“What the fuck do you mean ‘Accelerated Schedule?’” Jim shouted. Debra sighed, reaching a hand up to wipe a tiny fleck of spittle that had made its way across the desk. “Jim, we both knew this was inevitable. They just keep coming in faster every day.”
“So the solution is to kill every fluffy that comes in?” Debra sighed, shuffling some papers on her desk. “Not EVERY fluffy Jim, don’t be so dramatic.” Jim laughed angrily. “Not every fluffy?” He reached out and snatched the notice paper from the desk. “No, just any fluffy that is a smarty, stallion of over sixth months of age, non pregnant mares of over six months of age, stallions with fight related injuries, mares displaying unfavorable babbeh tendencies-”
“Jim I know that this is-” Debra attempted to cut Jim off, but by now he was riding high on anger. “Fluffies who have adopted insensitive names, ‘Derped’ fluffies, herd alpha members?” Jim looked at Debra with confusion “How and why is that different from a smarty?” The older woman shrugged. “Just because a fluffy doesn’t call itself a smarty doesn’t mean that it isn’t one. Better safe than sorry.” Jim laughed harshly. “Yeah, sure, thats why we are now euthanizing mares the day after they give birth right?” Debra stood up. “Yeah, no one wants to adopt a mare and her babbehs and separating them just gives the mares severe depression unless you let them get pregnant again. Its going to save us thousands in Mummah feed.”
Jim glanced back down at the page, noticing a key point he missed that made his stomach turn. “What the fuck…” Among the Association of Responsible Fluffy Shelters new guidelines was a brand new category. ‘Undesirable Foals.’ Jim fell completely silent as he began reading the four paragraph list traits deserving of immediate euthanasia.
Del sat in the cab of his truck eating a sandwich grumpily. He remembered the days when he just got to cruise around the city, take in the sights, and occasionally respond to a call for a stray dog, the occasional possum, or snake in the bathroom. He had been able to finish eight crosswords a day just waiting for calls to come in from HQ. He couldn’t remember the last time he even started a crossword, let alone complete it. Certainly not since the second call he got for a fluffy herd.
Herd calls were always the worst. It’s easy enough with only one fluffy, just net them and toss them in one of the kennel cages. They start screaming about sorry boxes, shit themselves, you slam the van doors shut and hop in the cab, drive off. Simple as. Herd’s are different. The moment you catch one, it starts screaming and the rest of the herd either bolts or attempts to save them by attacking you. Del still remembered the week he grabbed a dam out of an alley herd, put her in the van and came back to four stallions, tails raised and assholes puckered to spray him with ‘sorry poopies.’ Certainly ruined date night.
And to top it off, fluffies were just so fragile. The first time he tried to use the snare pull he had snapped a fluffies neck, right in front of a herd of around fifteen. The herd had scattered in fear, three had gotten away. THREE. It only took three for the story of the Bwoo Munsta to spread among the cities ferals. Fluffies would scream and run at the sight of anyone wearing blue for almost a month until the city had mandated a change to a white jumpsuit uniform. Then some newbie shattered the skull of a smarty with a net and the cycle started all over again.
Del had just opened the bag of chips that came with his sandwich when the radio crackled to life “Unit 4, got a pair situation on 4th ave and Butler street. Male and female breeding pair in the alley behind the bodega.” Del sighed, reaching for the receiver. “Understood. Unit 4 on route to retrieve.” Del crushed the chips into fragments, tipping the bag into his mouth and tossing it onto the dashboard. Duty calls.
Princess had long ago deeply regretted running away from her mummah. Even BABBEHS didn’t seem worth what she had experienced.
It had really upset Princess when mummah told her that even though mummah was a soon-mummah she couldn’t be! So the escape had gone easily enough, all Princess had to do was run between her mummah’s legs when she opened the door. Her mummah was too big with her own babbehs to catch her. Daddeh had run all over the neighborhood trying to find her but she had hid in the short tree-friends. At one point she could have sworn Daddeh saw her, but he just walked by her calling her name.
The first few days had been tough. She had to drink icky wawa from puddles, num icky nummies like grassies and leaves, she even tried a bit of a mushy-room at one point but had made sicky wawas all night. At least she no longer had mummah telling her where she could and couldn’t make poopies.
Then she finally encountered a herd! The smarty friend was a bit of a meanie, but he let her join. The herd moved from place to place at night when it was cool, and rested in the shade of the big housies when it was warm. The smarty friend knew where and when the hoomins put the good nummies. The herd may not have led a clean life, but they were warm when they needed to be, fed when they needed to be, and played as much as they wanted to play. It was while playing huggie tag with the herd that Princess met her special friend, Thor. He was a handsome blue stallion, with dark blue fur, a green mane, and little white tips on his wings.
His body lay nearby, propped upright in a sitting position with his head neatly removed and placed between his front legs, a smile stapled on his face. Princess tried not to meet his gaze as much as possible, but she had swollen to the point where it was nearly impossible to move. The glass shards scattered around her made it fully impossible, several splinters of which still remained in her hoofpads.
