Normally, animal shelters don’t accept Fluffies due to a combination of issues. For starters, Fluffies are legally not animals, they’re toys and toys do not belong in animal shelters. It might just be legal details, but it’s enough to cause a whole landslide of problems just taking one in. It doesn’t stop people from trying, especially owners that are too tired to deal with their Fluffies for various reasons. Animal shelters that have illegally accepted Fluffies have been fined, or worse, shut down over these issues which results in them holding firm on refusing Fluffies regardless of reason. Not that they’re rehomeable in most cases, it’s more common to just euthanize them if they were allowed to come in.
Very rare to find ones that were surrendered or turned in that have the temperament for adoption. Another reason is more of an emotional one for those who fall in the “Fluffies are toys” bandwagon. Taking in Fluffies means more mouths to feed, and it has the potential of denying adoption for a dog, cat or other animal when someone decides to take the Fluffy instead. In these cases, you’re sacrificing a real animal’s potential happiness for a pretend one, and many have refused for that reason. An exception to this is Hasbio Fluff Shelters which are less Animal Shelters and more akin to Toy Stores for refurbished Fluffies. They’re equipped to handle them, technically not Animal Shelters so they only take Fluffies, and they are dressed up in bright and vivid eye catching colors.
In particular, you’re someone who works in one of these “Fluff Shelters”. It’s a thankless job, most of the time you’re spent trying to see if a smarty can be rehabilitated (spoiler: they can’t), cleaning the shit out of the small kennels, and “euthanizing” Fluffies that have stayed for too long. To keep kennels available, all Fluffies are given seven days from acquisition before they’re killed. One of the downsides of not being a “real” animal shelter is the lack of options to properly euthanize a Fluffy. Animal shelters tend to have some form of chemical means to handle this, either gas or intravenous solution, but Fluff Shelters only have mechanical and that tends to be a luxury. In most situations, you’re stuck using your barehands and calling that “euthanasia”.
The day was rather uneventful for the most part, you’re feeding the various Fluffies in their kennels, each taking to their cheap generic brand kibble with little complaint. Smarties are always killed upon discovery so you’ve never had any threatening to shit in your general direction over the terrible crap. Some are downright affectionate, which bothers you as you look at their “expiry date”. A few are almost at the due date. No pregnant mares this time, it happens when a parent finds their Fluffy has gotten herself knocked up and doesn’t want to deal with it. In most cases, the foals are shipped out to a proper facility that can handle them, and the mare is often just killed on the spot or made into a milkbag unless the foals she made are so spectacular that they want to breed her. Most times, no.
You hate killing them. Really, it doesn’t bring you any happiness and as much as you don’t want one for a pet, you can’t help finding the occasional one that manages to move your heart. Yet, you can’t save them all. All you can do is try to pitch them as very good candidates for adoption. It doesn’t always work. You can’t get attached to them, but they need love and attention or they’ll rapidly just deteriorate. It’s what they’re made for. You open three of the kennels, they are all the same gender and roughly similar ages. A bright pink Earthy named “Pinky”, a light cyan-blue unicorn named “Sapphire”, and a lime green Earthy named “Asparagus”. Setting up the floor of the kennel is the hard part, but setting some rugs down, a litter tray and a few toys for them to play is enough.
It’s how it is. Some of the others complain, but you sigh at their rumblings, “Remember the rules, only three at a time and they must all be either all boys or all girls. Remember?”
Some of them reply, “Yes, nice mistah.” but others are just left to rumble in their cages. As long as they don’t make a fuss or misbehave, everyone gets a turn. Pinky stays by your side for the most part, she never seemed that interested in toys, but she adores attention and you petting her always seems to earn many coos from her. She never says “no” to games of huggy-tag or cuddlepiles either. It bothers you that she’s just two days away from… no, you can’t think about that. All that you can do is make her moments here as happy as possible, that’s all you can do for them all.
