or breathe, and your poor little fluffy took it full in the face. You quickly tear the high pressure attachment off the hose, breaking the plastic in the process, but you don’t care. You hose your little mare down thoroughly, covering her nose with your hand while running the water all up and down her face so she doesn’t inhale the water. Then you set the hose aside, ignoring the water soaking into your pantlegs as you kneel beside your fluffy.
“Applefluff! Sweetie! Are you ok? Daddy’s here!”
Oh shit. She’s not breathing.
You jostle her and she starts gasping, her little eyelids flutter, and she lets out a wail of sorrow. She’s soaking wet and stinks terribly, but you hug her to your chest.
“Oh, baby! Are you ok?”
“Huuuuu… sob Huuhuuhuuuuuu! Waaaaaaaaaaah! sob Why munsta su meany? AAAAAAAAHHHH-HAAAAA-HAAAA! sob HUUUUU!”
You carry her over next to the house, away from the hose, and gently set her in the grass.
“Don’t worry, baby girl, daddy’s here! I’ll take care of you!”
You set the hose back in the hole the skunk dug, filling it with water again, and run inside the kitchen. Shit, you don’t have any tomato paste! Wait- you once read on the internet that pickle juice actually works better than tomato paste, and you actually do have pickle juice! You open the fridge and pull out the massive pickle jar; there’s only one pickle left in it, and you quickly undo the lid, spear the pickle with a fork, and leave it on the stovetop. Then, you heft the pickle jar, sans lid, out into the yard where your sobbing, miserable fluffy is shivering in damp, smelly fluff.
“C’mere, Applefluff, daddy’s gonna make the bad smell go away.”
“Huuu, nu smeww pwetty, huuhuuu!”
“It’s ok, baby. Here, this is gonna be really cold…”
You start pouring pickle juice all over your fluffy and making sure it soaks into her fluff. She gasps in shock at the chilly pickle juice.
“Cowd! Nu mowe cowd, daddeh! Huuuu! sob Huuu-hu-hu-hu!”
“I know baby, I’m sorry. This’ll make the bad smell go away.”
“Appuwfwuff dun wan mowe sowwy smeww! Huuhuuhuu!”
You knead the pickle juice into your poor, pathetic fluffy’s fluff, mane, and tail, hoping it will neutralize some of the stench from the skunk’s spray. She’s shaking violently from the cold soaking her body and the shock of the experience.
Finally, you’re out of pickle juice. You need to let it soak into her fluff a while longer, so it can neutralize the stench. You know you’ll regret it, but what the hell; your shirt’s already wet anyway. You pick your sobbing fluffy up and hug her to your chest. She’s utterly inconsolable.
Finally, when you’re sure she can’t stand the bitter cold or being ‘nu smeww pwetty’ any longer, you carry her inside and plunk her down in the tub. She shivers, sniveling in self-pity, while you warm the water up, and then you give her a bubble bath. She starts to calm down a little as the warmth takes away the chill of the pickle juice, and the pleasant smell of the soap bubbles gradually starts to replace the awful stench of the skunk and the pickle juice. You end up draining the water and shampooing her three more times, but the faint scent of skunk still lingers in her fluff. Man, those critters are potent! You dry her off, using two large towels to get all the water out of her fluff, wrap her up in a third towel, and gently carry her into the safe room and put her in her bed.
“There you go, darling. You had a really scary day, didn’t you. Poor little girl. Daddy’s gonna make sure you don’t get hurt by that mean ol’ skunk ever again.”
“Nu! Nu! Daddeh! Dun weave Appuwfwuff! Fwuffy scawed! Pwease! Nu weave Appuwfuff!”
You pick her up again, still swaddled in the big, soft towel, and hug her closely. She’s sucking on one of her hooves, a nervous habit she had as a foal that she mostly got over as an adult.
“Ok, baby, daddy’s not going anywhere. You can sleep with daddy tonight.”
You bend over and unplug her nightlight, taking it with you. You carry her into your room, carefully lay her on the bed, and plug the nightlight in near the door. Then you shut the door; you normally leave it open at night for air flow, but she’s used to sleeping in her safe room with the door shut and might get scared with it open. You turn out the light, make your way to the bed in the dim glow of her nightlight, and slide under the covers. Then you pull the towel-clad fluffy up to you and hug her to you.
“Go to sleep, sweetie. Daddy’s here. And he’s going to take care of that naughty monster tomorrow.”
“Wub yoo, daddeh.” Slightly muffled, because she’s still sucking on her hoof.
“I love you too, Applefluff.”
You’re sitting on top of a six foot utility ladder you brought from your garage and set next to the fence in your backyard. The hole the skunk dug into your yard has been filled in. Your breath hisses slightly through the gas mask and MOPP suit you bought at the military surplus store down the street. The MOPP suit is designed to protect against chemical weapons like nerve gas, stuff that can kill hundreds of men with less than half a drop. You’re sure it’s proof against skunk spray.
You’ve been waiting all day. Your fluffy is sitting by the sliding glass door, protected by the transparent barrier. She’s been watching you the whole time, anxiously sucking her hoof and whimpering. You continue to wait, sweating under the thick chemical suit. Your breath hisses and you smell nothing but the rubber gas mask covering your entire face.
Finally, your prey comes into sight. A big, fat skunk waddles out from under a bush and begins sniffing around the pile of fluffy kibble you left on the other side of the fence as bait. You carefully take aim…
… and blast the fucker dead in the face with your can of bear spray. The skunk makes a strangled squeak and begins rolling around in agony. You hose it all over in the powerful, burning pepper spray.
“HOW DO YOU LIKE IT, BITCH?!”
The skunk, blind, laboring to breath, and burning all over its entire body as if it were on fire, writhes in silence as you continue to hose it down with pure, liquid pain. Once the can of bear spray is completely empty, you toss it at the skunk, who is too busy burning to notice the can bouncing off its skull. You climb down off the ladder, wash the MOPP suit off with the hose in case you got pepper spray or skunk spray on it, peel the hot, sweaty rubberized suit and gas mask off and dump them in the grass, and go inside.
Your fluffy hugs your leg and you immediately scoop her up into a big hug and carry her into the safe room to play with her.
You are a fucking hero.