Phenotypic plasticity — the ability of a single genotype to produce different phenotypes in response to varying environmental conditions.
Feral fluffies are a pronounced problem in countless areas around the world. While it may seem reasonable to assume, as many at the time did, that domestic fluffies simply could not survive in the wild due to a combination of their poor intelligence and lack of physiological traits conducive to survival, such as insulating fur or natural defenses, fluffies nonetheless defied odds and now occupy a tenuous ecological niche of their own.
This was made possible due to characteristic of many species known as phenotypic plasticity. In layman’s terms, phenotypic plasticity refers to an organism’s built-in flexibility — its ability to change how it looks, grows, or behaves when the environment around it changes, without altering its genes. A good example of this phenomenon can be found in the domestic pig, which, when ending up in the wild, will develop traits similar to wild boar, such as thicker fur, more pronounced tusks and leaner, more muscular bodies.
Much the same was observed in feral fluffies. While their domestic counterparts possess a great deal of fluff that is, nonetheless, unsuitable for harsh climates, ferals develop thicker, coarser fluff that allows them to tolerate greater extremes. In addition, ferals’ normally soft, hoofpads develop a hard layer of keratin, giving them the ability to dig more proficiently, in turn giving access to root plants for consumption or allowing them to dig burrows for habitation. These traits combined, have allowed ferals to survive overwinter in temperate climates and further increase their numbers over time.
Governments around the world have implement measures to deal with this, chief of which being regular “culling” operations to reduce, or even eliminate feral populations before they can grow out of control, and harm the surrounding environment.
A fluffy foal plays with its siblings by a creek. Gentle sunlight filters through the autumn coloured leaves of the tree canopy overhead, casting gentle radiance all around. Though Summer is over, the weather has remained warm as of late - a circumstance the fluffies don’t hesitate to appreciate while they can.
This herd has been lucky. Its smarty is level-headed and responsible, guiding his herd through great effort to this sanctuary. He looks on as the foals play, and is glad they’re nearly grown. With winter approaching, it is paramount that everyone in the herd is prepared for the cold times.
Life in the wild is hard for fluffies, even for those that have learned and adapted. Between hunger, predation, disease and exposure, death is always near. Even so, perserverance has seen this herd survive, and even thrive.
The smarty is taken out of his thoughts by a shout. One of the sentries has spotted something and is calling out to warn the rest of the herd.
“Munstah in da sky! Hidesies!”
The smarty looks up, and indeed spots something hovering above a break in the canopy. He doesn’t recognise this new threat. It’s clearly flying, but not like a bird, and it’s also making a loud buzzing noise. Could this be some new giant bug? Whatever it is, it can’t be good, and soon most of the herd has taken shelter in their dens underground. The smarty is the last to seek refuge, instead shouting directions at any remaining stragglers. When it seems to him that his entire herd is safe, he at last dives for cover himself.
In their underground burrows the herd listens intently to the buzzing emanating from above ground. It shifts now and then, as if moving closer to the ground and then away again, before slowly growing distant until it disappears entirely. Eventually, a few of the herd, including its smarty, poke their heads out to take in the situation. When the threat seems to have passed, the all-clear is given, and the fluffies slowly filter back outside.
The herd remains cautious for a little while longer, but when no further threats seem to emerge, its members go back to milling about, eating or playing. Mares feed their foals, some of whom have yet to open their eyes, others already talking and exploring their surroundings. The mothers look down at their children with pride and affection. Though discrimination is thought to be common among feral fluffies regarding their children, most successful herd learn that all foals are a precious resource to ensure the survival of the group as a whole.
The day wears on, and the early morning soon shifts to the late afternoon. The sky has taken on a brilliant orange tinge as the sun slowly falls closer and closer to the horizon. Ferals know to fear the dark even better than domestics or urban strays, and soon every member of the herd has retired to their burrows to rest. Unbenowst to them, as night falls above ground, shapes emerge from the darkness - readying the area for their own purposes.
As sun rises once more over the horizon, casting its brilliant rays on the land below, and the herd of feral rouse themselves from the realm of sleep, those first to awaken and emerge from their dens realise immediately that something new and strange has appeared in their forest home.
“Smawty, wha’ am dat?” says one of the herd’s sentries, pointing a stubby hoof towards the outskirts of their forest santuary. There, surrounding the herd’s home on all sides, is a great circular barrier. A fence coloured bright orange, a net that has closed around the herd and now holding them captive.
“Nu kno, bu’ nu wike!” replies the smarty. His insticts, honed over years of survival in the wild tell him that whatever now surrounds their home, is bad news. This barrier is clearly unnatural, and though he holds little memories of humanity, on some deeper, subconscious level the smarty recognises it as having something to do with those mysterious, dangerous beings.
Other fluffies have begun to emerge, most of them fearful and cautious of the thing surrounding them. Some, younger more curious fluffies approach the barrier, tapping it with their hooves, and finding it impassable indeed. Before long however, a shout echoes through the forest.
“Fwiends! Hidesies in nesties!”
The smarty has given his command, and soon all the members of the herd scurry back into their burrows to wait out this new threat. None of them could ever know, that their fates have already been decided, and that there is no escaping or hiding from what is to come. For what feels like forever, the fluffies nervously curl up in their holes. Families and their neighbours wait for the danger to pass. Those whose nests are closer to the surface perk their ears, and manage to hear shuffling - something is out there now, looking for them.
The silence is deafening, none of the fluffies dare make a sound. Whether they live or die may depend entirely on them not drawing attention to themselves. However, in one burrow, a foal that has just recently begun to speak can no longer contain their fear and anxiety. He has not yet been taught the importance of being quiet when attempting to remain unnoticed - he calls out.
