“Huuuuuuuuuuuuu…. Tummy pwace, pwease, nu huwt Gumdwop…..”
The mare lay curled up in the corner of the dry patch. She had learned the schedule of the sprinklers and had even managed to move a torn styrofoam clamshell into place to catch some water to save for the hottest part of the day. This act of ingenuity would be unthinkable for most fluffies, but Gumdrop was smarter than most. But even the smartest of creatures cannot create food from thin air.
Gumdrop was aware of this, having spent the entirety of yesterday trying to manifest nummies using her mind. Occasionally she would slip into unconsciousness, dreaming of sketties, treats, even the kibble she used to hate. But all dreams have endings, and Gumdrops dreams always ended where she started. The pit.
The fluffy was in a terrible state after 5 days in the storm drain. Her coat stank and hung loosely from her body, matted with poopies and stormwater. Her back leggie was ruined and hung limply at her side, though luckily it had managed to escape infection. Her front leggie, the one that had been given the worstest burner hurties by the meanie bug monsters, oozed and bled thick boo-boo juice and pus as the sores expanded from the mares constant gnawing at them. Her wingie places, once her pride and joy, were badly mutilated.
An interesting quirk of the pegasus biology is unconscious movement of the so called ‘wingie places’. Pegasi will flap their wingie places when happy, or tuck them close when scared. And when airborne, the fluffy extends its wingie places in an attempt to fly. The left wingie place had been dislocated from its socket when she fell into the storm drain, hanging loosely to her side. Her right wingie place had been shredded against the asphalt as she slid. But this didn’t stop the mare from begging them to fly her home to her mummah.
“Huu, wingie pwaces, pwease, PWEASE! Gumdwop miss mummah! PEEP! Nee’ gu homesies!”
The mare cried and chirped, loudly peeping in distress as a metal monster raced loudly overhead. Her back twitched as she flexed the muscles that had once been attached to the appendages, but to no avail.
She began to suckle her hoofpad, chirping and crying softly. Hoof suckling was one of the few sources of comfort the mare had, though it had come at a price. The worstest burnie hurries the buggie monsters gave her had swollen the delicate hoof, and she had managed to suckle the thin purple keratin sheath off the side of the hoofpad. It lay discarded in a corner of the drain. The leather under hoof pad was still fine however, allowing her to walk around. But what use was walking around when half the place is icky yucky wawa and poopies?
“Huu, am sowwy tummeh babbehs, mummah am nu’ gud dummeh mawe…” the filly spoke softly to her unborn litter. Even without food, the mares stomach had begun to swell as her body began cannibalizing her ample fat stores. She had been a very well looked after fluffy before, allowing her to build up a good amount of heft. But that would only prolong the suffering. The mare began to sing to her unborn litter quietly, trying to distract herself from the gnawing pain in her tummy place. She removed her hoof from her mouth to wrap both leggies around the small lump that had formed on her stomach.
“Babbehs wub’ mummah…. an’ mummah wub’ babbehs….. nu hab’ miwkies bu’ gib aww da best huggies…. su’ gwow up big an’ stwong.”
—————————————————————
Frank Reynolds could not believe this shit. Forty years, he had lived in this house. Forty years, he had maintained his yard. This was his life’s fucking work, and now those shit sucking assholes on the HOA board were trying to come for him and his yard. A forty buck charge to dispose of the yard trimming bags.
“Special disposal through the incinerator” is the line he was given when he asked. When he requested to set up his own burn barrels they had denied his request, even though he KNEW that the HOA treasurer had a whole fucking brick pizza oven in his yard that Frank had seen him shoving lawn trimmings into. Or maybe it was a veggie pizza. Either way the S.O.B. burned the shit out of it and never touched the oven again. Whole board was just jealous he’d won best yard 32 years running.
Frank shook his head angrily as he went out to the garage and retrieved his mower. He’d find a way to make those fuckers back down. But for now, his grass still needed mown. Hopping in the Captains Chair (the seat of his riding mower upon which he had stenciled the words USS ENTERPRISE and the Starfleet logo on), Frank rode out to see a small girl walking up towards his door, a red wagon pulled behind her.
