Officer Twinkie yawned as his day began, out on his cozy little bed. It was always easy to know when his day started because he bunked down in the breakroom at the small town police station he’d always knew as home. During the night, nobody come in here. What little officers out during the night practically lived in their squad cars. When morning arrived the fluorescent would come on up above the smell of brewing coffee filled the air. It also meant his most favorite person in the world would (usually) be here.
Today was no different. His handler was named Officer McPherson, and Twinkie wasn’t allowed to call him daddeh because that was inappropriate for the workplace. McPherson was a sandy haired young man with a neat little mustache. Being as he was his handler, Twinkie had known him ever since he was an itty bitty foal and had stopped drinking miwkies from his mummah.
“Come on, let’s get you presentable.” McPherson told him, scooping the still sleepy-eyed fluffy up from his bed. On over to the breakroom sink where he’d get his daily bath. Standing there with a somewhat sheepish expression, the yellow and white stallion allowed sweet smelling shampoo to be worked into his fluff then rinsed off with a few cups filled with water. Blowdry action and then some mane styling turned him into the handsomest li’l guy on the force. This only took a few minutes as they’d through the process so many times and it would easy now.
Once set down to the floor, Twinkie got up on his hind-legs. McPherson’s wife had made him his very own vest when he’d first been accepted as an officer. It wasn’t bulletproof but it was pretty cool. Navy blue with one of the plastic badges they gave out to children sewn onto the material. ‘To Serve with Honor’ was stitched one side in gold thread, and on the other was his name.
“You ready for another day of crimefighting?” His handler joked. They never fought any crime. As an officer, McPherson was more of a community outreach thing. He’d assist with minor incidents at the most, serving more as an auxiliary.
Nodding, Twinkie followed McPherson out of the breakroom once he’d got a cup of sludgy coffee which served to keep people awake around here. “Yis Sah.”
+++++
McPherson spent much of his time just cruising around town. This place, Rockbridge, was just a sleepy little hamlet. School, gas station, one of those tiny hospitals you’d hate to land in with a serious problem, just enough to keep up appearances.
That said, the human officer wasn’t really too concerned with finding much crime. Not anything TO find. Twinkie, however, was all about it. Ears perked up, looking out of the window from his perch on the booster seat upfront, head on a swivel.
“Mistuh Sah, ams any badsies?” He asked as he always did. It earned a laugh.
“Easy, bud. It’s a good thing when there isn’t anything going on.” Which Twinkie did know. He just really wanted to help people.
Well. There would be no harm in getting something for him to do. “Wanna visit the hospital?” They often did. Kids up there on their sick beds got a kick at seeing a real police officer, especially if it was a fluffy one.
Of course Twinkie gave a nod.
++++++++++
At the hospital they’d sign-in as guests (Twinkie giving a looping scribble by clumsily holding the pen in his mouth) and head down to the children’s ward.
There were a few kids who were frequent guests here. Cancer, kidney problems, what have you. Outside of their care rooms, they could often be found in the dinky children’s community room.
This was a depressing place. Old boardgames with mismatched pieces, a chunky CRTV lacking cable but having stacks of videotapes that had been watched a million times. The carpeting had splotches from plenty of spilled bodily fluids, and the place generally just had a depressing vibe.
“HEWWO FWENDS!” Twinkie called out as he ran into the community room, hooves tapping along the floor. Heads turned, nobody interested in Land Before Time III on the television.
“Officer Twinkie!” Cried out a little girl in a wheelchair, one hand dangling down to pet the stallion as he bucked up into the room. He did one better than a pet though and hopped up on the foot panels of the chair, springing up with a scrabble onto her lap. Giggling, she smoothed a hand over his silky mane.
Those who ambulatory got up to crowd around the girl and her lap sitting officer. “Hewwo Sawa! An’ Amdy! An’ Rashew!” He know most of their names. It was surprising that a fluffy could remember so many and not just a generic ‘Daddeh’ or ‘Mummah’, but Twinkie was as sharp as a knife. Well. For one of his kind.
“Officer Twinkie, did’ju solve any big crimes?” Asked a kid named Andy, a shrimpy little guy who was always in here for dialysis. This earned a nod.
“Yis. Twinkie fin’ who am nummed Mistah Siwh’s sammich.”
This would lead in to explaining what had happened: A sandwich had been eaten in the breakroom. Nobody could figure out who it was but Twinkie had been on the case. After some investigation which included questioning and looking through his files, it turned out…
Twinkie had been the culprit all along!
The detective can’t commit the crime, but Officer Twinkie didn’t know this. His punishment was having his sad mugshot posted on the police station’s Facebook and spending an hour in the drunk tank.
