The ride to the cabin was uneventful. The man had turned his music all the way up to drown out the foals’ constant nagging, so the fluffies were forced to listen to booming Gorillaz for half an hour. When they arrived the man quickly ran into the house and set up a simple safe room. He had only bought the basics: five water bowls, five food bowls, a litter box, litter, two beds, high nutrition food, and some basic toys like blocks and stuffed animals. It had only run him about a hundred dollars too, not a bad deal.
To set the scene, this cabin was built in 1986 by an experienced construction crew. It was then bought by the man’s wealthy parents in 2005 as a getaway home for the summer. It is situated next to a large pond that the man’s parents always called it a lake to get him excited, also to seem richer. The front door opens to a spacious living attached to an open kitchen. There are two bedrooms, a bathroom, a garage, an office, and an empty room they had always used for storage. That empty room is now the safe room, a spacious square room with a window and overhead light, and beautiful hardwood floors. Thank god it wasn’t the original shag carpet that the house came with. Finally, and very important, the unheated shed beside the pond. The man figures he will use that for punishment.
The man returns to his car before retrieving the little bundles of joy. Bringing all five inside he can feel the box tremble as the fluffies collectively huddle in fear, peep and chirping to help comfort themselves. They must not be used to new surroundings, and the cold probably isn’t helping much. Before the man can let the fluffies settle into their new permanent home, he must first clean them. They have been marinating in their own shit and piss all night, and even before that they were disgusting on the streets. He brings them to the kitchen sink and runs about an inch of warm water so that he won’t have to hold them.
The fluffies all chirp and cower in fear from the loud water.
“Babbeh nu wike woud noisies huhu…”
“Hewp daddeh woud noisie am scawy…”
“Fwuffy am su tiwed…”
The man gets an idea. In his research about fluffies he knows they are easily distracted, and an important step to their development is names. He will just give them names so they shut up. What a smart man he is. The man semi-shouts his next words as to catch the foals’ attention.
“Alright listen! I’m going to give you all names now. I will refer to you by these names for the remainder of your lives, and I expect you to remember them.” The man spoke sternly. He had to command respect before they developed the idea of disobedience.
All the children immediately perked up. They all ran, except for the cripple, to the edge of the container, begging to be named first. The man applied a glove and reached in at random. He pulled out a dirty little fluffy who was absolutely beaming at the prospect of being named. Before that though, they would need a bath.
The man gently lowered the fluffy into the water and rinsed them off. His idea of a bath had worked, as the fluffy didn’t freak out nearly as much as he had expected. The only resistance it offered was a meek “Daddeh, wawa am bad fow fwuffy. Am onwy wittle babbeh.” Although it relented when it realized it was being cleaned of its fleas and caked on shit and dirt. When the man pulled it out and dried it off with a kitchen rag, it revealed its real colors.
A once over by the man revealed that this fluffy was a girl. She had dark green fur and a red mane with a matching tail. Her sides were dotted with small black freckles. She was small and fragile, half the size of her siblings. The name was pretty obvious to him, it almost felt like cheating.
“Alright, your name is Watermelon. Sound good?”
“Oh, tank yu daddeh! Watermewon am su happy!” Watermelon began humming some imaginary song to herself as the man set her down on the counter. The man repeated this process with all the fluffies.
Next up was the other filly of the group. She was a soft yellow with purple mane and tail. The man didn’t like the colors too much, but that wasn’t exactly her fault. Little wings on her back fluttered on her back as she tried to dry them off. The man looked around the kitchen for inspiration.
“Your name is Curry. It means, uhhh, very pretty in India.”
“Fwuffy wub namie! Cuwwy am BESTEST namie eba!”
Third to be washed was a male. He had white everything, almost as if he had been bleached that way. Although that wasn’t true obviously, since he had subtle specks of orange mixed into his coat. Amazingly, it was an alicorn too. Surprised that his mother hadn’t stomped him to death. His parents must’ve been actually good.
“Alright you will be Baldr.”
“Aw tank yu daddeh! Dat am bestest namie!”
“Yeah whatever you say pal.”
The second to last was another male. It was a poopy baby, with matching brown mane and tail. He was another living testament to his parents’ skill. Usually shit foals would be stomped and eaten by feral fluffies.
“Alright little fella, you’ll be Joestar.”
“Daddeh, Joestaw wubs namie! Wub daddeh!”
Finally, the injured fluffy. The man gingerly set him down into the water without his bandage. Water filled the wound and it obviously stung horribly, as the little boy sobbed. Still, it is better to be clean and crippled than covered in shit and hurt. The man gently dried him off and held him in his hand.
“Alright little guy, you’re gonna be Pelops.”
The little foal sniffed in the warm hand of his new master.
“Dat am pwetty namie daddeh. Tank yu.” The colt in between tears as he cuddled onto the man’s thumb.
“Wha am yu namie daddeh?” Asked one of the fluffies on the counter. The man hadn’t thought about that yet. He didn’t really wanna tell the fluffies his name in case one of them escaped. Then again, he doubted it would be that big of a deal. He would just use his first name, he never was referred to by it. It would be a nice change of pace.
“You can call me daddy or mister, I don’t really care, but my name is Victor.”
