Epilogue
It had been two weeks since Jansen had dropped off the tiny, injured, near-dead foal. Once he’d left, Frank had arranged for a vet friend to swing by and take a look. They weren’t positive about the foal’s chances, but Frank had asked them to do what they could.
The foal left with the vet, and two days later it had been brought back, looking almost totally different.
He had been given a gentle bath in warm water, a heavy dose of antibiotics, some treatment for malnutrition, and a little necessary surgery (his rear legs had needed amputation ASAP), but ultimately he was still alive and recovering.
Frank had phoned Jansen immediately to let him know, and five minutes later the sanitation worker’s rickety van had shrieked to a halt outside of the pet-store. Soon enough Jansen was gently stroking the still-shivering foal’s head as it lay swaddled in a bed of sterile cotton cloths and pillows.
“The vet said his legs needed amputation.” Frank was informing him. “The damage was too severe, they were infected, and infections like to spread. It was either lose the legs or lose him.”
Jansen sucked a breath in between his teeth.
“Tough call.” He said. “But at least he’s okay now. And at least he still has his front legs, I guess.”
The foal stirred slightly, chirped quietly, then went back to fitfully sleeping.
The bath had revealed it’s coat once more as a rich emerald green, not dark enough to be considered a ‘poopie’ colour by it’s parents, but not bright enough to be an eye-sore either. He was only an earth-pony, but his luxurious emerald-coloured coat would be more than enough to catch eyes.
“Does he have a name?” Jansen asked.
“No, not yet.” Frank replied. “I’m going to level with you, I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it or not, and figured it’d be best to wait and see until he did. But he is improving…”
“Do you… would you mind if I named him?” Jansen asked. Frank smiled and gave a slight shrug.
“Have at it. What’re you thinking?”
Jansen was thinking about finding the foal in the sewer, covered from mane to tail in shit, squashed among the corpses of it’s family and friends, barely able to breathe, it’s body actively rotting from the inside… and now, he was here, alive and well, steadily recovering from the ordeal. Despite the odds, he’d made it out okay.
“Lucky.” Jansen said. “He’s Lucky.”
A full month had passed since Jansen brought the foal into the pet-store, and Frank was amazed at how fast Lucky had improved. Since the vet returned him, Jansen had come by almost every day after his shifts to check on Lucky, and gradually the foal had returned more and more to the world of the living.
First he had begun speaking (albeit in incoherent mumbling nonsense-babble), then his eyes had opened again, and before long he had started walking, pulling himself around on his front two legs. Most of his rear fluff had already grown back too, making it easier for him to slide his back-half around on the smooth counter-top.
Frank had been putting Lucky through his paces, having him pull himself several inches at a time to reach bowls of water and soft food, gradually making him travel further and further as he rebuilt his weakened muscles.
By the end of the month, Lucky was as good as new. Frank had already looked into getting him a proper wheelchair device to keep his back-half from dragging across the floor too often.
And at the pet-store, he was hardly lacking in company.
Frank carried the disabled foal over to the pen of fluffies for sale and let him see and talk to them, but he didn’t trust them enough to let him play with them. He knew all too well how fluffies treated other fluffies they felt were ‘wrong’, just for being different. The last thing he needed was them hurting Lucky just because he was missing his rear legs.
But Lucky wasn’t devoid of friends either. He also had Rosie, Frank’s own alicorn fluffy, to play with. Even then, Frank had been nervous about how Lucky would react, but either he had known alicorns previously, or he had been softened by his traumatic ordeal in the sewers… because he never once seemed to even notice it.
He and Rosie spent hours playing together behind the counter, rolling a ball back and forth, or playing tag. Tag was easy for Rosie, as Lucky could only move so fast with his missing legs, but Frank noted how Rosie made sure to waddle slower whenever Lucky was chasing her, making sure he still got to win too.
Finally, the day came.
Lucky had been fitted for a wheelchair and had spent several days playing hours with Rosie up and down the aisles of the pet-store, while Frank watched the clock. 5:45 hit, and the rickety van rumbled into the pet-store’s parking lot same as usual.
Jansen walked into the store, immediately catching sight of Lucky sprinting back and forth on his sleek plastic wheels.
“Well, look at him go!” He said, watching Lucky glide past as Rosie chased after him, the two of them giggling.
“Right? He’s taken to the wheels like a fish to water.” Frank said, watching them both play. “But I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, Jansen.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Well… Lucky’s a good fluffy, right? This may shock you but I don’t like most fluffies. Most of them are obnoxious, entitled brats. Rosie and Lucky are about the only exceptions that I’ve met, so far. So you understand that, right? That Lucky… well, he’s a good kid, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good, because what I say isn’t coming from a place of hatred or anger, but… he can’t stay here.”
“What? Why not?”
“Jansen… he’s disabled. Hey, don’t look like that, you know me, I told you all about what happened with Rosie and her mother, Blossom.”
“Yeah, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem, Jansen, is that disabled fluffies are like disabled people. They require extra care, extra attention, extra help. Sure, Lucky’s got his wheels now, but someone has to be there to take him out of that thing every night before bed, and put him back into it every morning. Every time he has to go to the litter-box, someone has to carry him there and wait until he’s done, because he can’t get into the litter-box without his wheels getting in the way. Plus, I’ve had to look after him at home at night, and… the little guy has night-terrors. He wakes up screaming about ‘Smawty’ and ‘wawas’ and ‘bitey munstahs’. Plus he still needs his antibiotics every day, and…”
Frank sighed.
“Look, I have nothing against him, really. But fluffy ponies take a lot of care on a base level, and Lucky is disabled. That’s a whole new kettle of fish you’re looking at. All the care you have to give a regular fluffy is multiplied by them being disabled. Lucky seems happy enough running around and playing, but he still needs help even just to go to the bathroom, y’know…?”