“Scawy! Babbeh nu wike!”
His mother instantly smothers him in a tight embrace, trying desperately to silence him. She feels like her heart is going to stop as she waits for the snout of a predator to appear in the mouth of her burrow. As the seconds tick by however, no such predator makes itself known, and the mare relaxes somewhat. She whispers to her foals.
“Babbehs nee’ be kwiet… nu make noisies.”
The foal that had broken the silence earlier, now merely whimpers quietly as he and his siblings attempt to hide themselves deeper in their mother’s fluff. Outside the shuffling continues. Some, braver fluffies begin to think that perhaps what’s outside isn’t a predator at all? Perhaps it’s one of the forests other inhabitants that occasionally enter the clearing? Deer and moose sometimes pass through, content to ignore the fluffies.
As one of the herds sentries considers whether to stick its head out of the burrow to confirm the situation, the stillness finally breaks in a wholly unexpected manner. Smoke begins to billow down into the dens. In every hole, fluffies begin coughing and weeping as the acrid gas stings their eyes and burns their lungs. The foals have it the worst, and can barely breathe as they alternate between crying loudly and coughing.
The fluffies are driven into a panic as instict takes over. Despite their own knowledge of potential dangers outside, the need to breathe trumps all and the ferals begin scrambling out of their hiding places to seek clean air. Upon surfacing they are so focused on simply clearing their lungs of smoke, that they fail to notice the figures standing above them. As their vision clears, members of the feral herd finally understand, to their horror what is happening.
“HOOMINS! WUN’ WA-”
One of the sentires calls out to his herdmates, but is abruptly silenced as a metal spike drives itself through his skull, instantly ending his life. All around, the humans hold long poles with sharp tips, skillfully spearing fluffies as they emerge coughing and sputtering from their hiding places.
Some fluffies manage to slip past, running blindly, but most are killed by other waiting humans before they can get far. Some, lucky individuals manage to evad being skewered, only to run face first into the barrier set up around their sanctuary, the humans ignore this stragglers for now, leaving them to scramble at the perimeter in search of a way out.
A mother emerge from her den, only for a sharp metal spike to catch her through the neck. She jerks sharply to the ground, legs scrambling for purchase, her body trying everything it can to escape even as her life essence pours out from the wound in her neck. The foals she had carefully let climb onto her back fell to the ground, squeaking and begging their mother to get up and save them. She doesn’t hear them and in mere moments her vision goes dark as her life ends.
The foals are left to cry for their mother, the humans attention still focused on the more able adults of the herd. Among them, the smarty had emerged from underground and managed to avoid being killed instantly. Like others before him, the smarty realised there was no escape. He could only watch, as the members of his herd - his friends and loved ones are systematically run through one by one.
Tears sting in his eyes from both the smoke, and his own despair at what is happening. It is his ever worst nightmare come true - death has come for him and his fellows. He understands than humans cannot be reasoned with, but responsibility and desperation spur him on to try everything and anything to save his herd.
“HOOMINS! PWEASE WISTEN! NU HUWT FWUFFIES! FWUFFIES WEAVE AN’ NEBAH COME BACK! JUS’ WED FWUFFIES GU AN-”
The smarty’s plea for mercy goes unanswered, as a nearby human skillfully drives his deadly implement through the base of the smarty’s spine. All of his knowledge, all his experience and wisdom in leading herd was for naught, slowly oozing out from his broken skull along with everything else that made him the herd’s beloved leader.
Slowly but surely, most of the herd is slaughtered. No more fluffies emerge from their dens, and the humans turn their attention to the remainder that had managed to evade them thus far. Some attempt to run, desperately fighting for their lives but even the most agile members of the herd are easy prey for the humans carrying out their brutal work.
The last ones to go are the herd’s foals. Those that can talk either cry for their mothers or fathers to save them, some beg for their lives in quivering voices, wracked with sobs. The youngest merely squirm on the ground and chirp, blind to what is happening. Even these infant fluffies understand the danger, surrounded by the screams of the dead and dying, their already attuned to the scent of death.
The foals deaths are undignified. Some of the humans take the effort to cleanly strike them through the head or neck, but many more are crushed underfoot and reduced to pastel splotches streaked with blood on the forest floor. An entire litter peeps loudly as they are stomped to death one by one. Their mother had been feeding them in the burrow just before the slaughter had begun, and as the human steps on them, each burst open spilling milk and blood onto the ground. White and red mixing together into a pinkish splatter.
The very last ones to die are the few fluffies that never managed to leave their burrows. The humans drag them out with hooks attached to their polearm implements. So weakened are these fluffies from the inhaling smoke that they don’t even manage to struggle. They merely weep silently, as each gets one last look at the monsters killing them before falling still forever.
In the end, the humans load all the bodies of the dead into crates and haul them away. The only things left behind are splatters of blood, which will soon be washed away by the autumn rains. Nothing will remain to show that a herd once resided here, other than the abandoned burrows they once called home. In time, other creatures of the forest will sporadically inhabit the empty nests, never knowing that an entire herd of strange, talking beasts called this place their own.
The National Parks Service in cooperation with USDA Wildlife Services carried out a scheduled culling of feral fluffy populations in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, managing to eradicate several large herds. NPS officials stated that regular fluffy population culling has resulted in a 90% drop in feral populations inhabiting the Appalachian Mountain range over the last 5 years. In addition, USDA officials shared that as a result of similar culling operations nationwide, fluffy ponies may be eliminated from the wild entirely by the end of the decade, representing a major victory for wildlife conservation and environmental protection.