She’s already getting on years, it’s why she was given up, her owner wanted a new young fluffy and Pinky just didn’t have the energy that her owner wanted. Pinky was inconsolable for her first two days, and even now she’s still so fragile when it comes to the prospect of abandonment. It’s the hardest for them, because a week isn’t enough time to go through the emotional trauma of being given away, but that’s all they have. You know that if she was given the time to properly grieve and recover, she might be an excellent pet, but… it is how it is.
Her attention is taken for a moment by Sapphire who waddles over to her, hugging her with a big grin, “Pinkeh wan’ pway wit’ Sappiwe?”
Pinky glances up at you, and you smile down at her, “Go on, Pinky. Your friends are waiting for you.”
She gets up slowly, licks your hand, and waddles after her friend. Sapphire was a surrender case, her owner loved her dearly and it shows with how she acts sometimes. Although, she is the most well-adjusted of the Fluffies currently, she has her own scars. Her owner was an elderly man, he named her Sapphire because it was his favorite gemstone and he thought she was just as special. Unfortunately, he passed away and it came down to his children to deal with his belongings. This meant getting rid of Sapphire since neither one of them wanted her. She didn’t cry like Pinky, but sometimes you know that she’s running away from it. Always trying to find something to distract herself with, she’ll talk with the other Fluffies even in their kennels, or she’ll just stay quiet and silently cry. She has five more days.
Asparagus struggles with talking, her eyes rolling around in her head, much younger than the others, she was given up due to the simple fact that she managed to derp herself. Sudden head-trauma, not enough to kill, but enough to cause severe irreparable brain damage. The owner didn’t want to handle a derped Fluffy so they just gave her up. The name alone makes you wonder if the trauma was accidental, or… It has caused some issues, but Pinky and Sapphire have shown themselves to be extremely tolerant to her condition. Although, you know that… derped Fluffies fall into a sticky issue involving “damaged goods”.
Hasbio has shown very little interest in wasting the resources dealing with any Fluffy considered damaged, or defective in some capacity. The time span for them is barely three days, and it is often shortened further based on whether they can be considered even worth the time and effort. Asparagus came in yesterday, but tomorrow is her date. The one consolation for derping is that they tend to be blissfully ignorant of things. She is just so bubbly happy, and cheerful. Tongue constantly sticking out, she has a habit of just running up to Fluffies and “kissing” them by bunting her mouth against their face. You try to mix up the three that get released for the hour of play, but for derped Fluffes, they need stability and structure. You asked Pinky and Sapphire if they minded being Asparagus’s friend, and they shook their heads. It wouldn’t be long anyways, but it’s not often that Fluffies click together so nicely.
By the time their hour reaches its end, you’re in the middle of tetris on your phone with Pinky once again at your side. Asparagus and Sapphire are still playing together, working on a block tower. Well, Sapphire is building and Asparagus just watches her with absolute amazement at her skills. And you hear the buzzer. Someone is outside of the kennel room, at the plexiglass security door carrying something in his arms, a carrier. You start picking up and putting Fluffies back in their kennels, Asparagus first, Sapphire second, and Pinky the third. Kennels shut, you go to the door and open it, “Another surrender?”
The man shakes his head, “Police just turned him in. His owner killed himself, and he was the only survivor.”
You grab the cage, looking into it, you see a little trembling purple foal. An alicorn.
“I can imagine that Hasbio will want to transfer him for breedin-”
“About that, it’s neutered. He’s already set to be incinerated.”
Fuck, that’s the worst news.
“So they’re expecting me to just kill him?”
“It’s not “killing”, Anon. They’re not real animals. And it’s your fucking job. Just do what they’re paying you to do.”
He walks out, leaving you alone with the small colt still in its carrier, with the difficult task ahead of you. You know that this is just another part of the job, but you hate it. If this wasn’t your only option, the only job you could possibly find, you wouldn’t even be here. You shut the door, sitting down on the ground with the carrier on your lap, opening the door, you whisper, “Hey there. Little guy? What’s your name?”
