“Dylan.”
“Mmmnnn.”
“Dylan, wake up.”
“Nnn nnn.”
“Dude, it’s a quarter to eleven. Get your ass up.”
His eyelids heavy and thoughts flowing as thick as syrup, Dylan did his best to open his eyes. His sinuses felt two sizes too large and his head was pounding on top of a wave of dizziness. Fuck. He was hung over. Emrys was a blurry representation of himself standing in front of Dylan, who was sprawled out on a couch. His eyes registered movement at Emrys’ knee before his brain caught up to interpret the signal. Furrowing his brow and squinting, he focused on it. There was a pale yellow fluffy with a light blue mane and lavender eyes staring at him.
“Mistah Emwys? Why 'ou fwend nu wakies?”
“He just drank a little too much siwwy wawa last night, Moon.”
“Ooooh. Otay. Moon unnastand.”
Dylan slowly sat up, gripping the back of the couch and willing himself upright. His head felt like a ship being tossed about in rough seas. “Fuck… what?”
“It’s a quarter to eleven. You got pretty hammered so I let you sleep in. Here.” Emrys handed Dylan a bottle of water a few pills. “A little Claritin and some Advil to help with the hangover. Usually does the trick for me.”
“Thanks. I feel rough, not gonna lie.”
“Yeah, I figured. Anyway, take it slow and easy. I’ve been up for a couple hours already. Work to do, you know? The vet came and looked at Frost earlier this morning.”
“Yeah? You’ll have to tell me how that went,” Dylan said before tipping his head back and popping the pills given to him, washing them down with a little water. After he’d swallowed, he looked at the fluffy there with them, still standing beside Emrys and watching him. “Who’s this?”
“This is Moon. He’s my working fluff. Moon, this is Dylan.”
“Hewwo, Dywan. Moon am happy to meet 'ou.”
“Uh, nice to meet you, too, Moon.”
“The vet confirmed the skull fracture and brain damage. That’s permanent. The spinal damage, he expects, will resolve itself with time. Once the swelling goes down, her mobility should improve. For now, she’s got to stay immobilized so she doesn’t move and make things worse. As far as her pregnancy is concerned, he’s going to come back and perform a c-section to deliver her foals once she’s closer to term.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep. Well, it’s a fluffy.” Emrys shrugged. “No offense, Moon.”
“Moon feew bad fo’ fwuffy’s wowstest owwies by hab biggest heawt-happies soon-mummah babbehs wiww be otay.”
Emrys smiled and patted Moon’s flank. “You said it, buddy. So, Dylan, once the drugs begin to take hold and you can walk without puking, we can do that tour I promised, eh? Until then, just chill, watch some TV and drink a lot of water.”
“Okay. Thanks, man.”
“It’s all good. We’ve got to get back to work. I’ll come back and check on you in a bit. Let’s roll, Moon.”
“Wowwin’!”
It wasn’t until close to dinnertime that Dylan felt well enough to take the tour. They walked around the property, Emrys showing off various areas and outbuildings. They strolled through the orchard and along the perimeter of the apiary, with Emrys regaling Dylan with stories of how he started each project.
“Remember way back, when I first told you I started growing pear trees? Once they started producing, it was awesome. I was able to make pear jam, jelly, wine… all sorts of shit. After a while, I branched off into apple and cherry. Branched. Get it? Anyway, I try to add a new type of fruit every few years. The bees love them.” Emrys spoke with a pride in his voice that Dylan was unfamiliar with. “I’ve been trying to balance things out so there are enough blossoms on the trees and flowers in the gardens to support the hives. The meadery project is still small, but going pretty well. I’ve got fruit wines brewing, too. This whole cottage winery thing is really working out.”
“Then there are the fluffies.” Emrys gestured to a pair of outbuildings that sat side by side. One was a typical, pastoral barn type structure. The other looked like a damn penitentiary. “Once I started getting things rolling, I was eyeballing the cost of fertilizer.” Emrys spat. “Fucking ripoff. Then I read about these fluffy things and how their waste is like fertilizer gold. So, I went and did the basic ownership course, bought a few to try it out thinking I could save a few bucks and, holy shit, what a headache that was. They were the first fluffies I ever owned and it did not go well. There was shit everywhere but in the fields, bad attitudes, and a lot of screaming and crying. No amount of discipline or anything seemed to work out.”
“What happened?” Dylan asked.
“I beat them all to death with a shovel,” Emrys replied.