Of course this story captivated his audience and made them giggle.
“Look at this little crook.” McPherson announced from his corner, passing around his phone which showed the guilty looking fluffy.
Twinkie bristled a bit. “Fwuffy nu am bad anymowe!”
There was lots of playing with the cruddy toys in the community room afterwards. Dancies. Huggies. McPherson busied himself with paperwork before his radio chirruped. A traffic stop requiring assistance.
“Well, look at that. Duty calls, kids.” McPherson tipped his hat to the youngsters and bustled out of the room. Twinkie dutifully followed him, stopped, turned on his hooves to wave goodbye.
“Bye Twinkie! We love you!” They called out, or such things in a similar vein. Immediately after they left, the group would begin working on more Officer Twinkie art. Despite the fact that the bulletin board they were allotted with already drooped down heavy with it.
+++++
Once they were positioned in the squad car, McPherson turned on the lights and siren. This was especially exciting for Twinkie because they rarely got to use them.
“Vwoomy suuuu fast!” He exclaimed as they zipped through traffic and lights which obeyed the very fact that they were rolling up quickly.
More and more chatter was coming from the radio. Too fast for Twinkie to understand but the longer it went on, the more McPherson looked concerned.
“Mistah Siwh?” He asked curiously, tail swishing around. Something serious was going on but it still hadn’t dawned on him what.
All units, all units…
+++++++
When the squad car screeched to a stop, McPherson exited with his service weapon already drawn. This was the very first time that Twinkie had seen this happen before.
“Stay inside!” McPherson demanded, letting the door hang open. Growing uneasy, the fluffy looked out the window. Outside there was another squad car. This one had no lights or sirens on, and something was wrong: It had holes in it and the windshield was shattered. Even worse was what was in front of the car.
Officer Barnes. A guy that Twinkie knew very well. He had white hair and a big beard like Santa Claus. When he laughed, his belly shook like a big bowl of jelly. Dark red surrounded him, a trail of it leading from one destination to where he was now. Twinkie very much liked him as he always gave him pats and let him have nummies out of the candy dish on his desk.
“I got you, Barnes! Don’t worry!” McPherson shouted, trying to advance up to get him. A hand popped out from behind a red sedan with out of state plates, shots ringing out. It scared Twinkie a lot. Scared his handler too, the man having to duck back and retreat behind another vehicle which had been abandoned in traffic.
Officer Barnes needed help! Ears drooping down and teeth chittering, he was so scared. Of the loud gun, of his bestest fwend getting hurt, of what might happen if Barnes didn’t get help.
He’d been told to sit inside of the squad car. Sure he wanted to. In fact, he was practically glued to his booster seat. Hooves waggling weakly, he began to tear himself out of the vehicle. It was slow going at first but then more determination filled his tiny heart.
With a tiny ‘humph!’ he exited and plopped down to the asphalt. Began running ahead of his handler, McPherson staring at the small yellow blur that zipped past him.
“Stop! Don’t!” He got told, but he didn’t stop. Cheeks puffing out, he skittered across the asphalt. Broken glass crunched under him and even cut up his hooves. It didn’t matter though, he shot under the open driver’s door of the sedan where the bad guy was.
It was an older man with head full of greasy black hair. Twinkie could smell buwny wawas coming off of him. Acrid sweat. Desperate eyes.
“Am get’chu bad man!” Twinkie growled, launching himself at the crouching man. Sank his teeth down on one of his wrists and kicked his hooves around.
This criminal had perhaps been expecting a dog to rush him, not a fluffy. Hadn’t even realized it WAS a fluffy with all the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“GET THA FUCK OFFA ME!” He screeched, reeling out from behind the car. Punching the stallion right in his tummy. Pained exploded inside of him, though it wouldn’t last for long. Free hand reeling up, Twinkie found himself staring a gun which still stank of being recently fired.
Something crossed his mind, and then he had no mind left.
++++
Judy’s Bar was the only gin joint in town and tonight it was hosting a very special party. The place, dingy and floors sticky with many beers spilled over the years, was crammed through with all sorts of folks.
Some were in their dress blues if they were officers. Barnes was certainly dressed to the nines, though his position in a wheelchair cut some of the grandeur down.
All the officers in town not currently on duty were here. So, too, were those from surrounding towns. Wives. Hell, there were even fluffies crammed into the joint.
Once it seemed enough people had crowded in, McPherson took his place in front of the bar counter. With a crowd like this you’d think the president had just come through but nope. All done up in his blues, McPherson scanned out over the crowd and gave a small smile. His wife, all dolled up and pretty as a posy, stood beside him and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.