“So he can’t stay here.” Jansen said, sadly.
“I’m sorry, but he can’t. This is just a regular pet-store, we don’t have the layout or the staff required to take care of disabled fluffies. There are plenty of other pet-stores who do, some even specialise in it. They have round-the-clock staff and some even have therapy programs. But this… it’s a Mom & Pop operation, minus the Mom & Pop.”
“So, you’ll send him there.”
“Yeah, I mean we’ll have to, for his own good, but…” Frank paused. “Even then, they aren’t exactly great. I’ve been to one of those places before, I was dropping off a litter of foals that were born premature. The place was… sterile, man. It was all scrubbed clean, no colour, no life. Fluffies were all kept in isolated containers where they couldn’t risk hurting each other if they had some kind of attack or episode, they were all fed grey paste in case something caused a reaction in one of them… honestly, the place was miserable, and I checked… I’m sorry man, but I checked, I checked every single one I could find. They don’t allow visitors. None of them.”
“So I’m never going to see Lucky again.” Jansen said. His heart actually hurt. In his own way, he loved the little guy. He seemed so positive, and after everything he’d gone through, he deserved happiness… but hearing this, that he’d be taken away to some cold, barren facility and just treated like one of a number… no more games of tag, no more ball, no more friends, no more Jansen coming by for belly-tickles and treats. No more Frank with his watchful eye making sure Lucky never got hurt.
Jansen sighed.
“It sucks. I mean, I get it I suppose, but it sucks.” Jansen said, bitterly.
“Yeah, it does.” Frank said, also watching the fluffies. He paused, thinking. “But I guess there’s one more option…”
Jansen turned, surprised.
“You could adopt him.” Frank said.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. He knows you better than he knows his own hooves, man. You’re here every day, even on weekends, just to play with him and talk to him. You love seeing him and he loves seeing you. He has fun with Rosie and me, but you’re the one he looks fowrard to seeing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Remember that time last week when you were held up at work and couldn’t make it until the next morning? Look, I never said because you already looked pretty guilty, but Lucky cried when you didn’t show up.”
“He… he did…?”
“Yeah, he cried, man. He missed you that much. Rosie and I spent hours trying to cheer him up, playing with him, giving him treats, but he was heartbroken without you here. I think he loves you, honestly. You’re like his dad.”
Jansen turned. He’d noticed how close Rosie was with Frank, and, thinking it over… yeah, Lucky seemed to act a similar way towards himself. Any time Jansen turned up, Lucky immediately forgot what he was doing (even if he was eating) and ran / wheeled himself over to Jansen for belly-tickles and head-strokes.
Jansen thought about it.
“It’ll be a lot of work.” He told himself, thinking it over slowly. “You said it yourself. Disabled fluffies take a lot of work. More than regular fluffies.”
“That’s right.”
“I just… I don’t know if I could… what with my job and all, I’m always out and about… plus I couldn’t really afford anything ‘specialised’, like that wheelchair. If anything went wrong and he needed help… god, just imagine the vet bills.”
“Look, it’s okay if you don’t think you could handle it.” Frank said, putting a hand on Jansen’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to pressure you into taking him or anything, like I said, it’s just the only other option I can think of.”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I want to take him, but… I really don’t know if I could afford it.”
Jansen and Frank stood for a moment, solemnly watching Rosie and Lucky chasing each other around the store, morosely realising this could be the last time they ever played together.
They were snapped out of their musings by the opening of the front doors. Frank turned, ready to put on a brave face for a customer… then stopped, and smiled.
“Mrs Wilson!” He said, brightly. It was the first time she’d come to the store since Mr Wilson’s death.
“Hello, Frank.” She said quietly. She looked thinner and paler than usual. Mr Wilson’s death had hit her pretty hard, even after she’d known it was coming for at least a year.
“How are you holding up?”
“Well, I’ve been better…” She said, with a half-shrug. “Actually, I came by to- oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we already had a customer.”
“Mrs Wilson, this is Jansen, he’s the one I was telling you about, the one who brought in the foal. Jansen, meet Mrs Wilson, she started this place back in the day.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Jansen said holding out a hand. Mrs Wilson took it, brittle bones under weary skin against Jansen’s callouses and scars.
“Jansen and I were just talking about Lucky.” Frank said, spotting the green fluffy making his way over to them.
“Hewwo!” He said brightly. “Am Wucky!”
Even now, Jansen couldn’t help but smile. He certainly was Lucky.
“Oh, isn’t he precious…” Mrs Wilson said, looking at him. “Actually, that’s why I was here, Frank. I’ve been thinking of getting a fluffy pony of my own.”
“Really?”
“Well, without my daft old husband to look after anymore, I’ve been feeling a touch lonely at home. I think having one of these little fellows might help keep my spirits up.”
Something clicked in Frank’s mind.
“Mrs Wilson, Jansen… I think I might have the solution to all of our problems.”
Half an hour later, Mrs Wilson left with Lucky in a carrier, babbling happily about his ‘nyu homesies’ with ‘nyu mummah’. Jansen had noted her address (which was only one street away), and with Mrs Wilson’s permission, would visit every day after his shift to check up on them both.
Rosie had been sad to see her pal leave, but Frank made sure they both knew that they could bring Lucky by any time they wanted, he wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on him for at least a day. That way Lucky got to stay with someone willing to take care of all of his needs, Jansen could see him any time he wanted (while providing Mrs Wilson with some extra company), and if Mrs Wilson was busy, Frank would look after him instead, meaning Lucky and Rosie could have another play-date.
And so Jansen got back into his van, and smiled.
That little guy really was Lucky after all.
END
