“Your backyard looks like shit, you lazy bastard. You should do something about it.”
Gary, one of John’s best friends, had stopped by to borrow some tools. They’d wound up hanging out on the back deck, drinking beers and shooting the shit. Gary had been rambling on about how great The Witcher was when he noticed just how overgrown John’s yard was getting.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll get out there and mow it next weekend,” John said.
“You’ve got one of those fuckin’ fluffies now, right?”
“Yeah, her name’s Rosemary. She’s not allowed out on the deck right now. Part of her punishment for fucking up yesterday.”
“From what I hear they’re always fucking up. What did she do?”
John told the whole story, from his mistake to Sasha’s brief murder spree. “I’ll let her back out here next weekend. Basically I guess she’s grounded.”
“That’s crazy, man. Hope she’s not knocked up. So yeah, reason I ask is I work with a dude whose brother breeds fluffies. You know they eat like crazy, right? So what he does, he loans 'em out for lawn care.”
“He…he what?”
“What he’ll do, he’ll bring a bunch of his fluffies over and let 'em eat the grass and weeds in your yard. They’re trained and everything, much as fluffies can be trained. They don’t do a job as even as a lawnmower would do, but for a backyard, who gives a shit? It’s better than this.” Gary waved his hand toward the overgrown yard and laughed.
“Seriously? What does he charge?”
“Nothing. It’s free food for the fluffies. He saves money, you save money. Win-win.”
John took another sip of beer. “Shit, you got his number?”
===
The van pulled up two hours later, backing all the way up to his gate. Two men got out; one a middle-aged, heavyset man with a closely-trimmed beard, and a younger, slimmer man who was definitely his son. The older man walked over to John and shook his hand.
“Steve Watson,” he said.
“John Turner.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” He motioned to the younger man who had opened the rear van doors and was talking to the fluffies. “That’s my son, Jake.” He looked around at the uncut, weed-filled grass. “Shit, you really do need my help.”
“I guess so. I swear I was going to cut it next weekend.”
Steve laughed. “Sure, or maybe the weekend after. We’ll have this done in a couple of hours.” Steve walked over to the van and grabbed the other end of a large, covered box. Jake helped him move it and set it just inside the gate, in an area that wasn’t very grassy. They pulled the cover off, revealing that it was an oversized litterbox.
Jake walked over, dragged a ramp in place, and called into the van. “C’mon out, fluffies. It’s time to eat!”
And oh boy did the fluffies come out. They came running as fast as their stubby little legs would carry them. All sizes, all colors. John noticed that there weren’t any alicorns; he figured they were probably too valuable to risk putting outside. There were more unicorns than anything else, and very few earthies. Stallions, mares, and a bunch of foals. Some of the mares looked like they were pregnant.
“How many are there?” John asked.
“Thirty-two,” John said. Well, thirty-three. Where are you, Red?"
A light red alicorn with a black mane came trotting down the ramp, coming to a rest at Steve’s feet. “Sowwy, boss. Was makin’ suwe nu fwuffies got weft behind.”
“Good job.” He motioned to John. “This is John. He’ll be your boss for the day, okay?”
“Otay. Hewwo, nyu boss. Wed wiww keep fwuffies in wine, nu wowwy.”
What the fuck?
“Sure, that sounds great,” John said. Jake had set a large bowl near the litterbox and had filled it with a jug of water. Then he dragged the ramp back up into the van and was closing the doors. “So you’re not sticking around, or…?”
“Oh, no. We’ve got to get back to the ranch. Got four dams ready to make ‘biggest poopies,’ and we always try to be there for that. The trained attendant mares can take care of everything, but we still like to be there. Just give us a call when they’re done and we’ll come pick 'em back up.”
John agreed. The fluffies were already scattering throughout the backyard, babbling to themselves and each other. Red trotted over and called out to them.
“OTAY, FWUFFIES! IS TIME FOW NUMMIES. WHAT AM WUWES WHEN WE NUMMIN GWASSIES?”
“MAKE GUD POOPIES AN GUD PEEPEES IN DA WITTA-BOX!” they shouted, more or less in unison. “FWUFFIES BE BESTEST FWUFFIES! FWUFFIES DU WHAT NICE MISTAH SAY DU.”
“Otay, gud. Gud. Gu get nummies, fwuffies.”
Steve and Jake pulled away as the fluffies started eating, and John closed the gate.
===
John was relaxing in a deck chair, drinking another beer and watching the fluffies work. Red sat in a chair next to him, and John had set a small bowl of water in the chair so that he’d have something to drink. Red promised him that he’d let him know if he needed to use the litterbox.
Red lapped at the water a bit, then sighed.
“FWUFFIES! BOWIS! PENEWOPE! WHA BOSS SAY?”
John looked over and saw two fluffies fucking; the stallion was excitedly pumping away at the mare, who giggled when Red yelled at them.
“AM OTAY, WED!” Boris shouted back.
“NU!” Red shouted. “NU SPESHUW HUGGIES WHEN FWUFFIES ON DA CWOCK!”
“FWUFFIES HAF TU HAF ENFIE BWEAK, BOSS! JUS AM TAKIN ENFIE BWEAK!”
Red shook his head and looked over at John. “Dis wha Wed am deawin wif, wite hewe. Wed say nu gud, fwuffy nu enf whewe fwuffy wowk. Buh fwuffies, ahhhhh nuuuuuu, dey say Wed, fwuffy nu can wait, speshuw wumps haf wowstest huwties, nee gud feews nao. Nee enfie bweak. Enfie bweak, fo fwuff sake.”
