Sam’s day had been going pretty well. After yet another shitty week of being bone tired and putting up with assholes, it was good to set aside just one day to relax and heal.
“There’s some Fluffies on the front porch. Want me to get rid of them?”
He rolled his head over to the armchair first before turning his torso to look at Andre at the curtains. He hadn’t even noticed him get up, let alone heard whatever noises had lead him to investigate. He’d been dozing though, letting the sounds of an old racing/spy movie from the 2030’s mix together into a background white noise. Andre had heard on the news that there was another pandemic, this one passed by exotic fish that morons reach their hand into the tanks to pet, so the pair had defaulted back into plague mode again for the weekend after a supply run.
Sam tried sitting up for a second before immediately stopping, the fatigue in his upper legs and lower back adding to the resistance of the force of gravity in keeping him on the couch. Unlike Andre, Sam actually had a job, and one that wouldn’t be shutting down in any pandemic. A groan and a light stretch revealed a worse pain, this time in his neck from the sleeping position, which incentivized him to at least hunch and let his head tilt limply forward.
“Hmph?”
“A bunch on the porch. About to start muddying up the front door with their scratching or whatever. Broom or hammer?”
Sam felt more refreshed than when he’d first started nodding out but the words weren’t connecting in his brain.
“Flffies? Fluffies, like Ferals or someone’s pets?”
“Ferals. Totally Ferals, dirty as fuck and covered in briars.“
“N’the porch?”
No answer, although Andre gave a slight chuckle at whatever he was looking at. Sam was still getting used to loving in this house, left to his family by his grandfather and given to Sam to live at while he slowly paid off half the value to his parents (and never asked for another birthday present again, which would probably only be a rule until he was 1/2 paid up). He was more familiar with the bedroom and kitchen, with the rest of the house solely at night as opposed to this rainy Sunday at noon.
“Hmm.” Was Andre joking about the hammer? Sam debated playing along but he’d learned not to assume people were joking, having been the youngest of a family of prudish yuppies and two lab brat sisters that were like night and day. It was better to be the airheaded comedian than wrongly assume someone is telling you a joke, and Sam liked Fluffies. They could entertain themselves better than most animals, couldn’t leave scars, were good conversationalists (in the sense venting frustrations always resulted in sympathy), and they were good movie watching buddies. As a teen he’d been into reading stories of abuse, in the same way he was fond of dead baby humor, but once he stopped giving a shit what his peers thought and gotten used to the family Fluffy family he’d lost all fondness for the blood sport.
“No.”
Sam turned sideways and laid out on the couch, stretching his legs and hanging his feet off the arm. “You sure dude, beca-“
“M’sure.”
“Alright man, just know I’m not wiping diarrhea off the roof out there.”
“If a Fluffy managed to shit that high I’d ship it off to my nutty sister to love.”
“Which one?”
“Tabitha, her birthday is next.”
Andre opened his mouth to reply something smartass back but a soft thumping at the door silenced him. Andre looked questioningly at Sam, who’s gaze of exhaustion bordering on irritation did not crack. A muffled sound was heard, no doubt the accompanying plea for a living situation. Sam kept staring at Andre who did not move, furrowing his brows which earned a shit eating smirk back. Sam got to his feet.
“Fine, hafta do everything around here, now I gotta answer the fucking door.”
But as Sam took a step forward Andre turned the knob and let the door ajar to slowly swing open. He had enough time to shoot Andre another dirty look before it was sent swinging open (slightly faster than gravity and inertia had been doing anyway) by a green and yellow Fluffy with many tiny similarly-colored Fluffies on its back from various earthtones, panting and screaming. “SABE MUMMAH AN BABBEHS!”
Without hesitation Sam crossed the room and looked out the door with a growing feeling of adrenaline (in actuality just the blood flow increasing as he regained wakefulness from his brief nap). He took stock of the situation and immediately noticed a small brown Fluffy worming frantically sideways off the porch. Sam scooped it up then looked down the sidewalk at what he realized after a moment was a medium-sized dog shaking a blue Fluffy in its teeth before flinging it forward. The mongrel looked up and noticed Sam, quivering and dashing forward to grab its plaything while Sam leapt at it. There were three failed attempts to get the Fluffy in its mouth before it succeeded and ran at the gate, time enough for Sam to grab its tail. After failing to get through the gate with the blue fuzz in its mouth and jerking out of Sam’s hand with a shriek, the mongrel dropped the Fluffy and slid sideways under the fence before it was gone. “Go home you son of a bitch!”
