“Daddeh! Sawwy wan hab babbehs!” The three month old blue fluffy at the doorway announced to Dave, expectantly wagging her green tail as she did.
Dave had hand raised Sally from a foal, ever since he pulled her out of her foal-in-a-can container. Dave could have gotten any fluffy he wanted, after selling his stock in Impossibly-Successful-Startup Inc, he was wealthy enough to never have to work another day in his life many times over, but he liked to live modestly. Dave 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 Dave was almost always around to keep an eye on her, and she had grown up into a sweet young fluffy mare.
Lately however, Sally had caught babbeh fever. Dave 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 Dave 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. Dave 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, if it meant that he could turn off the constant foghorn of ‘wan babbehs’ Dave didn’t really care about the welfare of any foals she might fart out. Besides, she might fail miserably, and get it out of her system that way. Actually, that might not be that bad an idea.
Dave did some research online and concluded that while a fluffy mare could produce large amounts of breast milk, provided that they had enough food available, there was a limit, which would seem to be enough milk to support a dozen foals, give or take a few, although at that point the dam would be consuming enough food for four or five adult fluffies.
After finishing his research and finalizing his plan, Dave 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,” Dave started, “You can have babbehs, but you have be a good mother and take care of all of them and do it by yourself. I won’t do it for you, it’ll be your job as their mother.”
“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 only the worst mothers let their children die.” Dave responded, omniously.
The next day, the Hasbio brand hyper ovulation pills and other supplies Dave had ordered during his research arrived, and he told some nonsense about how the pills would make her foals stronger and smarter before she scarfed down the large speghetti flavored treats. In actuality, all the pills would do was dramatically increase the size of the litter that Sally would have.
With that done off they went, in search of a fluffy stallion, specifically at the local park. Dave 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 Dave’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 green unicorn stallion who had been nibbling on one of the shrub’s small white flowers. 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 Dave. “Sawwy wemembeh! Fwuffy nee tawk tu Sawwy Daddeh 'fow speshul huggies! Fowwow Sawwy nu fwen!”
After another sprint across the fluffy area, Sally called Dave over. “Daddeh, Sawwy fin stawwion fwen! Can hab babbeh huggies now?”
“Hang on Sally,” Dave 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 green fluffy declared.
Dave 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 bestest babbehs!”
“Okay then,” Dave said, and before he could clarify, the green stallion had pounced onto Sally and was energetically re-arranging her insides as, by fluffy standards, his two inches were terrifyingly huge. Dave looked away while Sally tried to tell her mate to slow down, that it felt like she was being split in half, but failed to do so in the ten seconds or so before it was over.
“Well that was disgusting.” Dave 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.” Dave muttered before saying more loudly, “Congratulations Sally, in honor of this, I’m going to name your new friend Pistol.”
The dark green unicorn’s eyes looked about ready to leave for the next ZIP code while his light blue-green tail wagged back and forth violently. “Pistow wub nu name! An’ Pistow am soon-daddeh? An’ hab nu speshul fwen? An’ hab nu daddeh an’ howsie. Dis bes bwite time ebah!”
Dave tried to ignore the two of them scream-singing at Sally’s stomach the rest of the way home.
Once they got home, Dave 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’re living with your special friend Sally, I’ve set up your safe room for you. Since foals are made of a little bit of the mommy and a little bit of the daddy, you’ll have to do things a bit differently than most fluffies. Since you, Sally, are used to living inside a home, but Pistol is used to living outside, your babies will have the best chance of growing big and strong if their environment has a little outside living in addition to the living inside parts.” This was utter nonsense, but Dave wanted to add an extra point of failure and make the entire ordeal as stressful as possible for both parents. Happily, fluffies are stupid, and Sally and Pistol bought the explanation hook, line, and fluffy dumbasses. The safe room had received a small fluffy sized fence, with an electric fluffy door in the middle, seperating a small area next to the door from the rest of the room.
“As such, I’ve added a new seperation to the safe room. Sally, you have to stay inside the much larger ‘inside’ area at the back of the room while Pistol, using this special collar, can go through this little fluffy door into the very small ‘outside’ area, where I’ll be putting both of your food. This means that Pistol will have to bring your bowl through the door to the ‘outside’ area and put his hoof on this button to fill it with food from this feeder, and then bring it back through the door to the inside area for you to eat. The bowl is small, because an outside fluffy can’t bring very much food to his special friend on each trip, so Pistol will have to make many trips to bring you enough food each day Sally. Also, the dispenser will only fill the food bowl if there are no poopies in the litterbox, which means that Pistol will have to move all the poopies through the door and up this ramp, into this garbage can. Finally, if either of you makes any poopies outside of the litterbox, the dispenser will stop giving you food for half an hour AFTER you clean up the bad poopies. That means if you don’t clean the bad poopies, you won’t get any food at all. You two got all that?”
“Pistow undastan, but Pistow nee no how Pistow gonna move poopies to gawbage?” Pistol asked.
“With your mouth, of course.” Dave answered, eagerly awaiting the stallion’s response.
“Pistow nu wan num poopies! Poopies taste wike poopie!” Pistol answered loudly.
“You don’t have to eat the poopies, you just have to move them. The special mommy kibble that Sally will be eating will make her poopies come out in one piece and be easy to pick up. Besides, you love Sally and your unborn children, don’t you? Won’t it be worth doing for them?” Dave asked, not being manipulating at all.
“Pistow… Pistow wub Sawwy and babbehs suuu much, Pistow wiww move poopies fow dem.” Pistol said, seemingly forgetting that he had just met Sally and hardly knew her.
“Well, with that settled, into your safe room you both go” Dave said, placing both fluffies in the ‘inside’ part of the safe room.