John stared at the little fluffy, not exactly sure what to say. He’d never heard a fluffy talking like this before, like…like a world-weary supervisor who was tired of dealing with his stupid employees’ bullshit.
“Yeah,” John said. “I guess everyone needs a break though, right?”
“Weawwy? Dis nu am hawd job. Fwuffies du wha dey du aww da time. Fwuffies num gwassies. Dat aww. Fwuffies nu be hewe, fwuffies be nummin sumfin ewse at da wanch. Dis nu wocket science. Jus nummin gwassies. When hoomin num dinnah, hoomin evah say ‘aww, dis too hawd, bettah take bweak, mebbe haf sum enfies su can finish nummies?’ Mistah evah heaw hoomin say dat?”
What the fuck?
“I, uh…no. I mean, I don’t think so. I’ve never stopped halfway through dinner for a quick fuck.”
“See? Dis wha Wed am sayin. Du job, num gwassies, den haf enfies aftew.”
“GUUUUUUUD FEEEEEEEEEEEEWS!” Boris shouted, then pulled away from the mare. “BOWIS HAF GUD FEEWS NAO, BOSS! BACK TU NUMMIN!”
Red looked over at Boris and sighed. “Jesus Chwist,” he muttered.
“What do you know about rocket science, anyway?” John asked, incredibly curious.
“Wed nu knu. Dat sumfin boss awways say, wocket science weaw hawd. Wed wike phwase, twy say tu make oda fwuffies feew dummeh fow bein dummeh.”
“Ah. Sure, okay. Makes sense.”
They both went back to quietly watching the fluffies as they fed. The adults mostly stood around in groups and moved together as they brought an area down. The foals would eat, then get distracted by wanting to play. As the foals ran around and played, a group of adults would move in to finish what they’d started. It was an efficient system that accounted for fluffies’ short attention spans, the social nature of the adults, and the desire the adults had to do a good job that would make the humans happy. Every now and then a group of adults would get distracted, and Red would yell at them to get them back on track. John wondered how long it had taken to get them to this point.
“So, do you enjoy your…job?” John asked Red.
“Am otay,” Red answered. “Am gud summa da time, am bad summa da time. Am a wivin. Buh Wed mostwy wike.”
“Well, they say it’s important to do what you enjoy.”
“Dey awso say wife be bish, den yu take da fowevah-sweepies. Bofe twue.”
“I guess so. Hey, at least you don’t have to worry about things like bills or taxes.”
“Twue, buh fwuffy onwy wive fouw an fouw yeaws. Pwus, mistah evah see kitteh-munstah gif bwuddah fowevah-sweepies?”
“Nope. Point taken.”
“Yus. Dat am twade-off.”
They sat in silence again for a while. The lawn was almost done and Red had to leave the deck to inspect everything, and to order groups of fluffies around to finish up a few spots. Eventually Red announced that they were all done.
“Fwuffies am done, nice mistah. Can caww boss nao.”
===
Steve and Jake showed up twenty minutes later. In the meantime the fluffies played in John’s backyard. They were full and happy, chasing each other and giggling. John brought a couple of Rosemary’s spare toys from the garage for them to play with. The foals were ecstatic, kicking around a ball and making up games. Another group of foals took turns stacking blocks. The adults fawned over them, telling them what good babies they’d been.
The litterbox was scooped and loaded, the water bowl emptied and loaded, and the fluffies were all herded back into the van within a couple of minutes.
“The yard looks great,” John said. It was true; the fluffies had done an exceptional job, and all the grass was more or less at the same level.
“They do a pretty good job,” Steve said. “Plus they love it more than kibble. Keeps 'em happy. They only get it two or three days a week, but that’s enough. They basically look at it like it’s a treat.”
“Red’s pretty impressive, too.”
Steve laughed. “He’s pretty smart for a fluffy. How surly was he?”
“I, uh…I guess a mild amount. Like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.”
“That means he likes you. He doesn’t like someone, he just spends the whole time talking to the fluffies.”
“You ever stud him out?”
“Oh, you’ve got a fluffy, huh? She screaming for babies?”
“Kinda. More like asking for them, saying how they’re the best thing ever. I’ve told her no for now, and she seems to be grudgingly accepting it. For now.”
“If she starts to get really demanding, keep an eye on her. They tend to run away so they can get knocked up. The more demanding she gets, the more likely she is to run away. Especially if she gets really demanding, then stops asking all of a sudden. Means she’s plotting.”
“Jesus. Thanks for the advice.”
“No problem. But yeah, you decide you want to let her have babies, I’ll help you find the right stud. Red does it every now and then.” Steve handed John a business card, which he pocketed. “But I’ve got a pretty good selection. A friend of Gary’s, hell, I’ll cut you a really good deal.”
“Thanks. If I get lazy over the summer, maybe your fluffies can visit and eat my lawn again.”
“Sounds good to me. Give me a call, we’ll set something up.”
John watched the van pull away and thought to himself. If she’s not pregnant now, and if it’s something she absolutely has to have…maybe. He knew that fluffies were social creatures. Sure, Sasha was good company for Rosemary, but they couldn’t have a conversation. At some point he was going to either need another fluffy, or he was going to have to let Rosemary have some babies. Rosemary’s babies. Maybe he could let her keep one and they could be a little family, which would make her happy. Just one. Rosemary’s baby.
Hopefully the kid will turn out better than the one in the movie did.
Lost deep in thought, John locked the gate and went back inside to see how Rosemary was doing.
