While Shane was being forced to yodel into the valley, Pistol went to check on Sally. Even with her lower back covered in bandages, and despite the pain she was obviously in, when Pistol entered the saferoom Sally was singing to her tummy babbehs. Nonetheless she stopped the instant she saw Pistol and tried to run over to him, but Shane’s old leg still wasn’t fully operational, so Sally just ended up tumbling sideways the first time she tried to put weight on it, only to find it wasn’t where she needed it to be.
“Daddeh, Sawwy wub- oof”
“Woah, easy there gal,” Pistol said, walking over to sit down next to her. “Remember you need to give your one leg more time to learn how to be a Sally leg, so no running 'till then, okay?”
“Okay daddeh, Sawwy onwy wun till weggie am bettah.” while she had repeated the message to Pistol backwards, since she didn’t act on that error further, Pistol figured that she had just mispoken and so moved on.
“How are your tummy babbehs today?” He asked as he started to work a brush through Sally’s ever-tangled tail.
GASP! “WEWW…” Pistol just smiled and nodded while Sally spewed a seemingly neverending answer, bouncing from how she briefly forgot she had tummy babbehs, to her joy at remembering them yet again, ect ect.
“-an den dat babbeh teww da oddah babbehs dat 'e nee miwkies, HE-HE, den Sawwy wemind dem dat dey stiww insidies Sawwy an nu am weady fow miwkies.”
At times her statements regarding her unborn children extended cleanly into abject fantasy and other similarly impossible statements, such as directly describing the foals she was carrying.
“Da firs wun am bwack wingie-pointy cowt, he gon gwow biggie! Den da bwue an wed pointy fiwwy gon come out. Den da wingie pink fiwwy, and den da earthy bwown fiwwy, an dat am Sawwy’s babbehs!”
Pistol smiled and nodded, knowing that his apparent interest was far more important to Sally than whether or not Pistol actually retained anything from her babbling. By now, she was six days pregnant and very clearly showing, but not yet enough to impair her movement. Pistol had set up an appointment with Sally’s vet, Doc Vickers, for that afternoon, and it was not difficult to convince Sally to go.
“Su daddeh am sayin’ dat Sawwy nee go tu da doktah an da doktah gonna hewp babbehs gwow biggies an stwongies? Doktah mus be wewwy wewwy niceie doktah. okay Sawwy weady tu go.” Sally told Pistol, seemingly thinking that the doctor would magically improve her babbehs out of the goodness of her heart or something. It didn’t really matter, Pistol would just let her go on thinking that, as car trips with fluffies were bad enough without having to fight to even get them in the car in the first place.
“She’s coming along nicely so far,” Doc Vickers told Pistol as he gently palpated Sally’s belly, after assuring her he wouldn’t hurt her babbehs of course.
“Lets take a closer look with the ultrasound”
After brief assurance that the ultrasound also wouldn’t hurt Sally’s babbehs, said babbehs were lazily floating across the screen as Vickers expertly examined them.
“Looks like she’s got four foals in there, two pegasai, one unicorn, and one earth pony, but it’s too early to sex them yet. Beyond that, from what I can see, they all seem healthy and are growing right on schedule.” He shut off the ultrasound and pushed it back towards the wall. “At the same time, Sally is recovering nicely from her injury, and she should be able to use that new leg in a day or so. Would you like to sign up for our ‘birthing fast pass’ which would allow you to bring her in when she starts showing signs of entering labor, and be seen by a vet immedately, day or night?”
“How much would it cost me to have you rush to my place after I call and tell you she’s in labor?”
“Maybe a few years ago, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s offered enough to make it worth my while.” Doc said.
Pistol pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check, initially just filling in the dollar amount. He then showed the check to Doc Vickers.
“Would you look at that, I guess I do home visits again.”
Back at home, Pistol decided that since Sally had been so good at the vet, she would get a special treat. Out came the construction paper, along with the fluffy-safe crayons and hoof-paints. Sally already knew the drill, and as soon as everything was sitting on the middle of a large tarp, she practically dove into the small pile of art supplies. Like most fluffies, she was unable to draw anything well enough to be recognizable, but happily she was well aware of this, and while she was happily coating paper with multicolored hoof prints, she ‘convinced’ Pistol to draw her foals to her description.
Pistol, meanwhile, was very glad that his pancreas was up to snuff, else he might end up with diabetes from watching Sally excitedly describing her foals while absentmindedly spreading colorful hoof prints everywhere as she tried continuously to get a better look at what Pistol was drawing for her.
By the time they were done, the kitchen was a complete disaster, but Pistol was well rewarded with a Sally shaped lump of very content, snoring fluffy.