Smarty Beginnings 11 [ by Caneighdian ]

Dylan had a substantial sleep debt that needed to be repaid. Sprawled on the bed in Emrys’ guest room, still fully clothed, he paid what he owed with twelve hours of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. When he finally came to it was close to dark. Night fell slowly this far north at this time of year, sunset coming at around nine p.m. Dylan was slow to rise, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up. He hunched over, rubbing his eyes and feeling the type of headache that usually accompanied sleeping too long. Despite the ache, he felt a lot better for the rest. When he felt fit enough to stand, he walked to the door and found a note for him pinned to it. Emrys had written that he’d left him something to eat in the fridge and that he’d be in the fluffy barn if Dylan needed him. Odd. What would he be doing in there at this time of night? It was past the herd’s usual bedtime.

Dylan made his way into the kitchen and checked the fridge where he found, of all things, a plate of spaghetti with meatballs covered in plastic wrap. He nuked it and ate, feeling better still. With a good sleep under his belt and some food in his stomach, he left the farmhouse and walked towards the barn, using his phone as a flashlight on the path. It was a nice, warm night even with the gusting prairie winds that buffeted him as he walked.

When he got to the barn, he walked in to find the lights turned low and a movie playing on the wall-mounted TV. There was Emrys, sitting on a pillow on the floor, his legs and lap covered by a blanket of technicolor fluff. Nearly the entire herd was all snuggled in either beside or on top of his outstretched legs. Nearby were several empty bowls that Dylan assumed, given the remains, had held a quantity of spaghetti. Their little bellies full, the majority of the fluffies were entirely asleep. Others were nodding off, their heads dropping only to jerk awake a few moments later or their eyes sleepily trying to remain open but slowly sinking closed. There were only a few that were still awake and watching the movie with Emrys.

Emrys turned his head towards Dylan’s direction and held a finger to his lips before gesturing him to grab a seat nearby. Dylan nodded and snuck in as carefully and quietly as he could, taking up a spot on the floor near Emrys. Seeing an unoccupied lap spot open up nearby, Gossamer stood and used his head to roll the very pregnant Hazel over to Dylan. Since it was clear what he was thinking, Dylan gently picked up Hazel and set the rotund soon-mummah on his lap before giving Gossamer a rub under his muzzle. The stallion snuggled in against Dylan’s side, close to his special friend, and carried on with watching the movie.

Once it was over, the fluffies that were still awake slowly rose and made their way back to their nests, leaving Emrys and Dylan to carry their sleeping friends to theirs. It took some time, picking them up one by one and tucking them into their warm nest boxes. There were many hugs and kisses and wishes for sweet dreams before the two humans crept out of the barn and into the night. But not before Emrys carefully lifted a neon orange duffel bag carefully from the barn wall and carried it out with him.

Once outside, Emrys and Dylan stood beneath the lamplight of the fixture above the barn door. Emrys shouldered the duffel. “How’d you sleep? Feeling better?”

“Much, yeah. Thanks for the food.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I didn’t expect to find you in the barn, watching kids’ movies. I thought you’d be in the clinic, watching the foals.”

“I set them up temporarily in a monitored auto-feeder so I could work. There’s just too much to do around here to sit around,” Emrys patted the shirt pocket where he kept his phone. “Don’t worry. I get notified if they so much as twitch and I’ve been checking on them through the day, too. Since you and I have been super busy lately, Moon’s been looking after the herd solo and they’ve been kind of stressed without us there. They needed tonight big time.”

“I can see that. The foals are okay, though?”

“Absolutely. I should get you to install the Mowe Miwkies app and pair it to the feeder so you can see for yourself. We can check on them in a bit, but there’s something we have to take care of, first.”

“Is that what the bag is for?”

“Yeah. Speed told me about a fluffy scent she noticed at one corner of the farm earlier this afternoon. I had her double check it before the movie. I’ve got to go and check it out. Could be a runaway, could be someone dumping an unwanted fluffy, or it could be ferals. Now that it’s dark, they’ll probably be bedded down out there. If it’s a whole herd, I’ll have to give the AFP a call but if it’s just a few, I can take care of them. Now that you’re part of the farm, I figure you should see this part of the life and what we have to deal with out here in the bush. I’m going to warn you, though, it could get gruesome. Are you okay with that?” Emrys looked up at Dylan and waited for his answer while he unzipped the bag.