Things had been going so well in the herd until around half of them, smarty included, had been flattened by a metal munstah. The remainder of the herd had scattered in all directions, but she and Thor had managed to stick together. They had come to rest in the space between the two giant housies, building a nest in an old tipped over trashcan. A small storm drain provided a self cleaning litterbox, and the hoomins in the housie threw out tons of nummies every night. It was a perfect nestie, perfect for raising a family!
It had been at least. Then the munstahs came. Two munstah humans came and dumped out all the warm grassies and papers that she and Thor had brought! Thor tried to stop them by battering their legs with sorry hoofsies, but the munstahs had just laughed and kicked him against the wall! They stopped laughing when Princess directed a stream of sorry poopies at them. She missed horribly, but the munstahs werent laughing anymore. One of them had pulled out a mini-stapler and utility knife as the other threw Princess into the trashcan. She had heard Thor screaming, but hadn’t seen what they had done to him until they tipped the trashcan back down.
Thor’s wingies, once his pride and joy, had been torn off and stapled to his head while his mane and tail had been torn off and stapled to his chin. Most grotesque of all was the expression on his face. Despite the wide eyes and giant smile plastered across his face, Princess could see a river of tears rolling down his eyes as he sobbed in pain and anguish.
Then they decapitated him, posed his body, and broke a few glass bottles, spreading them around the alley. Then they had left.
That was four bright times ago. There were enough nummies nearby for Princess to not starve, but the mare was constantly thirsty.
“Huu huu….” Princess softly sobbed to herself. She knew she had to get out of the can, otherwise her babbehs would be born in poopies. She attempted to stand, but the shards of glass in her hoof stopped her pretty quickly. Now laying against the can, Princess felt her foals kick restlessly. “Don’ wowwy, babbehs!” Princess struggled to a comfortable position and began cooing to her foals. “Mummah wuv babbehs, babbehs wuv mummah, dwink wots ob miwkies, gwow up big and stwong!”
Princess lay in the can alternating between singing to her babbehs and crying. She didn’t even hear the crunching footsteps of Del as he approached.
“What the fuck…” Del had seen many forms of abuse inflicted on ferals, but this was really next level. Judging by the level of decomposition and shit in the can, it had been at least a couple days. The little pink mare in the can apparently couldn’t hear him over her own sobbing.
Del stood to the side for a bit before approaching the mare. “Hey girlie…” Princess turned to face him before scurrying backwards into the can as far as she could, not even caring as she coated her rear with filth. “Huu huu, pwease weave Pwincess awone mistah munstah, nu wan huwties!”
“Its okay, I promise I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Del swept the glass aside using his boot, clearing a space for Princess to walk out on. Princess looked back at Del distrustingly. “Pwomise?”
“Promise.” Princess slowly limped out of the can and stood before the dogcatcher. “Easy girl, let me take a look at that leg.” Del carried a pair of tweezers around with him ever since he encountered a golden retriever mix with a thorn in its paw. It came in handy now as he pried three pieces of glass from the mare’s hoof pad, the mare instantly feeling some relief. “Tank ‘ou mistah!” Princess smiled as Del picked her up and placed her under his arm. “I’m going to take you to the nice place where you can take a good warm bath, get some good food, and a warm place to sleep.” Princess cooed happily.
At least until they made it to the van. The moment she saw the kennels lined with crying fluffies she began screaming and flailing to escape. Del managed to stuff her into a larger cage that had been reserved for big dogs and make his way into the cab, throwing a towel on the seat to prevent the filth from the mares fur getting onto the pleather seating. The van had just started down the street when Del heard the fabled cry.
“BIGGEST POOPIES!!!”
Larry drained the flask of Woodford Reserve into his coffee. Tonight was going to be a long night. The new guidelines from ARFS had sentenced around twenty eight fluffies to death tonight. Sitting on the small folding chair set in the corner of his little broom closet, Larry watched the clock slowly tick down until it finally hit midnight.
“Showtime.” Larry hauled himself to his feet and headed down the hall to the door painted with a smiling mother fluffy and her foals playing with a ball. Once inside he flipped the ventilation system on and began warming up the incinerator, the room quickly increasing in temperature. Larry grabbed the cart from the corner of the room, maneuvering it around the steel table he had placed in the center of the room. The onsite vet Natalia had given him a giant bag of laced sketti treats, a portion of which he kept in a small pouch on his tool belt, between his pliers and ice pick.
Larry pushed the cart down the hall towards the office, retrieving the two page list of numerical designations. First up was FLFY-29184, a red pegasus with an “Asymmetrical wing of greater than 2 degrees of deviation.”
“Hey lil’ buddy,” Larry’s whisper managed to rouse the groggy stallion. “Hewwo mistah, be nyu daddeh?” Larry forced a smile. “Sure. Here have a treat.” The pegasus was elated, quickly wolfing down the treat. “Tank ‘ou nyu daddeh!” Larry smiled, reaching a calloused hand through the grate to tickle the pegasus’ chin. “I’ll be back to pick you up in a bit.”
