Sink or Swim, Part 6 - Vanner
Eighty dollars later, I walked out of Dr. Steins clinic with a prescription for ultra-low dose children’s aspirin for Otis and a toothbrush for Bob. Bob walked behind me, uncomfortably shuffling across the parking lot. I opened the door to let him into the passenger seat.
“Why you wet nice wady put tings in poopie pwace?” he asked as he climbed into the car.
“She took your temperature,” I said. “She could have done far worse.”
We drove home without talking, me trying to put together what Dr. Stein told me, Bob staring out the window and waving a hoof at passing cars. Otis sat in the back seat, bitching about everything he could see and then things he couldn’t. Listening to him complain, I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like in a few weeks if this was what he was like already.
It was a few days later that I let Bob wander around the apartment while I cleaned Otis’s enclosure. Small bits of fluff mixed with an incredible amount of waste for a creature the size of a hamster, to say nothing of the caches of chewed food hidden under ever available surface to create an unbelievable mess. I wondered if he’s be happier with those nutrigel enclosures that was nothing but food. I went to ask him only to find Otis ranting and raving about whatever came to his failing mind.
“Yu haf specahaw fwiend, Bawb?” he asked.
“Bawb am happy bein’ a wone fwuffy,” Bob said.
“Buww poopiest!” Otis replied. “Owtis had a spechaw fwiend name Bawbwa. She pink wingie fweind! Aww pink! Su pwetty! Den wowstest tummie huwties gif wongest sweeps.”
“Bawb haf tummies owies maneh times,” Bob replied with a nod. “Nu nummies in cowd times. Wots fwuffies in hewd haf wongest sweepies.”
“Nu wet dat happen ‘gan!” Otis insisted. “Yu hide nummies aww oveh the pwase su when Rogew fowget bout yu, haf nummies to eat.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that, Otis,” I said. “You’re making a mess of your cage by hording food.”
“Nu cage howd Owtis!”
I didn’t have the heart to remind him he was standing in a hamster ball, so I turned my attention to Bob instead.
“So, Bob,” I said. “Dr. Stein said she could give you sea fluffy fluff so that you’d be waterproof. Would that be something you’d be interested in?”
“Wha mean gif fwuff?” asked Bob. “Aweady haf fwuff. Am fwuffy. Fwuffies haf fwuff. Fwuffies wif nu fuwff nawt fwuffies anymowe, dey jus…” he paused a moment to consider. ”Nu fwuffies.” He looked like he was getting a headache trying to parse the logic in his head.
“Wouldn’t you like a brand new coat of pretty fluff?” I asked. “Something better than orange?” He shrugged at me, which was weird because I’d never seen a fluffy shrug before.
“If dat make Wogeh happeh,” he said. “Bawb heh to make Wogeh happeh.”
“Whatever,” I said, turning on the TV.
By pure chance the TV was tuned into the Olympics, which I had always enjoyed because there were so many competitive events I knew nothing about. Today they were showing parts of the modern pentathlon, which involved riding, running, shooting, fencing, and of course, swimming. The athletes were busy gliding through the water as the talking heads babbled in the background about this Czech competitor or that Polish athlete. Bob watched in fascination as they ate up the lengths of the pool.
“Wha dat?” he asked.
“…that’s swimming,” I said.
“Hooman go in wawa wike dat?” he asked, his eyes glued to the screen.
“Yes?” Bob sat quietly as the race finished up, his eyes never leaving the screen. There was a break for commercial and Bob turned to face me.
“Can teach Bawb how swim?” he asked.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to teach you the whole time!” I said.
“Buh nebah show swimming on teebee!” said Bob. “Jus say dummeh tings wike ‘move weggies!’ or ‘stawp cwyin!’ Nebah show Bawb wha swim wook wike!”