“I… guess? I don’t know man, I’m not sure what to expect, here.”

“Fair enough,” Emrys replied. He opened up the bag. “This is my feral kit. We don’t get a lot of them since the AFP purge so it’s a work in progress.” He nodded towards the contents. There were several pull top cans of spaghetti, flashlights, a BB pistol with a canister of ammunition, a slingshot and a packet of steel ball ammo, a baseball bat, and various other odds and ends. “Lots of folk out here just use .22’s on nuisance animals. No one really gives a shit. I have my own methods, though, plus I don’t want to find myself on the wrong side of the criminal code for packing the wrong heat if it comes down to it.” Grabbing the flashlights, he passed one to Dylan and zipped the bag up again. “Let’s roll.”

The two friends set out across the fields, Emrys leading the way towards the spot Speed had told him about. When they reached the edge of the field, they made their way into the woods beyond and deeper into the bush by a few dozen meters or so before Emrys stopped. “Okay. This is the place. Just stay quiet for now, watch, and follow my lead if you need to,” Emrys whispered. Sitting down against the base of a tree, he listened to the sound of the woods for a few minutes, then cleared his throat and spoke just loudly enough for his voice to carry a ways through the trees. “Boy, it sure is lonely out here. I wish there were someone here to help me eat all these sketties.” He punctuated his sentence by audibly cracking open the pull-top of a can of spaghetti.

Dylan, standing a few feet away and leaning against a tree, stared at him in the dark. Was he crazy? Like a fox, it would seem. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two before there was a rustle in the underbrush and out waddled a dirty pegasus with an orange mane and a coat so brown it was almost black. “Nyu fwiend hab sketties? Woot wiww hewp shawe sketties!”

“Well, hello, Root. Come and have some sketties,” Emrys offered, setting down the open can. The pegasus sniffed his way closer. He was cautious, looking like he might bolt at the slightest whiff of danger, but the scent of cold spaghetti drew him ever closer to the can on the ground.

Emrys hadn’t told Dylan that part of the reason for the snuggle pile in the barn was to get some of the fluffies’ scent to rub off on their clothes, the familiar scent helping to make them appear less threatening. That odor hadn’t escaped the skittish pegasus, who seemed to pick up on it the closer he crept towards Emrys. “Nyu fwiend smeww wike odda fwuffies. Nice misteh am daddeh?”

“I am. I have lots of fluffy friends at home but it’s dark time and they’re all asleep so they’re not here to share with.” Emrys’ words seemed to satisfy the stallion and he waddled up close enough to stick his snout into the can, whereupon he immediately started gulping spaghetti like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Emrys and Dylan just watched until he came up for air.

“Sooooo gud sketties! 'Fank 'ou nice misteh!”

“You’re welcome, Root. Do you have herd nearby or are you all alone out here?”

"Nu. Woot hewd aww fowebba sweepies fwom yewwow hoomin munstahs. Woot and Wose wun 'way fwom dummeh hewd.

Yellow human monsters. That meant an Alberta Fluffy Patrol cleanup team. One of the other farms in the area could have called them in for an infestation. Emrys leaned forward a little. “What made your herd dummehs?”

“Hewd make Woot num poopies. Call Woot dummeh poopie fwuffy. Nu wet Woot hab speciaw fwiend ow gud nummies. Wose tweat Woot gud so Woot hewp Wose wun 'way fwom munstahs.”

“That was very nice of you, Root. Where is Rose now?”

“Speciaw fwiend in nesties wif babbehs.”

Emrys gasped, putting on an expression of mock surprise and horror. “You have a speciaw fwiend and babbehs and didn’t bring them with you? Mummahs need sketties to make bestest milkies for bestest babbehs.” He leaned forward, looking as though he might get angry. “You’re not a bad daddeh, are you? You didn’t want to keep all these sketties for yourself and not tell your speciaw fwiend, did you?”

The stallion backed up a few steps and looked panicked. “N-Nu! Woot jus’ make suwe it safe fow speciaw fwiend an’ babbehs! Woot am good daddeh!”

Emrys eased back slowly. “Well, okay. I’ll believe you. But now you know that it’s safe, you’d better go and bring them here before the sketties are all gone. Babbehs, too, so they can get bestest skettie milkies.”

“Otay!” And off Root shot, back into the bush.