The shape left behind was quivering, blood matting its fluff. Sam stooped over and set the infant Fluffy down, then tried to get a good look at the sobbing blue one, needing both hands due to its attempt to roll rather than be pinned along and to stay in the fetal position. Grabbing one leg in each hand he forced the front hooves apart, revealing the top of a wound and a face full of tears. Once the back hooves were forced apart the gash was revealed, a torn hole through which a few inches of intestines were poking, ending at the Fluffy’s udders. Sam’s fingers felt numb and he felt a cold wave of shock wash over him at the sudden sight of real gore, but he ignored it. The baby was placed in Sam’s chest pocket, both arms supporting the wounded Fluffy as he returned to the living room quickly, with a steady walk to not jostle the two creatures more than necessary.
Spotting another discarded baby on the porch he scooped it up, depositing it straight onto the back of what seemed to be the mother as he passed by before setting the hyperventilating Fluffy onto his computer desk. “What do you want me to do with these fuckers? They’re getting shit and blood everywhere.”
“I’ll clean it, like I clean everything else around here.”
“Speshul Fwien? Speshul Fwiend?”
The Fluffy mother dashed forward, stopping at Alex’s feet as he stared at the bootup screen. “Hey, you’re dropping your brats you dumb bitch.” Two tiny hooves rapped at Sam’s ankle. “Wet Mummah see Speshul Fwiend Dummeh Hoomin! Need Huggies and wub!”
“I don’t have your special friend, chickie.”
“Nu am chicke, an Fwuffy! Pwease wet Fwuffy huggie Speshul Fwiend! Smew huwties! Need wub!”
“I’ll go find your special friend in a moment, but this one is gonna die if you don’t calm down and wait!”
Sam first looked at the Mare, who was wide-eyed and gasping with her hooves attempting to push the guts back in, then the smaller one who had managed to drop all of her children and was currently trying to pull Sam down and succeeding only in kicking one of the babies.
“Andre, get the mother and babies and keep them on the couch.”
“Fuck you man, I’m not your slave.”
“You live in my house and eat my food without paying a dime, you’re either a slave or homeless. Get her and the babies and put them on the couch.”
“Fine. Alright cow, you’re coming with me.”
“Nu, wet Fwuffy go Dummeh Hoo-SPESHUL FWIEND!!” The sudden screech sent Sam’s nerves off and put actual adrenaline into him. “Don’t let her see her, stupid!”
“Don’t call me stupid. Woops, squashed a baby! Eh, he looked like a faggot anyway.”
Sam turned his head in alarm only to see no dead Fluffy, just Andre holding up a Foal with a smirk. “Gotcha.”
Sam sneered and turned back to the computer. Password in but loading in now, he glanced at the blue Fluff again. She’d graduated from shock to pleading based on the closed eyes and muttering that was too quiet to be heard. The mother’s screaming demands continued from the couch as well as the odd shriek in panic from whatever Andre was doing.
“Hey, can I kill one? Or like tear its guts out and give mommy cow here a meal?”
“NUUUUU!” Sam booted the browser and turned his head to respond.
“Andre, fucking relax, I want as little talking as possible.” He knew he was just trying to fuck with the mother, since fucking with folks was his main goal in life, but Sam had spent enough time with his sister’s brain damaged Fluffy to know how loud they could get.
With the web browser finally up Sam keyed in a search.
[fluffy intestine surgery]
The first six results either abuse or studies on anatomy.
[fluffy intestine surgery survival]
All new results on the first page about survivalists using Fluffies as rations. One interesting one suggested Fluffies could be kept free of expense; Sam kept that one open in a tab.
