“Daddeh! Sawwy wan hab babbehs!” The three month old blue fluffy at the doorway announced to Pistol, expectantly wagging her green tail as she did.
Pistol had hand raised Sally from a foal, ever since he pulled her out of her foal-in-a-can container. Pistol could have gotten any fluffy he wanted, after publishing his book ‘How to talk the smarty away’, he was wealthy enough to never have to work another day in his life many times over, but he liked to live modestly. Pistol had grown up middle class, and felt no need to flaunt his billions. As for Sally, she had been fairly easy to raise and train, especially since Pistol was almost always around to keep and eye on her, and she had grown up into a sweet young fluffy mare.
Lately however, Sally had caught babbeh fever. Pistol knew that it might well come eventually, and after an unfortunate run-in with a new-mummah at the park last week, Sally seemed incapable of thinking of anything else. By this point Pistol was thoroughly sick of hearing it, even though he knew that while she was old enough to have babbehs, (biologically a new born filly can get pregnant, even though the delivery would surely kill it, even if it managed to inhale enough calories to bring its foals to term while still growing itself) she was still far shy of the recommended minimum age for fluffy motherhood of six months. Pistol knew that mares that had babbehs before the maturity that would come with half a year of age tended to suffer from all sorts of issues, from high foal rejection rates, to being an insufferable demanding brat of a mother, to choosing a bestest babbeh to spoil at the expense of the rest of the litter, all the way up to being inattentive to the point of the litter dying of neglect. However, Pistol also knew that Sally was a very good fluffy, and came up with a plan.
Pistol did some research online and concluded that fluffies could survive even under the worst of conditions, but when given favorable conditions, especially with plenty of love and care, they would thrive.
After finishing his research and finalizing his plan, Pistol did not have to wait long for Sally to remind him that her existing without babbehs was pure torture. “Daddeh! Sawwy wan babbehs!”
“I’ll make you a deal Sally,” Pistol started, “You can have babbehs, but you have be a good mother and take care of all of them, but I’ll be there to help you the entire way. You won’t be alone.”
“Sawwy gun be bestest mummeh to aww da babbehs, gun gib wub an’ miwkies an’ huggies an’ mummeh-songies.” Sally declared proudly.
“Well, if you’re so sure then okay, but remember that I love you dearly.” Pistol responded, kneeling down for a hug.
GASP! “Sawwy wub Pistow-daddeh tuu!” Sally exclaimed as she returned the hug with delight.
The next day, the Hasbio brand ‘healthy mummah, healthy foal’ pills and other supplies Pistol had ordered during his research arrived, and he told her how the pills would make her foals stronger and smarter before she scarfed down the large speghetti flavored treats.
With that done off they went, in search of a fluffy stallion, specifically at the local park. Pistol sat Sally down next to the park’s designated fluffy area, telling her, “Now remember Sally, you need to find which stallion you want to give you special huggies, but first we need to ask their owner, so when you find a stallion you like, you need to get him to talk to me so I can find and talk to his owner, BEFORE you have special huggies, got it?”
“Sawwy undastan! Sawwy fin’ nice stawwion an’ bwing stawwion to tawk to daddeh! Den hab Bestest huggies fow bestest babbehs!” Sally responded, dancing about and even spinning in a circle in her excitement.
“Okay, go for it.” The words had barely left Pistol’s mouth before Sally was turned around and on her way, quickly approaching her max speed of fluffy mach 2.3 (one mile per hour) in her quest to find a stallion to check her tonsils from behind.
The park’s designated fluffy area was large, at three acres of mostly short grasses with bushes and even a small copse of trees interspersed within. Sally ran blindly for many forevers, (twenty seconds) not seeing any other fluffies on account of only looking straight ahead as she waddle-ran past around a dozen other fluffies. Only when she collided with a short shrub did she finally stop and look around. As it happened, she had not run into a shrub, but had actually slammed into a pitch black fluffy stallion with blood red mane and tail who had been raping a dead foal. After catching her breath, Sally loudly proclaimed, “Sawwy nee fin’ stawwion fow speshul huggies fow hab bestest babbehs! Du fwuffy fwend wan gib Sawwy enfies?”