Slack-jawed, Dylan watched the entire interaction. To him, Emrys seemed like a snake charmer. He knew all the right buttons to push and all the right things to say to manipulate the fluffy into bringing his family right to them. Not only that, but he had the knack of selectively or fluently speaking in the same lisping, weird, baby-talk dialect of a fluffy, minus the high pitch.

Emrys glanced up and must have seen his expression. “Yeah. They’re dumb. You also catch more flies with honey, dude. Just wait and see. Seriously, though, be ready for what comes next. These are ferals and we have to deal with them.” Emrys’ tone of voice took on a darker tone and he looked at Dylan evenly as if to tell him to be ready to see some ill shit. A few minutes later, Root returned with a fat, rose pink unicorn mare. She waddled out of the bush with him, carrying several chirpies on her back like a miniature aircraft carrier. There were eight in total. Jesus. Someone was fertile.

“Nice misteh, dis am speciaw fwiend, Wose.”

“Hewwo.” The mare timidly offered.

“Hello, Rose. Root has told me all about you. Come and have some sketties,” Emrys offered, opening another can and setting it down for her.

Her eyes lit up. “Sketties!” She waddled forward and shoved her snout into the tin, eating voraciously while the chirpies on her back peeped and wriggled, awakened prematurely by their mummah’s movement.

Emrys waited until she had cleaned out the can and licked the interior, easing back with satisfied look on her face.

“'Fank 'ou for sketties, nice misteh.”

“You’re welcome, Rose.” He smiled and reached out to rub her under her chin. She lifted it and cooed appreciatively, closing her eyes. She didn’t see Emrys withdraw the airsoft pistol from his pocket and line it up to the side of her head.

The last thing that went through Rose’s mind was a steel pellet travelling at roughly 100 meters per second. Dylan would later recall that watching the initial impact of the projectile was like watching someone punching a water balloon. The side of her head deformed, going concave for a brief instant. Her eyes bulged in their sockets before the other side of her head opened, splattering blood and brains across the ground while shit and piss sprayed across the mare’s back from her chirpies, terrified by the sound of the shot.

Time suddenly seemed to slow. Dylan straightened up from where he’d been leaning against a tree to observe. Root, terrified, turned to flee. His rear hooves kicked up a bit of dirt from the ground from his sprint while his anus released a flatulent splatter of watery scaredy poopies. The barrel of the airsoft pistol shifted slightly as Emrys lined up his shot and another crack pierced the night. The next pellet struck Root in the flank, the impact spinning him around but failing to put him down for good. “Fuck,” Emrys cursed, springing to his feet and giving chase. He’d been either too slow or his aim had been off.

Pegasi were quick, even wounded ones, and Emrys couldn’t let this one get away. Fortunately, Root was too disoriented and shocked to mount a successful escape. Within seconds, Emrys was on him. One foot came down on the brown fluffy’s head. There was a sickening crunch and an involuntary twitch from Root’s hinds, then he moved no more. Emrys picked up Root’s body and carried it back to where he’d shot Rose. He found Dylan gathering up her babies. Miraculously, none of them had been crushed by the mare as she fell over.

“That was close,” Emrys commented. “I should have shot the male first but I didn’t want the mare getting away or killing any of those babies.” He leaned down and grabbed Rose’s corpse once Dylan was finished collecting her chirpies.

“Fucking AFP,” Emrys groused. “You’d think a cleanup team would actually get the job done. Look at these two. Eight fucking foals. Eight! They wouldn’t breed with each other but can you imagine if they’d hooked up with another couple ferals? Boom. Instant new herd and ecological clusterfuck.” He jammed the airsoft pistol back into the duffel bag.

Dylan wasn’t listening. He felt sick after watching Emrys kill both Rose and Root, making orphans of the foals cradled in his hands. When he was sure they were comfortable in his hands, despite being befouled, he looked up at Emrys. “What the fuck was that?”

“That was what passes for rural feral population control.” Emrys replied, hoisting his bag over his shoulder with one hand. In the other, he grabbed the two dead fluffies by their tails. He turned back towards the farm and started to walk, looking over his shoulder. “You coming? Those foals are going to need some warmth and food. Bring them to the clinic.”

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Punch him Dylan.

Do it.

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It makes sense. Fluffies are live stock to him. If a fluffy isn’t and is actively taking away resources from his farm- and wild- he has to get rid of them. It isn’t evil or cold hearted, he does what he has to do to keep everything running smoothly

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