[fluffy intestine surgery hugbox]
This got him somewhere. The first link was touyube. Sadly, it was from a show on PFTV (People’s FluffTV) about a veterinarian saving Fluffies, using real equipment.
[touyube intestine surgery fluffy hugbox]
A channel on Fluffy rancher tutorials was the first result. Finally something useful. In the thumbnail the rancher was overweight, wearing a green and blue flannel shirt (which would amuse Sam later when he had a chance to stop and think), suspenders holding up s struggling pair of kakis, and a brown cowboy hat with a smiling Fluffy taxidermied face on it. Despite the unsettling image, Sam started to watch the “basic tummy surgery” video.
The video began with the host bending over a screaming Stallion who was strapped down on what looked like a handmade Fluffy-sized gurney and adjusting the camera to point straight down at him. Despite the surgical mask Sam could tell by the audio that the voiceover was recorded later. The Stallion was far worse than his Mare, having been opened up so thoroughly it looked like he simply didn’t have belly skin anymore. “Normally I’d do the intro, but if you’re watching this then you’re probably in dire need so I’ll get right on with it. This Stallion has what’s called a gastrointestinal perforation. There’s different kinds based on what happened, and we’re going to cover them all in this video. I started taking care of a herd of Ferals to get cases of different kinds of injuries, so don’t worry your little heads off if you’re Hugbox crowd. If you ain’t, then you can kindly bug right off and don’t bother with the comments because I don’t read them. First up, general info. People know Fluffies were unfinished when they were released about eighty years ago, but since then natural selection, breeding and illegal genetic modifications made some of them much closer to what was complete or better. Some got worse, hope yours are for the better but some people like those breeds that are “original” or whatever. Now if you’re wondering why I’m moving so slow here, I slowed it down for my audio.”
The rancher was setting up tools beside the Fluffy, clearly screaming its lungs out as it watched. “Now to know if your Fluffy is worth the effort you gotta answer all these questions no. One, is it a purebred original 1981 Hasbio breed? Two, is it bleeding a lot and constantly or a bit and stopping? Three, do you have a Fluffy vet you can reach within an hour? Now if you’re still listening I assume you said no to all of them, and ahead of time I wish you luck. So Fluffy surgery is easier than human surgery because they’re full of redundancies and self-sealing and their genetics are so screwy and full of healing junk that they just kinda don’t die as easy as they fall apart. The biggest problem with human tummy wounds is the stuff inside them getting out into the rest of the abdomen which causes infections like peritonitis that’ll kill ya. But Fluffies are really resistant to infections of most kinds, and they tend to instinctively react to pain before it hits their brain to move to reduce chances of the guts getting nicked. The stuff inside is tougher than the skin too, and the muscles come off the bones somewhat easy but they’re pretty tough too.”
Sam suppressed the nausea, sparing a glance to the sobbing Fluffy staring at the mother on the couch.
“If something got nicked bad enough there’s not much an amateur can do, no offense, for the longterm survival. If you deal with Fluffies a lot I suggest medical training, specifically on laparotomy procedures since belly wounds are really common. But as long as they aren’t skin and bones they should be able to survive a ripped open belly once its closed up. Their body is gonna cook and burn out the invaders once their stress levels go down, which is what the whole “hugs and love” stuff is about. Triggers the self-repair stuff to go into overdrive. Anyone that tells you the hugging is pointless is a moron, and you tell em Fluffrancher Daniel said so. Gravel or glass inside is gonna be a longterm problem but I got a video on the longterm care and followup procedures. Now the standard stuff is over, so hit the time codes below…so first up is just a simple abdominal perforation. If your Fluffy just has a hole in their belly, or something sticking out, then its this. Now, is the poop smell REALLY overpowering, far more than normal? Or if there a puke smell that’s still fresh and coming from the belly? If so then skip to the next one.”
Sam paused and picked up the Fluffy. With a a moments hesitation he pulled her close, putting his nose near her intestines and sniffed. Blood, piss, shit, vomit, but the latter two were fairly weak. He looked at the intestines, and aside from visible and pulsing bright red veins they were a consistent rose color. He unpaused the video.
This time the operation played in real time.