Frank couldn’t help but notice that the sport usually reserved for a fluffy pony was instead occupied by a stack of posters with “MISSING” emblazoned in big red letters at the top. Frank felt his heart sink a little. Pulling his mower up to the side of the small path that led to the door, Frank shifted his mower into neutral so he could talk to the girl.
“Hello, little miss Melody. Where’s Gumdrop at?”
The girl turned to Frank. Her blonde hair hung in a loose braid to her shoulders. Her eyes were dry but red and swollen. Frank could tell she had been crying. “Gumdrop is missing Granpa, I’m trying to look for her.”
Shit. Frank actually liked Gumdrop. First fluffy he’d ever met that was worried about getting poopies on his yard since in her words “it am su pwetty!” Usually he was having to chase ferals away because they had tried to turn his rose bed into a buffet, or had tried to give ‘sowwy hoofsies’ to his garden gnome collection. More often than not they just wanted to spend the night under the roof of the old dog house in the backyard. Frank usually let them. He’d been homeless once.
“Oh no, what happened?” Melody looked to the floor sadly. “We… don’t know. We were playing hide and seek, and it was her turn to hid, and then I head a scream, and then I went and looked around the house,” Melody began to sob and hyperventilate as Frank crouched down to eye level and attempted to comfort the poor girl. “An, an’ then daddie said he’d go look outside and he said he saw scaredy poopies but told me it was too dark to go running around and told me to make the posters” Frank ran into the garage to grab a can of coke from the fridge, hoping to get the girl to at least take some breaths in between her story. “BUT DADDY COULDN’T FIND HER!”
The girl began to sob as Frank took a look at the missing poster. It was a photo of Gumdrop and Melody playing princess, the filly dressed in a frilly pink tutu and tiara. Frank grimaced. Lost fluffies were a dime a dozen, and a mare of Gumdrops caliber would easily be worth more than the paltry fifty bucks her dad was offering as a reward.
Frank felt a tear begin to well up in his eye. He and his wife had helped Sam and Melody get through the loss of Rebecca. Melody had even taken to calling them her “bonus grandparents.” And Frank believed that title meant something. After sending Sam a text to get the go ahead, Frank turned to Melody. “Alright sweetie, let’s go find us a fluffy!” He stepped up from his seat on the lawn mower, picking the girl up and placing her in the Captains Chair. “Remember what I taught you?” He asked.
The little girl sniffled, then forced a smile. “Brake, gas, clutch” she said, pointing to each pedal or lever on the mower in turn. Frank smiled. He taught her well. “Atta girl, let me go grab my stapler so we can hang up these posters.”
Stapler in hand, the two made their way down to the end of the driveway. The day was quiet except for an odd peep or squeak and the hum of the motors engine.
“She’s pregnant.”
Frank turned to look at her, one eyebrow cocked. “How’d that happen, huh?” Melody was quiet. Sam would never let her have babies. He bitched and moaned like the fluffy had a grudge against him personally, he would never let her have babies. At least not willingly. Frank could follow the logic of the girl and the pony. He reached up and patted the girl on the head. “Don’t worry, sometimes pregnant fluffies go away to have their babies. Once she pops them out I’m sure she’ll come right home, needing a bath, hugs, and ‘sketties’. Just gotta wait for her.”
Melody wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Mhmm.” She intoned, softly. Then more confidently. “Yeah she will.” Frank smiled. “She’s a smart fluffy, she’ll figure it out.”
Frank smiled, remembering when he first held his daughter. “She’s a smart pony, she’ll figure it out. That’s part of becoming a parent. Figuring things out on your own… It’s part of what makes being a parent so great.” He looked down at the young girl, eyes still red from crying, a Coke can clutched tightly in her hands, snot running down her nose. He passed her his handkerchief.
The two of them took off down the road, Melody driving the mower and Frank keeping up next to her with a brisk walk. “Watch out for the storm drain grandpa!” Melody yelled over the din of the mower, saving Frank from a quite embarrassing emergency room trip.
“Thank you dear!” Frank smiled, looking down at the black void peering from the street, a plan forming in his head. Maybe he didn’t need to pay that ridiculous fee after all.
—————————————————————
Gumdrop could smell her mummah before she could hear her.
“Mummah?”