Dylan did a double take. “What the fuck, man?”
Emrys shrugged and continued unphased, “Then I went and registered with the AFFP. The Alberta Fluffy Farmer Program. They have this specialized training for both farmers and fluffies. It was awesome. That got me an agricultural ownership license, some tax breaks, and whole bunch of other rad shit. That’s also where I got Moon. They taught me how to teach him to be a working fluff, trained for a farm. Fucking night and day difference, let me tell you. Once he and I were cool, I got another. He helped train that one. So we started ramping up. I’ve got about two dozen fluffies now that handle fertilization. They’re great. Not at all like those shitrat domestics. Hell, these farm fluffs are like donkeys. Any feral fluffy that comes onto the property that they don’t like, they either send it on its way or stomp it to death.”
“That still doesn’t answer my earlier question, dude. What. The. Fuck?”
“Really? You’re going to hassle me over killing my own fluffies after you slipped up and fucking crippled someone’s lost pet? Save the hugbox bullshit for the end of the tour because you’re really going to blow it when you see what’s next.”
“As I was saying, the barn is my personal fluffy stable. The other one… That building is a bit more complicated.” Emrys gestured to the building constructed in the brutalist fashion popular during the Cold War, surrounded by a fence, razor wire barricades, and a moat. “It started when I was talking to a pharmacist friend of mine at the university. He was telling me about the problems the faculty had with trials due to the ethics board. The board didn’t think that testing experimental drugs on fluffies was ethical, so they canned a lot of research proposals.”
“He was a pretty good friend so I offered to let him keep a few fluffies on my land and use them for those trials on the down low. Next thing I know, I’ve got a cheque in hand and plans to put up an outbuilding for drug testing on fluffies.” Emrys motioned his head towards the concrete building. “That one. He paid me out of his research budget to build a private research building. That let me apply for a wholly different license and a few government grants. Sure, I had to build an ugly-ass secure facility with barriers and traps to prevent escapes, but now I’ve got my own personal fucking maximum security fluffy prison on my land and I’m getting paid for it to be here by academia and the government while double-dip renting it out to the university for studies. And because academics can’t keep a god damn secret, there are other faculties running projects here, too. Pharmacology studies, psychological studies, biology…”
“Jesus Christ.”
Emrys was on a roll. He had that look in his eyes that Dylan knew meant he was all fired up about what he was talking about. “It’s all wired up with cameras and microphones so students and professors can observe their behavior or interact with them. It’s really cool. Part of the deal is that they’re largely hands off. They call me up and tell me how they want pens or fluffies arranged, medications dispensed, and that kind of thing. If they want something done different, they let me know. Sometimes someone will come up to collect one or more but otherwise, I run the show for them.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah, well, that’s higher education. You ever work in an academic setting? They’re all fucking nuts. Wait until you meet a professor who’s the top of their field in the world but can’t figure out how to work a doorknob.” Emrys laughed. "Anyway, the reason I’m showing and telling you all this is a bit self serving. I know you’re between jobs right now and I really need some help to manage all this shit. I’m going to try to hire more people but for right now, how’d you like to work for me?
Dylan looked square at Emrys. “Em, you just showed me your whole place, told me how much bank you’re making by renting out a building where fluffies get fucked up and you want me to work with that?”
“Okay. I get it. You’re a little upset with the idea.”
“Upset?! Dude, you’re running a fucking black ops fluffy research center. What if one of those action groups finds out about this? What if this shit winds up like another Hasbio? Do you think I want to work with that?”
“Okay. You’re a little freaked out. Just take a deep breath, okay? First of all, this is all above board with the government and an ethics dodge with academia. Not technically illegal. Second, the security is tight. I won’t go into detail on that. Third, you wouldn’t be working the research building. That’s off limits to anyone but me. Fourth, I know you want your own fluffy. If you come work for me for a while, we can get you training on proper, and I emphasize the fucking proper, fluffy handling. Farm fluffies only. They need a lot of attention that I’m having a hard time providing and even Moon is a little overwhelmed. Oh, uh, I know it sounds fucked up but, technically, he’d be your supervisor in the barn.”
“For real?”
“He knows the business and can show you the ropes. I trust him completely.”
“Can I take some time to think about this?”
“Sure.” Emrys gestured. “C’mon. Tour’s over and I’m hungry. Let’s head back to the house. I’ll make us some pork chops then give you a lift home.”