The stallion nodded rapidly, “Fwuffy wan gib enfies, pwetty mawe tuwn wound fow gib enfies!”
Sally had turned a quarter of the way around before remembering her deal with Pistol. “Sawwy wemembeh! Fwuffy nee tawk tu Sawwy Daddeh 'fow speshul huggies! Fowwow Sawwy nu fwen!”
After another sprint across the fluffy are, Sally called Pistol over. “Daddeh, Sawwy fin stawwion fwen! Can hab babbeh huggies now?”
“Hang on Sally,” Pistol said, getting up and walking over, “Hi buddy, where is your owner, I need to talk to them.”
“Fwuffy nu hab ownah, Fwuffy wib hewe.” The edgy fluffy declared.
Pistol took a moment to evaluate. The fluffy Sally had brought over was almost certainly not owned by anyone who cared about its well being, as his matted fluff and crooked rear leg suggested. “You don’t have an owner? Well buddy, what if you came home with me and I would be your owner? You and Sally could both raise your foals and be the best of special friends.”
The feral’s eyes lit up. “Fwuffy wan! Fwuffy wan! Wiww be bestest daddeh fow pwetty mawe’s enfie babbehs!”
“Okay then,” Pistol said, and before he could clarify, the rapist had pounced onto Sally and was barely touching her insides as even by fluffy standards, his half-an-inch member could only be described as disappointing. Pistol looked away while Sally tried to tell her mate to slow down, or explain that he wasn’t in yet, but failed to do so in the ten seconds or so before it was over.
“Well that was disgusting.” Pistol said when he turned back around after a minute. “Come on you two, let’s go home then.”
Halfway through the walk home, side by side with her new bestest friend, Sally felt her tummy twinge and she gasped loudly. “SAWWY FEEW TUMMEH-BABBEHS! AM SOON-MUMMEH!”
“Dude works fast.” Pistol muttered before saying more loudly, “Congratulations Sally, in honor of this, I’m going to name your new friend Shane.”
The black unicorn’s eyes looked about ready to leave for the next ZIP code while his blood red tail wagged back and forth violantly. “Shane wub nu name! An’ Shane am soon-daddeh? An’ hab nu speshul fwen? An’ hab nu daddeh an’ howsie. Dis bes bwite time ebah! Nu can wait tu wape babbehs!”
Pistol tried to ignore the two of them scream-singing at Sally’s stomach the rest of the way home.
Once they got home, Pistol made a quick trip to the hardware store before spending some time re-arranging Sally’s safe room. He sat them down to explain. “Since you two are under my care, I’m going to make sure you have everything you need, and if you ever need anything you don’t have, all you have to do is ask, got it?”
“Shane undastan, but how Shane teww daddeh ib Shane nee sometink?” Shane asked.
“With your mouth, of course.” Pistol answered, eagerly awaiting the stallion’s response.
“Bu wha ib daddeh nu hewe tu hewe Shane?” Shane asked.
“If I’m not nearby, just push this big red button and I’ll come running.” Pistol answered, pointing at a large red button at the bottom of the wall, where even a foal could push it.
“That said, there are just a few rules here, mostly just no hurting each other and no bad poopies or bad peepees. Remember, any poopies or peepees that aren’t good litterbox poopies or peepees are bad poopies or peepees. Also, no demanding things, we say please in this house.”
“Shane… Shane wub Sawwy and babbehs suuu much, bu Shane wub sketties an enfie babbehs mowe.” Shane said.
“Well, with that settled, into your safe room you both go” Pistol said, placing both fluffies in the safe room.
“BWING SHANE SKETTIES DUMMEH DADDEH!” Shane shouted while sharting all over the nearest wall.