The mare groggily raised her head, the filth caking her crackling as large chunks of dirt shed from her coat. Then she heard it. Between the din of Granpa Frank’s little metal monster and the whistling of wind through the storm drains grate, The unmistakable roll of the ‘Wagin’ her mummah took her for walks in.
“MUMMAH!” The mare gasped in a raspy whisper, rising shakily to her hooves and shaking off a cloud of dirt, filth, and grime. The mare knew mummah would come! She always found her, even when she was hidden in the best spots!
“Mummah, fwuffy am hewe! Gumdwop an hewe mummah! Mummah pwease sabe fwuffy fwom sowwy bawks!”
Her voice, weak from disuse and hunger, was soft and shaky, the fluffy trying to rear up to its back leggies to reach closer to the opening from which she could hear her mummah, but forgetting the injuries her back leggie had meant the filly was sent tumbling backwards, luckily into the dry embankment.
“Pwease mummah, pwease! Chirp sabe fwuffy! Wowstest huwties! peep! Nee’ huggies! Nee’ wub! chirp!”
Why wasn’t mummah coming? Why? Then she heard it. A sound she used to hear nightly, back when the two had first met. A sound Gumdrop knew meant mummah needed something. A sound that meant mummah needed huggies and love. Gumdrop heard Melody start to cry.
Gumdrop could hear what mummah Melody talked about with Granpa Frank. She knew that mummah was having the worst heart hurties. But why? Hadn’t daddeh told her where Gumdrop was? Mummah was looking for her, not knowing where Gumdrop was and that gave her mummah the biggest heart hurties, and knowing that mummah was having heart hurties hurt Gumdrop too, more than the pain in her back leggie, more than the burnie hurties from the buggie munstahs, more than anything she had ever experienced. It felt as though Gumdrop was having her heartie and tummy skettis fall through her tummy and through the floor.
“Huu huu, mummah! peep! Gumdwop am hewe! Pwease mummah chirp nu hab’ heawt huwties nu mow’!” The mare began pawing desperately at the cool concrete wall of the drain, so frantically that her hoofpads began to ooze boo-boo juice, leaving two streaks of red.
But Mummah Melody couldn’t hear her. The stress was too much for the filly, as she suddenly began to peep and chirp, unable to form full sentences. Her dummeh mouthie place! This was no time for being a chirppeh baby, or for sucking on hoofsies! She needed to let mummah know where she was!
The mare could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, a deafening thump, thump, thump, as her body tried to figure out a solution. Her back twitched as her mangled wingie places tried to carry her to freedom, her mouthie place tried to form words, but only managed to peep, chirp, and sob from behind the hoofpad shoved into the mares mouth. Her special place made peepees, as that was the only thing it could think to do in this situation. They soaked into her fluffy backside.
“Huuuuuu huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu, pwease, fwuffy nee’ upsies, nee’ wub, nee’ miwkies, nee’ wickie cweanies, nee’ mummah!” The mare tried to talk but only managed to unleash a collection of peeps, chirps, and squeaks.
“Am onwy widdwe babbeh’” the fluffy finally managed to croak out, curling into a ball and hugging her tail, a near unconscious response to her trauma.
“Peep! Chirp! Chirp!”
“She’s pregnant.”
Melody’s voice, now nearly on top of the storm drain, sniffled and startled the fluffy out of her near catatonic state. Mummah Melody didn’t know. She didn’t know that Gumdrop was the worstest soon mummah ever. She couldn’t find nummies for her babies, she had no litter box to teach them good poopies, she could only teach them how to make bad poopies, like the ones that coated their no good dummeh poopie mummah.
“Don’t worry, sometimes pregnant fluffies go away to have their babies. Once she pops them out I’m sure she’ll come right home, needing a bath, hugs, and ‘sketties’. Just gotta wait for her.”
What?
Gumdrop was so shocked that she immediately stopped chirping and peeping. Even her perpetually suckled hoofpad left her mouth as she righted herself. Was this true?
The gears and hamster wheels spun in the filly’s head. Pregnant fluffies go away to have babies? Sure she had never seen a pregnant fluffy before, but she had never seen a lot of things before either. Was this just what happened to soon mummahs?
