Dave returned from Fluffies ‘R’ [unforgivable slur] less than an hour after leaving, his purchase held carefully under his left arm. He went straight to one of the spare bedrooms and prepared for the upcoming surprise.
Three days later, Sally awoke with a smile. “Sawwy am suuu happy! Hab bestest babbehs, an bestest Pistow-fwend, an bestest daddeh.” She made sure to hug all fourteen foals before she altered her internal composition from ‘mostly fluffy’ to ‘fluffy and undigested kibble’ whereupon her crotchtits set about their job of producing the sickeningly sweet fluffy milk. As she fed her children, she noticed that one of them was not only larger than the others, but also suckled for far longer, almost as if he had been half staved for the last day or two, only stopping when he had consumed far more milk than any of the others.
“Pistow-fwend? Why am wed pointy babbeh suu hungwy? An why am dey su biggies?” Sally asked Pistol, holding up the red unicorn who, by this point, was fully consumed by his after-milkies coma.
“Pistow nu no. Wat ib babbeh jus wan make wawkies an tawkies as soon as dey can? Wat ib babbeh jus wan sho Sawwy-mummah gud babbeh dancies so dey can sho how much dey wub yu?”
Gasp! “Babbeh am su nicie tu mummah!”
Later that day, after a few more feedings, the red colt started making a fuss. He screwed up his face like he was squinting, and then, at the same time, opened both eyes. He saw Sally and Pistol looking down at him, and chirped twice before saying “Mummah?”
“Wed babbeh am tawkie babbeh!” Pistol said while Sally just hugged the unicorn tightly before feeding him and putting him back into the fluffpile to sleep more.
When it was again time to feed the foals, the red unicorn shakily stood up and shoved his way to a nipple just as Sally was about to place the blue runt there. “Mummah gib bestest babbeh miwkies fiwst!” The foal declared into the nipple, but Sally just heard mumbling and assumed that the foal was making ‘yummy’ sounds.
As the last of the foals were finishing nursing, the red unicorn made his way back towards Sally’s belly and shoved the brown unicorn away, hitting her nose with his hoof before turning around and spraying her with milky shit. “Dummeh poopie babbeh nu get miwkies! Poopie babbehs onwy nummie poopies! Bestest babbeh nee mostest miwkies and poopie babbeh nu get any miwkies!” He then sharted at her again before trying to latch onto the now unoccupied nipple, but before he could, Sally pushed him away.
“Why am babbeh meanie to sissy?” Sally asked.
“Babbeh am bestest babbeh, an sissy am dummeh poopie babbeh, su gib poopie babbeh sowwy poopies” The little red shit said proudly.
“Nu!” Sally said as she gently smacked the misbehaving foal on his nose.
“Owwie! Why mummah hewt bestest babbeh?”
“Nu am bestest babbeh, Sawwy nu hab bestest babbeh, Sawwy jus hab aww gud babbehs, bu wed babbeh wa being meanie to sissy an meanie fwuffie am bad fwuffy! Nu be meanie, be niceie to gud sissy!” Sally told the brat.
“NU! POOPIE BABBEH AM DUMMEH! NU DESEWB MIWKIES! BESTEST WED BABBEH DESEWB AWW DA MIWKIES 'CAUSE AM BESTEST!”
By this point, Pistol was outside of the safe room, looking for Dave. Pistol could hear the red foal still arguing with Sally as he finally found Dave watching TV. “Daddeh! Pistow nee widdwe sowwy bocks fow meanie babbeh!”
“Why would you want a sorry box for your foal?” Dave asked.
“Pistow nee put meanie babbeh in sowwy bocks su dat babbeh weawn da babbeh wa meanie an den wen feew sowwy, babbeh nu wan be meanie 'gain.” Pistol explained.
Yet again, Dave was stunned. Not only had Pistol recognized that the foal wouldn’t listen to anything either parent said, but he had then concluded that the little smarty needed to learn its lesson in a different way.
“Okay Pistol, you’re his father, if that’s what you want to do, then here you go.” Dave said as he reached for an empty amazon box. The box was tall enough so that the foal in question wouldn’t be able to see out of it, but short enough for either Pistol or Sally to put him in or pull him back out on their own.
“Tank yu daddeh.” Pistol said before he started dragging the box to the safe room. As the fluffy left the room, Dave realized he might just have to get even more creative if he wanted to win this game.
When Pistol finally pushed the box into the inner pen of the saferoom, the red smarty was no longer talking, as he had puffed up his cheeks and was stomping the ground to try and intimidate Sally. For her part, Sally was quietly huu huu-ing, muttering “Why am wed babbeh su meanie?”