I started to defend myself against the accusation, but stopped as I realized that Bob had a good point. I’d been trying to teach him an alien concept more or less by yelling at him. Bob didn’t know how to swim not because he lacked the coordination or talent to do it, he just never knew even what swimming was. The depths of Bob’s ignorance were staggering, matched only by my own. Bob wasn’t as stupid as I thought, just staggeringly lacking in facts about anything other than surviving in the wilderness. I picked up my tablet and sent a stream of the Olympic swimming events to the TV while I considered my next move.
“Can watch in woom?” Bob asked. “Dun wan make bad poopehs cause watchin’ TV too cwose.”
I changed the stream to the safe room TV and Bob happily sat next to his litter box to watch the events in rapt fascination. I sat down at the kitchen table to ponder what to do next when the soft tap of plastic on wood drew my attention.
“Dummeh tabew!” Otis shouted, ramming the table leg with the hamster ball. “Git out way! Fawkin’ ting! Owtis give you wowstest owies!” I leaned down to pick up the ball and held Otis up to my face.
“Otis, are you happy?” I asked.
“Nu!” Otis shouted. “Owtis angwy at dummeh tabew weggie! Nu move, so gif owies tiww bweak! Dat how you git tings done. Bweak dem! Cwush an destwoy! Back in Mawines teach dat haf kiww or be kiwwed!”
While I knew the armed forced were hard up for recruiting, I didn’t suspect they were in such dire straits as to conscript a micro fluffy pony. I let Otis rant and rave about “boo boo juice an’ bewwy skettis” for a few minutes as I walked away to do something else. When I returned, he was staring blankly at the table leg, still unmarred by his efforts.
“Problem?” I asked.
“Owtis nu know wha doin’ heh,” he said. “Dun membeh get out of encowsuwe.”
It almost didn’t sound like Otis and took me a moment to realize he wasn’t yelling his answer. He sounded more despondent and maybe a bit scared. I picked up his hamster ball and put him back in the safe room to watch TV with Bob. He resumed yelling at the swimmers once I’d put him back in his cage. Bob ignored him and instead paced on the treadmill as he watched the stream.
Even though he didn’t seem to enjoy it, Bob still walked for an hour every day and had gone from a sort of doughy fluffy to something stronger and far more coordinated. He was bigger than most fluffies to start with, but now he was leaner than most of the fat fluffies I’d ever encountered. He lacked the grizzled scars of some fluffies I’d seen, though to be fair, scarred fluffies are more pathetic than intimidating. There’s nothing sadder than a torn eared, one eyed, tiny neon purple horse demanding that you “go ‘way!”
“Tink Bawb swim dat fast?” he asked, staring at the women’s freestyle.
“Probably not,” I said.
“You swim dat fast?” he asked.
“Not even in college,” I said. “All they do is swim. And go to the gym.”
“Wha gym?”
“A place where you exercise,” I said, gesturing to the room. “This used to be my gym; now it’s your safe room.”
“Jim?” Otis barked. “Jim an asshowe! Dat fawkeh owe fitty nummies! Gif him angwiest sowwy hoofsies next time Owtis see him!”
“Otis, can you even count to fifty?” I asked.
“Wha fitty?” asked Otis. “Who say anyting bout fitty? Wha you tawkin’ bout?”
There it was again. That scared small voice coming from the greying fluffy that normally screamed with authority and confidence at every possible opportunity. He’d been complaining less about his joints hurting since starting the aspirin regimen, but without the constant complaining, he seemed to lose focus faster than before. Was it the pain keeping him sharp? Or was he just better able to focus on something hurting than he could feeling well for a change?
I left Bob in charge as I went out to Fluffmart to pick up some supplies. I was going to pick up a Nutrigel attachment for Otis’s enclosure as well as some more food for Bob. I had an ulterior motive in going there as well, hoping to find something special.
The endless chaos of fluffies enveloped me again as I entered Fluffmart. Fluffies babbled and played, others ran free of their owners, and a toy sized unicorn fruitlessly attempted to hump an unimpressed mare that was somehow even bigger than Bob. I found what I needed and began perusing the displays of fluffies along the back wall. There was a shimmering black and purple alicorn priced at nearly two thousand dollars, an apparently ultra-rare spider fluffy priced at three thousand dollars, and something called a puffy griffon which didn’t look anything like a fluffy pony. I moved towards the cheaper end of the kennels to see if I could find what I sought. I’d just laid eyes on my quarry when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Got the fluffy bug do you?” she asked. “Or did you already drown Bob and Otis?”