The little colt says nothing, he doesn’t even move from his corner of the carrier, he stares blankly while his whole body trembles like a leaf. It isn’t often, but you recognize what it is. He’s broken already. Fluffies can’t handle a lot of mental trauma, it’s one of the blessings behind their short-term memory, they tend to forget a fair bit of things that happen in their lives. Most of the information they learn is in foal-hood, it is considered the most important time to teach a Fluffy because everything they learn is locked in place. Anything after their first year tend to fall into short-term memory and it never lasts without needing to constantly repeat it.
Of course, that’s not to say they can’t remember anything beyond foalhood, but it’s the period where they learn the easiest and retain the most of what they are taught. Foalhood is also the time where they’re most vulnerable to mental breaks. Fluffies don’t have a concept of death, and when they fall into the “wan die” reflex, it’s less of them wishing for death and more of a reflexive reaction to extreme sensory overload. The best thing to compare it to is like a seizure. Technically, it’s a genetically inherited reaction that the first models were given. If dealt with, the “wan die” reflex can be reversed with enough time, effort, and with the proper training. The risk of relapsing is always there, and occasionally they can fall back into the reflex, but it isn’t a death sentence.
In rare cases, Fluffies can go beyond this reflex and reach a point that there’s no coming back from. Hasbio never named it, but you sometimes call it the broken point. When they fall here, the results are unpredictable, but Fluffies never live long after reaching it. Some self-harm to the point of killing themselves, others become almost rabid. One case, you remember dealing with a Fluffy that was a surrender from a Fluffy mill. She was so traumatized that she would violently attack anything that she saw. Incapable of talking, unable to eat or drink, she just wasted away and lashed out. You had to kill her the next day after she was brought in. Every Fluffy that has entered this state seemed to have most of their traumatic moments happen in foalhood, and they reached the breaking point in that place. Maybe its because they can never forget the trauma, it eats at them, and they just are trapped in a perpetual nightmare.
Even in the carrier, you can see he’s nothing but skin and bones. Sunken cheeks, and empty eyes, his head looks too big for his withered body. There’s no point in talking to him. You reach in regardless, he doesn’t react to your touch, you lift him up and out of the carrier. He’s so frail, you can see his skin taut over his ribcage, every vertebra on his spine sticking up, his stomach sucked in to his abdomen. Fur is oily, and there’s a dark thick rust brown staining around his feet, abdomen, and tail. Dried and desiccated blood. They didn’t even bother cleaning him, they must have just brought him in, figured that you’d dispose of him and that will be that. No love, no comfort, just an efficient passing of hands. All you can do is pet him, hoping in some way you can give him a little comfort before the end. He does nothing in your embrace, not even cry, his eyes still staring out into nothingness and unresponsive.
“I have no idea what happened to you, but… I am so sorry that you went through all that pain alone.”
A little voice, “sow…”
He tries to speak, his dry tongue sticking in his mouth, and his voice fluttering in and out weakly, so weak, but monotone, “…we…daddeh…sowwe…daddeh…”
Trembling under the effort, he slumps into your arms, you keep holding him while whispering, “It’s okay.”
“sow…we…addeh…”
You feel a sudden wetness, uncontrollable urination, he passes out in your hand and the breathing becomes more labored. There’s no point in even doing anything, he’s already reaching the point where he’ll just die on his own. Yet, you can’t help wanting to speed it up. Lifting him up, you take him out of the room, and away from the horrified Fluffies that had to witness all of that. In the hallway, shirt soaked in urine, you carry him down to the incinerator, and just snap his neck. It’s simple, and it’s something you’ve done many times, but holding a tiny lifeless body breaks your heart. He’s tossed in, and your damp shirt follows with it, not like you don’t have a spare in your locker. Watching the flames, you turn away and leave. It’s burning heat too familiar to you, and the knowledge that you’ll probably be back haunting your every thought.
((Now, don’t let this stop you from having fun with playing with Noah and Lee. I wanted to give my own ending for the story, but I am more than happy to leave it open for writers to come up with their own little fun alternative avenues for them. Plus, a little taste of life as a Fluffy Shelter worker. You’d imagine just how thankless and soul crushing such a career might be.))