“Now Jeb, which I named him later, got himself stabbed on a nail by rolling onto it. According to his mate he walked around with a bot of wood nailed to his chest for about an hour until he got mad and had her step on it so he could just walk away. Of course he went forwards instead of backwards and it just opened him like a zipper. That was about three minutes ago. Mares carted him like a big newborn right to me on their backs. Now I know I said not to worry about infections, but that only means the organs and muscle. Skin rots easy, and the rest does too once the body taxes itself fighting off one infection. Better system, not perfect. So first, beta dine the wound. Anything antiseptic if you don’t have it, iodine to vodka. Then get some sutures and first aid kit nylon, otherwise a sewing needle and tooth floss or thread if you don’t have it. Now you don’t wanna sew the tummy sausages here to the skin, so get a butter knife, small spoon, or flathead screwdriver if you gotta. Sterilize all the metal best you can with a flame first. Then pour some sterilizer on your secondary hand fingers. I got actual surgical tools so you don’t see me do this.” Rancher Daniel reached around the Stallion’s lower belly and somehow found the skin flaps, pulling them to meet. He used his pinky to hold a small Fluffy-sized tongue depressor underneath where they met before it vanished under they were touching again.
“Now you wanna go zero point five centimeters from the cut.” He stuck the needle into the skin. The Fluffy didn’t seem to react much. “If you can’t guess, look how far that is on my thumbnail, which is about half an inch. Point five centimeters is a bit less than half that.”
He looped the needle through the other side then removed the suture needle. “Now tie it off like the first step of shoelaces twice, that knot that just don’t wanna come out. Not too tight, it’ll rip the skin. Just want it to come close enough to heal. The further apart or off kilter, the worse the scar, but this is DIY and probably your first time so just focus on saving the Fluffy. Keep going until its fully closed, pushing intestines in as needed.”
Sam turned to Andre. “Dude, get me som-“
He stopped when he saw the table clear and the tools laid out. “Way ahead of ya man. I wanna see this.” The mother was staring at him with fear, but silent and chewing softly on a hoof. The babies were in a pile beside her, oblivious to their herdmate’s predicament.
Sam picked up the blue Fluffy, who was limp and struggling to stay awake, and carried her to the table to set her down. He didn’t have anything to anchor her legs apart so he hoped she was cooperative. “If you’re in there little girl, you gotta not fight me. This is gonna be hard and I need full control here.” She didn’t respond, and simply moved her hoof to her mouth to suck on as she stared blankly at the ceiling. Sam nervously picked up the needle and flicked the lighter open, eliciting a startled shriek from the couch as the flame erupted. He ignored it and slowly twisted the needle under the flame, noticing it was Andre’s “nice” lighter which was a faded fractal design with masking tape on it. Then he did the same with the teaspoon Andre had laid out.
While the two objects cooled Sam looked up at the computer screen briefly to see the Stallion, looking very mussed and frazzled but sleeping deeply, being spooned by a smaller female. “Now remember what I said about hugs and love. That’s gonna get the healing begun. Notice she’s playing the big spoon here, I couldn’t tape up his belly without ripping the fluff later, so you gotta tell their buds to avoid their wound no matter what. Be honest, tell them it’ll get worse if they don’t. I’m gonna restrain him when not getting hugged. Wounds are like lies, you bury them and they’ll just fester and get worse when they try to hide in order to not show weakness, and gut wounds get drug on the ground anyway. But I stayed here with Jeb while he got his rest along with Sheila. They’ll let you know when they wake up, since they’ll be sore as all heck.”
He turned back to the surgical tools and despite shaking hands he threaded the tooth floss. “Alright Sam, first try!” Thankfully it was unflavored, the mint probably would have burned. Fingers were doused with rubbing alcohol.
He put his hand on the blue Mare, who began trembling violently and whimpering.
It was at that moment that two things happened. First Sam felt a sudden heat down his front as the baby shit itself, foul-smelling brown liquid dribbling down Sam’s chest as it chirped happily and giggled in relief in his pocket. Second, the door audibly banged open and a voice called out “WHERE AM SMAWTY’S SPESHUL FWIEND?!”