“Dat am gud namie daddeh. Victow. Wowwie.” Giggled Curry. Victor couldn’t tell if she was sucking up to him or was genuinely impressed at his name. It didn’t really matter. He just needed these things for his test runs, nothing more. Don’t get attached.
Victor was about to shuffle the foals back into their box before he remembered all the waste in it. He would have to burn that later, no landfill on Earth deserves garbage like that. Instead, Victor carried Pelops and made the others walk to the safe room. They would need exercise anyway, not being able to go outside and all.
When they arrived at the room the foals were ecstatic. They quickly went to work familiarizing themselves with everything. To help them out Victor decided to show them around. They were awestruck at the litterbox, practically crying when he showed them their toys, and they instantly got into bed when it came to that.
“Before you go to sleep, I’ve got some rules. First, all poop and pee must go into the litter box. You are big fluffies now and you can’t go on the floor. Second, you will be served kibble everyday except Friday, which I will give you spaghetti. Do NOT ask for spaghetti. Finally, don’t be mean to each other and don’t disobey me. If you break any of these rules you will be punished. If you have complaints you may speak to me and I will handle them. I will handle situations that deserve to be punished on an individual scale in accordance to the severity. Do you understand?”
The fluffies looked a bit confused but Victor was sure they got the most important parts of their lesson. Every foal gave a “Yes daddeh, babbeh am gud fwuffy.” Now, to handle Pelops’ leg situation.
Pelops was still nestled next to Victor’s thumb, his wounded leg leaking discharge. Victor stepped out of the room, dimming the lights on his way out so the foals could sleep. Tomorrow will be a big day. Victor held Pelops to his eye level.
“Hey Pelops, I’ve got a serious question to ask you…”
“Otay dadd-… Victow. Pewops wisten.”
“Does your leg hurt?”
Pelops looked seriously relieved that his new daddy was finally addressing it.
“Yes daddeh, weggie hab worstest huwties aww da time! Huwties foweba! Fwuffy nu can wun or walk or pway! Pewops hab worstest heawt and weggie huwties…”
That is what Victor expected, it must hurt like a motherfucker to have your leg rotting off the bone.
“Okay Pelops, I won’t lie to you. The only way to make your leg better and not hurt is to cut it off. I wish I didn’t have to, but that is how we have to fix it. If we don’t, you’ll die.”
Pelops looked down. He looked at his leg and back at Victor. A somber look of grim resolve came over his face.
“Dat am otay daddeh. Fwuffy hab mowe weggies to pway wif. Pewops am weddy.”
Not that Victor needed his approval to amputate, it was still comforting to know that the little foal had consented to the procedure. Pelops trembled as Victor carried him to the garage. The colt let out the occasional chirp of fear, but other than that his determination kept him strong.
Thanks to Victor’s biology minor he could perform a simple surgery like this. He had been researching fluffies for quite some time in anticipation of this project, so he had seen the same procedure done many times anyway. Victor gathered everything he would need on the workbench in the garage.
Pelops was placed down next to the sharpest knife Victor could find, some medical thread, a sewing needle, catnip, and morphine. Victor had discovered that catnip knocks fluffies out cold, practically instantly, if ingested. Pelops slowly limped over to the catnip on his own.
“Can you eat that for me Pelops? It doesn’t taste that good, but you would be a very good fluffy if you did.”
This caused a sparkle in Pelops’ eye. The prospect of being a good fluffy would cause most fluffies to murder their entire family and then themselves. Pelops took a chunk of catnip in his mouth. The taste caused him to nearly vomit, but he managed to hold it together. The colt took slow, measured bites of the herb, grimacing in between every chew. Finally, he swallowed and looked towards Victor for approval. Victor was about to congratulate him but Pelops unceremoniously plopped on his side before he could get a word out. This stuff knocked him out cold.
With that, Victor got to work. Shaving the area wouldn’t be necessary. Since the foal was still so young he could see through the relatively thin fur easily. A simple knife slice cut to the bone. Blood pooled around Pelops, running down the table and onto the floor. Victor cut the ball and socket joint loose, this wasn’t hard since it is just two loose bones in a sac of fluid. With a twist, the brittle little leg came off. Victor inserted the bleeding limb into a ziplock bag and put it in the fridge. He might need it in the future for research.
Victor then went to work on making Pelops good as new. He lowered himself down and picked up the needle and thread. Carefully measuring his movement, he slowly stitched into the bleeding stump. Victor had practiced this stitch on dead pigs in one of his biology classes, so transferring it to a fluffy wasn’t a far stretch.
The entire surgery took less than ten minutes. The final touches were cleaning up Pelops and the medical area, washing his tools, and administering morphine to the patient. Very little was actually needed, but hopefully it would be enough to stop aching in the morning.
Pelops slept hard as Victor carried him back to the safe room. He would give him a pass if he didn’t use the litter box tomorrow, that seemed far. It would be hard to learn how to walk. But after tomorrow he has got no more chances. For sure. Victor tucked Pelops into bed next to two of his siblings, Baldr and Watermelon, who were soundly sleeping in their own right. Victor closed the door and retreated to his own room. He got undressed, showered, and then went to sleep.