The stallion pouted sadly. “Pwease huwwy, nu wike ‘ken-al’.” Larry nodded and continued down the line. Larry continued down the list of the damned, each one dying for a seemingly more arbitrary reason than the last.
“Angle of unicorn horn in greater deviation than three degrees.”
“More than three cavities in tooth enamel.”
“Mane and Tail color indistinct from primary fluff.”
“Fluffy reportedly leader of herd.”
Larry continued down the hallways, passing sketti treats out to each of the fluffies on the list. The work was going smoothly until around three quarters of the way into the back of page one, when he encountered FLFY-30048, a pale blue mare on the list due to her foals having weaned the prior day. Larry smiled at the mare and tapped on her cage door. “Hey girlie, got a treat for you!” he whispered to the groggy mare. The mention of the word treat seemed to jolt her awake, as she squealed in excitement. “FWUFFY AM GETTIN’ TWEAT!”
The scream of treat seemed to set the entire corridor into a frenzy, fluffies begging for the old man to bestow them a treat. Larry cursed silently. “Alright alright, calm down please!” Larry couldn’t even hear his own voice over the cacophony of squeals and begging. “Look, only a special few fluffies are getting a treat tonight, you all will get treats soon enough!”
None of the fluffies seemed to have heard him. With an inaudible sigh, Larry just continued down the hall, passing the treats out. All the fluffies here would get their treats soon enough anyways.
Larry continued down the hall into the maternity ward. With the new guidelines there wouldn’t be a need for a maternity ward, and there was already plans on expanding both the regular fluffy kennels and a new foal nursery.
Larry continued down the hall and list, passing treats to the tired but happy new mummahs. Foals were unable to take the treats and would just be placed into a bucket when the time came, or at least that was how Larry had planned it. Larry reached the end of the list with two extra handwritten entries. FLFY-30193 and FLFY-30194. A mare and her only surviving foal. Larry took a look at the clipboard on the pink mare’s cage door.
“FLFY 30193- EF-P: Scheduled for euthanasia due to Post Birth Condition.”
The pink mare was happily curled up around a tiny blue pegasus. Larry could make out tiny dots of white on the tips of its wings and the barest wisps of a green mane. There was something wrong with it, Larry could tell. It wasn’t breathing. Reaching over, Larry checked the second page of notes on the clipboard.
“FLFY 30194- PM-DB: Scheduled for euthanasia due to underdeveloped lungs.”
Larry was momentarily relieved. One less life to take. His relief turned to guilt, then horror as he realized he needed to wake the mother to give her the treat. Reaching into the cage, Larry tapped the mother on her head. “Wake up, little missie.”
The mare raised her head sleepily. “Hewwo mistah…”
Larry forced a smile. “Here girly, want a treat?” He passed the treat to the mare who quickly wolfed it down, licking her lips happily. “Tank ou’ fow tweatie mistah!” The mare smiled happily. “Am mummah now! Need bestest tweaties to feed bestest babbeh!”
Craning her neck, she retrieved the tiny foal’s body and began cleaning it, stopping mid lick. “Babbeh?” The mare nudged the corpse, confusion and worry growing in her voice as the foal remained unresponsive. Larry quickly made his way out of the room as he returned to the main corridor, the mare’s sobs of anguish following him out.
Larry brought the first cartful of fluffies into the Burn Room. Larry grabbed a fluffy off the cart at random, retrieving FLFY-29083, a gray stallion with a small scar below the left eye, here because of “possible violent tendencies due to battle scars.” He had said ‘pwease’ and ‘tank ou’ when Larry gave him the treat. Larry placed him on the small steel table in front of the incinerator and drew his icepick from his toolbelt. A quick thrust at the base of the skull and Ashur was no more.
The parade of fluffies continued, Liliac, Sasuke, and Cumsock all being turned into ash and black smoke, quickly followed by a host of unnamed fluffies. Larry hesitated on the first foal, almost placing it down and quitting on the spot. But if not him it would be someone else. Larry did it so the other workers didn’t. His notion of self sacrifice didn’t make it easier on him.
Larry left the cart in the room, he only needed to pick up one last fluffy. FLFY-30193 still clutched the body of her unnamed foal, thick tears streaming down her face. “Hey girly.” The pink mare didn’t respond, remaining curled around her foal.
Reaching into the cage, Larry pulled her out, carrying her down the hall to the door to the burn room, the smiling mother and foals on the door causing the mare to break into a new round of tears. Larry wiped some stray spots of blood from the steel table, setting the mare down on top of the table. Larry could see she was still attempting to fight the sedative effect of the treat. Larry pulled a stool up to the table and sat, softly stroking the mare’s mane. The mare turned her face to look at the old man. There was no hope left in her eyes. “Wan die.”
Larry nodded, sticking the icepick into the base of her skull and wiggling it a bit. The mare instantly stiffened then went completely limp. Placing her foal back in her arms, Larry placed her in the incinerator gently, burning himself slightly as he did so.
“Me too.”