“Thanks for coming out here tonight. As you all know, this is the wake of Officer Twinkie.” It almost felt ridiculous to say. Hell it kind of was. Though there was nothing ridiculous about the critter that had given his life up. Propped up in the center of the bar in a little casket that the local rotary club had made specially for him. There was Twinkie, lifeless. You’d see many a dead fluffy around but this one had dignity. Laying there on his plush velvet, wrapped up in his vest which still bore a hole from the bullet that had ended his life.
“Wub yew Twinkie!” Chittered a brown pegasus mare, giving happy wing twitters. She really did. All of the fluffies who were attending here did. Twinkie got ‘paid’ each week which was just an allowance. What had he wanted though? He had all the toys, love, and shelter he wanted. So he’d take his ten or twenty bucks and get his handler to buy food for them. That just being the natural empathy of a fluffy.
Nodding, a red and green stallion stepped up. “Yis! Wub yews! Sowwy ‘fo huwties! ”
McPherson let them finish. Seemed like all of the fluffies wanted to chime in and that was fine. Once they had concluded, he would continue.
“Kind words. Twinkie loved all of you. Loved this community. Tonight is a party. See, he wouldn’t want you to cry or feel bad.” Looking down to his former partner, McPherson smiled.
“So have a good time for him.”
+++++++
A good time was had by all. Baked spaghetti, donated by the nice ladies of the Presbyterian church, was served by the heaping tray full. Not only to the humans either. All the fluffies which had come up here to give the fallen officer respect were cramming themselves full of the stuff and had even been provided lemonade.
The humans, those who were so inclined to do so, were getting loaded. Whiskey bottles were being drained, gin got slung to many thirsty mouths, and so much beer swilled out into frosty glasses that it’d be a miracle that the kegs didn’t run dry soon.
“To one Hell of a fluffy! Here’s to you, Officer Twinkie.” Barnes would toast over the open casket happily, slapping a glass of Coke against the many tippering shots of whiskey. He’d be on the hard stuff too if the doctor allow it. Hell, would even risk it otherwise if his wife wasn’t currently in attendance.
Shouting, cheering, stomping. Place was turning into a damn madhouse. ‘YMCA’ had been spun on the juke who knows how many times. It was the only song that McPherson could ever recall the fluffy showing any interest in. Likely because it was so happy sounding.
“I’m gonna give this beautiful bastard a hug! Come here!” Nobody stopped a fella named Jamie Wilson from snatching up Twinkie’s corpse from the casket, giving him an appreciative squeezing hug. He’d been stitched up so there wouldn’t be anything leaking out, thank God.
Despite Jamie Wilson being the town drunk and likely only being here because there was an open bar, Officer Barnes waggled a finger. “Bring ‘em here.”
Barnes was the proud father of three lovely children who had gone on to have five grandchildren who brought him a ton of joy. He was old now and should have retired awhile ago but had been working as an officer just to keep himself busy. Folks who retired dropped like flies. Officer Twinkie had saved him from some drunk nutjob on what had been a routine traffic stop. Doc said if he hadn’t gotten help immediately, he likely wouldn’t have made it.
“Thank you.” He whispered into Twinkie’s ear, hugging the corpse up. Was it weird? Sort of…though he’d given him a chance to keep on. A peppermint was slipped from his uniform, transferred into the pocket of Twinkie’s vest. He’d meant to do it at the end of the night but why not now? One more sweetie nummy for the road.
“Me next!” Barne’s ever doting wife said, giving the officer a hug. So it was that he was passed along the room, ending up at McPherson finally. Looking down to the fluffies who were squeezed into the room, faces all smeared with sketti sauce, he bent down to one knee and carefully cradled the body of his partner so they could have a turn.
Pressing up to Twinkie, each fluffy took a turn to hug him. Some seemed disappointed that it wasn’t returned, but understood after a moment what was going on and only hugged harder. As if to breathe life into him.
A pink and yellow mare with a dirty coat shyly backed away from Twinkie after giving him a small cuddle. “Dowwy wub yew. Pwease hab gud fowebbah sweepies.” She told him respectfully, a tear cresting at her eye. Then she remembered that they’d all been told not to cry and went skittering off before anyone could see.
Once everyone had gotten a hug, McPherson carefully laid his buddy down to the casket.
By now a local group of bikers were outside the place, making their rides roar and crackle. Their own sendoff to the little guy. YMCA once more hit the playlist, and there were no groans. So much happy chattering, a real festive party. Folks were dancing, someone declared they should play Bingo, and Officer Twinkie looked as if he were smiling on his velvet-lined bed.