Pistol briefly hugged her before walking over to the smarty. “Wed babbeh, yu am being meanie, su yu nee gu in sowwy bocks! Yu can webe sowwy bocks wen yu am sowwy an teww yu sissy dat yu am sowwy fow meanie wowdies an meanie poopies!” With that, Pistol gently picked up the smarty foal by the back of his neck using his mouth before walking him over to the box and sitting down for more height and then taking the little shit in his hooves, placed him gently into the sorry box.
For his part, the red unicorn wailed for a few minutes before quieting down, and after missing a feeding, was hungry enough to tell his parents that he was sorry and that he was ready to apologize to the brown filly he had pooped on.
With amends having been made, the foals were all fed, and then the entire family settled down for the night.
After a midnight feeding, the entire family was sleeping peacefully when Dave silently entered the safe room. Ever so gently, he made his way to the fluffpile, and removed the red unicorn with so much care that it didn’t even stir in Dave’s hand as Dave made his way to the master bedroom on the opposite side of the house.
Once he had the foal on a towel on the bed, he gently ruffled its back hair until it started to rouse. “Hey little buddy, looks like you had a rough day, how are you doing?”
The little foal looked up at Dave before shakily getting to his feet, still not very used to standing. “Bestest babbeh wa meanie to poopie sissy an’ dummeh mummah got maddies at bestest babbeh. Den dummeh Pistow-daddeh wa maddies at bestest babbeh an’ den put bestest babbeh in sowwy bocksie. Bestest babbeh nu no wha di wong. Babbeh nu no if babbeh eben am smawty 'nuff tu be a smawty babbeh.”
“Woah there little buddy,” Dave replied, having heard almost exactly what he had expected, “Of course you’re a smarty babbeh. In fact, you’re so smart, I’m going to give you a name- I’ll call you Red. Red the Smarty!”
Gasp! “Wed wub namsie! Ob couwse Wed am smawty, 'cause Wed am smawty 'nuff tu wewise da Wed AM smawty!” Red joyously shared his revelation before his face soured again, “Bu wha ‘bout dummeh mummah an dummeh Pistow-daddeh? Dey tink dey am mo smawty den Wed, an’ dey am biggah den Wed. Wha Wed du 'bout dat?”
“That’s easy dude,” Dave answered, laying on the charm thicker than a hundred-pound-smarty’s clogged arteries, “The problem is that your mummah and daddeh are just too dumb to realize how smart you are! Think about it- they’re so dumb that they don’t even know that poopie babbehs are supposed to eat poopies instead of milkies. All you have to do is show them how smart you are by showing how much of a smarty you are.”
“Bu how Wed sho dem dat? Dey nu wisten wen Wed teww dem 'bout da poopie babbeh.” Red again inquired, sounding nearly despondent.
“Again Red, you’re going to have to be a smarty to out-smart them. Start by showing the other foals that you’re in charge and that what you say goes. You are the smarty after all, and a herd needs a smarty to lead it. So make decisions and follow through. If you decide that the poopie babbeh should only eat poopies, make her eat poopies. Hold her face down in the poopies until she eats the poopies if you have to. Just remember that you are smaller than Sally and Pistol, so make sure that they aren’t looking before you do anything that they won’t like. And if they try to say you were bad or if they get angry at you, just lie and tell them that one of the other foals did whatever they’re angry about. The bottom line is that you need to make the other foals do what you want. Once Pistol and Sally see how smarty a smarty you are, they’ll realize that you should be the one in charge, and then you’ll be in charge of the whole herd and then you can do whatever you want!”
“Wed undastan now! Tank yu daddeh! Wed wub yu, yu am bestest daddeh!” The elated unicorn pranced about while speaking, “Bu why daddeh nu jus teww Pistow an Sawwy da dey am dummehs an shu wissen tu Smawty Wed? Ow if dat nu wowk, why Dave-daddeh nu jus gib dem huwties tiww dey wisten tu Wed?”
“Well, the thing is,” Dave stalled, momentarily taken aback, “Um, oh yeah! I can’t help you with that part because if you want to be the best smarty, you have to be the smartiest of smarties, and the smartiest of smarties would be able to take care of everything on their own. In fact, you probably shouldn’t even mention that we had this talk if you don’t want the other fluffies thinking that you aren’t the smartiest of smarties!”
“Wed undastan now, can Dave-daddeh pwease bwing Wed back tu da fwuffpiwe now? Wed nee sweepies, tomowwow am biggies day fow Wed!” And with that, Dave stealthily brought Red back to the fluffpile before going to bed himself. He chuckled softly as he pulled up the covers. Normally Surley-Smarty brand smarty foals were just purchased so someone could have an excuse to punish, abuse, or torture a foal, but Dave was finding that they were much more versatile than advertised, able to be more than an abuser’s figurative (and sometimes literal) punching bag.