I turned around to see Amy standing there holding a leash connected to an albino alicorn fluffy. Amy was wearing a sundress, which I found distracting until I realized her fluffy was staring at me and waving her hoofs. I looked back up to Amy, trying to find words. She turned to her fluffy and made a few hand gestures.
“Wendy is congenitally deaf,” Amy explained. “She’s no use as breeding stock and she was surrendered to the shelter as a foal. She doesn’t speak, so I taught her sign language. Well, hoof language.”
“So you’re pretty and smart,” I said, absently finding myself staring at her again.
“Pardon?”
“Talented,” I said, trying to save the conversation. “I wouldn’t have had the patience to teach Bob that.”
“I don’t think Bob is smart enough to pick it up,” said Amy with a doubtful frown.
“Me either,” I agreed. “So what brings you to Fluffmart?”
“What brings you here?” she asked, reversing the question. “Looking to replace Bob and Otis already?”
“Bob’s getting a fluff transplant when I can find a suitable sea fluffy,” I said with the confidence of having no idea how the hell to accomplish that. “And Otis is…” I paused a moment, trying to think of how to phrase it. Amy had always been straight with me, so I afforded her the same courtesy. “Otis is dying. He’s got severe dementia and I don’t know how much longer he’s got to live. Even just the past week his mind has just slipped.” Amy looked shocked.
“Holy crap,” she said. “I’ve never seen a fluffy with dementia. I didn’t know they could even get it. Is… are you keeping him comfortable? Do you need help with him?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said. I opened the kennel door and puled out the tray. A half a dozen micro fluffies jumped and squeaked with cries of “nu daddeh!” “Wuv yu!” “pwease pick fwuffy!” I found the one I was looking for and plucked her out of the bin.
“Eep!” she cried. “Nu wike! Bad uppies!”
“How’d you like to come home with me?” I asked.
“Nu daddeh?” she asked, as if she couldn’t believe her luck. “Fwuffy come home wif nu daddeh?” Amy looked at the fluffy for a moment, then back to me.
“I don’t get it,” she said. I held the pink on pink pegasus out to Amy. Wendy stood on her back hooves and sniffed at the micro fluffy. She signed something to Amy, who signed back.
“Meet Barbra,” I said. “Otis’s new special friend.”
It was like a lightbulb turned on in Amy’s head, and her smile lit up the store.
“Clever,” she said.
“Otis is a good little guy,” I said with a shrug. “If I can make him happier for a few weeks, then I might as well. And Bob,” I shrugged. “I’ll figure that out next. He’s finally jazzed about swimming now.”
“How’d you change his mind?” asked Amy, skeptically.
“Olympic swimming,” I said. “He started watching the pentathlon, now he’s hooked. I’ve just got to find a sea fluffy to swap fluff with him so he’ll be able to swim.”
“I might be able to help with that,” said Amy. “We’ve got a sea fluffy that’s failed out of trash training. They’re invasive, so I can’t release him into the wild. Also, I fucking hate him.” Anger flashed across her face as she spoke. “Do you have a vet willing to do the transplant?”
I shared Dr. Stein’s details and exchanged numbers with Amy to coordinate the transplant. I waved goodbye to her deaf fluffy and went up to the counter. Barbra babbled in my hand as we approached only to find the same employee I’d cursed at a few weeks back. He didn’t seem to recognize me.
“A micro fluffy?” he asked. “You know they don’t really like these Nutragel enclosures, right? They’re more of a classroom thing.”
“Well, I am a teacher,” I said.
“Oh, do you need a dissection kit then?” he asked. “Teachers get a 15% discount.”
“Wha disekshun?” asked Barbra. “Dat nu game? Pway wif nu daddeh?”
I could only sigh. God, I hated Fluffmart.
