Cucumber’s dwelling was in the center of the
inner semicircle of trees, opposite the oak in the middlee of the patch of grass that formed the hub of the herd’s home.
As Silver and his family slept, Cucumber sat in his den, holding court
Behind him, sat a monochrome yellow earthie.
She preened herself, as she attempted to project an air of dignity befitting the special friend of the herd’s smarty.
Brightime was a herd born fluffy, who by a stroke of good fortune, had parents who possessed enough intelligence to give her a name which vaguely resembled her appearance.
Brightime’s belly swelled with her second litter.
She had already given birth to a litter of Cucumber’s foals, although only one had lived to adulthood, the rest succumbing to the various hazards of nature which are part and parcel of the life of a feral fluffy.
On Cucumber’s left, sat Sparkplug, a black unicorn with a bright green mane.
Sparkplug’s name had been passed down through his family, his grandmother having been a runaway domestic, whose owner had been a mechanic.
She hadn’t known what a sparkplug was anymore than the current Sparkplug did.
To the right of Cucumber, sat a purple earthie mare with a dark red mane.
It’s unusual for a mare to become a toughie, but her bulky frame and tiny intellect had left her well suited for the role, although suitable for little else.
Her above average size had marked her out as early as foalhood, leading to the apt but unimaginative name of Biggie.
At the end of each day, Cucumber liked to chair a council with his chief toughies and review the important affairs of the day.
In truth, there was usually little to discuss, one day being much like the next.
But Cucumber, like plenty of humans in positions of management, loved a meeting.
How else were the other fluffies supposed to know how important he was?
Today had been eventful though.
Charlie and his family had caused quite a rucus, after all.
“Dummeh fwuffies make wots of nosiey”, Biggie rumbled in a voice that was surprisingly low, both for a fluffy and for a mare.
“Poopie babbeh make wots of noisey tu. Gib uddeh fwuffies in da hewd scawdies”, agreed Sparkplug, stating the obvious in a way which only a fluffy would think was an insightful contribution to the conversation.
“Biggie nu unnerstan’ pwobwem”, Biggie continued. “It am nu wike dat poopie babbeh gu in poopie pit wif uddeh babbehs. Su wai dey cwy fo’ su wong?”
“Poopie babbeh bewong in poopie pit”, Sparkplug retorted angrily. “Dat wer aww dummeh poopies babbehs gu.”
Sparkplug’s anger intensified, indignant that something as fundamental as this needed explaining.
“Uddehwise, nu fwuffies wud num poopies an poopie pit neba be empties.”
Biggie clearly hadn’t considered this.
“Bu’…if poopies nu get nummed an’ poopie pit nu empties, den hewd homesie nu smeww pwetty!”, she exclaimed, as the gravity of the situation dawned on her.
“Dat’s wite!”, Sparkplug snarled, warming to his lecture.
“Tougies need gu thwow aww da poopie babbehs in da pit wite nowies!”, Biggie gasped, urgently leaping to her hooves.
And that may well have been what would have happened, had both toughies not been swiftly brought back down to earth by an angry “HAI!”
Cucumber was now standing too, reared up to his full height, cheeks puffed out in a gesture of dominance recognised by fluffies everywhere.
“Hu am da smarty hewe?!”, he barked, as both toughies remembered where they were and who they were talking to.
“Sowwy Cucumbew”, replied Sparkplug in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone of voice. “Toughies jus’ hab maddies dat poopie babbeh nu unnderstan’ dere pwace in hewd.”
“Dat’s wite”, agreed Biggie, forgetting that less than two minutes ago, she had been fairly neutral on the whole issue.
Cucumber gave the two toughies a withering gaze.
“Dummeh toughies tink Cucumbew am poopie wubber?!”, he yelled incredulously.
“Am nu poopie wubber”, he continued, not allowing either fluffy to answer his rhetorical question.
“If Cucumbew nu wub poopie fwuffies, den wai dey nu aww hab tu gu in poopie pit?”, asked Biggie, her grasp of the issue slipping away.
“Cucumbew nu cawe 'bout poopie fwuffies”, he explained, talking as though he were talking to a particularly stupid foal. Which was not too far off the mark really.
“Hewd need poopie nummers. Hewd hab poopie nummers. Su Cucumbew nu cawe wat uddeh fwuffy famiwies in hewd du wif dere babbehs, as wong as dey nu make it Cucumbew’s pwobwem.”
“Bu’ wat if dere nu poopie nummers?”, Sparkplug asked.
“Dat neba happen”, Cucumber retored confidently. “Dewe awways be poopie fwuffies tu num poopies.”
“Bu’ speciaw fwend am smawty”, pipped up Brightime, who had been following the exchange with great interest. “Su wai nu make aww poopie babbehs gu in pit?”
“Becauwse dere mowe fwuffies in hewd dan dere am Cucumbew an toughies”, Cucumber replied, although with considerably less ire.
“Maybe aww fwuffies nu cawe if aww poopie babbehs HAB tu gu in poopie pit. Bu’ maybe dey wiww cawe. Den dere pwobwem. Pwobwem Cucumbew nu need”.
No one had any reply to this. It was clearly too high minded a concept for them to get their thinkie places around.
As the saying goes, in the kingdom of the blind, the one eyed man is king.
The same logic goes for fluffies and stupidity.
Cucumber may not have been a genius. He just wasn’t as thick as the other members of the herd’s inner circle. Which made him the smarty by default.
“Fwuffies need wemembew da wuwes”, he concluded in a more gentle tone, now that he had reminded his lackeys who was who in the herd dynamic.
“Cucumbew am smawty. But as wong as uddeh fwuffies nu make pwobwem, dey wook aftew dere babbehs how dey wan’.”
Sparkplug looked like he was about to start arguing again for a moment, clearly still unhappy at the laissez faire approach to fluffies who were the wrong colour.
It was Charlie’s fault, he thought bitterly.
Coming into the herd with his dummie human ideas, acting like he knew better.
Still, the toughie had to admit that the herd smarty had a point.
Most of the fluffies in the herd took the common sense approach to ugly, poopie babies.
If Charlie wanted an extra mouth to feed when the cold times came, that was his stupid fault for not understanding why his hideous offspring would be better off serving some sort of useful purpose like eating shit.
So maybe it wasn’t worth getting too worked up over.
“Weww den”, grunted Cucumber, bringing the meeting to a close. “Cucumbew am weady fo’ sweepies”.
Taking the hint, Sparkplug and Biggie nodded deferentially at their smarty, before giving a respectful smile to Brightime.
She ignored them, having already lost interest and was mummering the soon mummah song at her pregnant belly.
With the two toughies gone, Cucumber settled down next to Brightime and nuzzled against her.
She nuzzled back with a contented coo.
Cucumber closed his eyes and within moments, fell into a deep sleep.