Come to think about it, Gumdrop didn’t know much about mummahs. She knew about special huggies from other fluffies she’d met at the park, as well as her own biological impulses. She knew about babbehs from watching teebee. But she didn’t know about soon mummahs. There was no mummah at home, and she had only faint recollections of her own mummah. She tried asking mummah Melody about her mummah before but the very word would give her the worstest heart hurties, so she stopped asking. Was this just something all mummahs went through?
“Mhmm.”
The little girl seemed to answer the fluffies question.
“Buh mummah, fwuffy nee’ nummies, nee’ sketties! Nee’ make da bestest babbehs! Nee’ huggies, nee’ wub! Nu can hab’ babbehs in sowwy bawks huu huu!” The mare cried, her voice a soft whisper against the roaring motor.
“Yeah, she will.”
She will? Gumdrop had so many questions. Why did she have to be in the sorry box? What about the nummies? Who would brush her hair? How would she make good poopies without a litter box? Who would give her huggies and love?
“She’s a smart pony, she’ll figure it out. That’s part of becoming a parent. Figuring things out on your own… It’s part of what makes being a parent so great.”
This was what becoming a mummah was like? Babbehs were worth all these hurties, the tummy hurties, the leg hurties, the wing hurties, the hoof hurties, even these terrible, horrible heart hurties, all were a part of being a mummah? The blood roared in the tiny ponies ears as her heart furiously beat, faster, faster, and faster until suddenly, the floor was gone and she was falling.
—————————————————————
Gumdrop woke up as a shower of grit, sand, and leaves blasted through the small slit of the storm drain. “Owwies!” The mare, groggy from an unplanned fainting spell, looked up with annoyance and exhaustion as another shower of debris fell on her. “Meanie wimd” she huffed. She curled back up, suckling her hoofpad thoughtfully.
“Mabbee,” the fluffy idly licked her hoof, the soft leather chapped from the constant cycle of moistening and drying, “Mabbee dis am how aww mummahs hab’ babbehs.” Something in the back of the filly’s mind disagreed, but what other choice did she have but to believe her mummah? That once she had her babbehs she would go back home and get huggies, love, baffsie time, sketties, teebee, and play with her babbehs and mummah and everything will be happy again and the huggies would make her hurties all go away and the baffsie would make her all nice and clean and smell pretty again and Daddeh would get the worstest of sorry hoofsies for forgetting to tell mummah where she was and-
PWWWWWWWooooooooof
The light suddenly went dark as the air in the storm drain was choked with dust and the overwhelming scent of freshly mown grass. Had she anything in her stomach, Gumdrop would surely have painted the wall behind her. As it were though, the fluffy cowered and covered its eyes as it softly huu huu’ed to itself. But when she opened them, she started crying. Sobbing. Inconsolable with joy.
Before her lay a mound of fresh nummies. Blades of Kentucky bluegrass, small fresh apple twigs laden with buds, leaves of so many shapes and sizes, forming a mountain the size of three fluffies. Gumdrop had eaten grassie nummies before, as young foals are known to do. Fluffies quite often use their mouths to explore, eating anything organic that their teethies can handle. Sometimes, these culinary escapades result in hurties, sicky wawas, or forever sleepies. Originally, it served as a way to let owners supplement the cost of all the premium Hasbio kibble and fluffy sketti while also providing the fluffy with some enrichment. After the escape, it enabled fluffies to very quickly learn to forage and scavenge. But in the case of the small pegasus filly?
It taught her to survive. For this moment. “It must be pawt of bein’ a mummah” the filly thought happily to herself, chowing down on the grass. They didn’t taste the prettiest, they were sharp and sometimes poked her mouth, but the pegasus didn’t care. She could feel herself already beginning to inflate again, her stomach quickly and inefficiently converting the organic matter into blood, muscle, poopies, and, most importantly for a soon mummah-
Milkies.
Gumdrop lay back in her corner, exhausted, sleepy, and full for the first time in days. She felt filled with a new determination. She would be the bestest mummah ever. She would escape the sorry box, she would get all the huggies and love she needed to get better, and she would sing to her foals and they would peep and chirp contentedly. Maybe one of them would be a dancie babbeh! She felt giddy at the thought.
“Mummah wub’ babbehs, babbehs wub mummah, dwink up aww da miwkies su’ gwow up big an stwong!”
