Smarty Beginnings 6 [ by Caneighdian ]

There was a weight on Moon’s fluffy shoulders. Emrys had explained to him that there was so much work on the farm now that he needed help and that he’d asked his friend Dylan to come and work with them. That would mean that Dylan would take over for looking after the barn most of the time and Emrys would only see them sometimes. Moon understood. He had a better grasp than most of his kind when it came to the distribution of labour. What bothered him and put that weight on his small shoulders was how he’d explain it to the other fluffies in a way that they’d understand. Emrys could tell he was bothered by it but he trusted Moon and that trust helped the working fluffy shoulder the burden.

Shortly before sunset, once the day’s work was done, the farm’s herd gathered. They made their way from their individual nests and pens to gather in the center of the barn. Attendance was mandatory. Hazel, nearly immobile with her advancing pregnancy, waited alongside her special friend, Gossamer, for the meeting to begin. Zombie and Igor sat, side by side, watching silently as over a dozen other fluffies gradually assembled. Speed paced anxiously back and forth as she usually did, having a difficult time of sitting still. There was an undercurrent of anxiety that gripped the herd. Their days were usually routine and they knew that when their smarty friend called a meeting there was change was on the horizon; something that would upset the routine. There were whispers, of course, and gossip while they waited for him to arrive.

Finally, their smarty friend trotted into the barn and swept his gaze across the assembled fluffies. “Ebewy fwuffy hewe?”

There was a collective murmur of assent.

“Gud. Wisten up, fwuffies.” Moon started the meeting with his news. “Moon caww ‘ou aww tu teww ou’ soon we hab nyu humin fwiend. Hoomin am cawwed Dywan an’ he am fwiend of Emwys. Mistah Emwys hab a wot of othew wowk tu do su he ask Dywan fwiend tu hewp wook aftew fwuffies.”

He paused, waiting for the ripple of murmurs and side conversations to pass before attention returned to him. He understood their concerns. Emrys had always looked after them before and they all trusted and loved him. Now there was going to be a new human? The worries they had were simple and foolish, but valid nonetheless in their own weird ways. Did Emrys not love them anymore? Would the new human be nice? There was a lot of apprehension among the rank and file of the farm fluffies.

Before he could speak again, Zombie raised a hoof and waited until Moon nodded towards him and allowed him to address the herd. “Mistah Dywan be nyu smawty fwiend wike Mistah Emwys?”

Moon shook his head. “Nu. Mistah Emwys and Moon stiww hewd’s smawty fwiends. Mistah Dywan be nyu humin toughie fwiend. Hewp wook aftew hewd. Mistah Dywan wisten to Mistah Emwys an’ Moon.”

There were more animated conversations among the herd after that response. A human toughie friend? They’d never had one of those. It was unheard of in their heirarchical pecking order but if they could have a human smarty friend, why not a toughie friend?

Igor stepped forward, standing alongside his friend Zombie while the others chattered amongst themselves. He cleared his throat to get their attention. It was an odd sort of sound that he was very good at and, afterwards, spoke in a deep (for a fluffy) and disjointedly melodious voice. “If Moon say nyu humin am toughie fwiend, then dat am dat. Gud enough fow Igow.” He turned his head towards his cohort and Zombie nodded. “Gud enough fow Zombie.”

The confidence of the pair seemed to sway several of the others and they started to voice more curiousity than concern. Moon was thankful. There was an imperceptible nod he shared with Zombie and Igor. There would be more to talk about but, for now, the heaviest news had been delivered. It would remain to be seen how Dylan and the herd would get on when they finally came together.


Two weeks later…

Dylan was adjusting to his new job. After some consideration, he’d decided to accept Emrys’ offer, even if it came with some unusual terms. The most unusual, by far, was having a fluffy as a supervisor. Despite the weird dynamic, the pros far outweighed the cons in Dylan’s mind. He needed the work and knew he could use the experience, especially when it came to live fluffy handling. When he arrived for his first day of work, Emrys eased him into it. While Emrys had given Dylan a brief walking tour before, this time he showed him the inside of the barn and introduced him to the barn’s herd of farm fluffies.

Emrys explained that he loved the concept of John B. Calhoun’s rat utopias and, using elements from those behavioral sink habitats, built his own version. He wasn’t out to experiment with behavioral collapse, just to provide a pleasant space for his herd. The two dozen or so fluffies that resided in the barn had their own nests with auto-feeders and water dispensers, entertainment, toys, and other amenities. Dylan was impressed by just how much effort had been put into setting up for them, including the automatic lighting system. When night fell, the barn’s lighting dimmed but never got dark enough to scare them. Emrys had really gone all out to make sure they had everything they needed to be comfortable.

Another thing that caught Dylan by surprise was that the fluffies were allowed to have special friends and special huggies whenever the urge struck. When he asked Em about it, he was told they were on a specialized feed blend that not only made for good fertilizer but also prevented unwanted pregnancies. Emrys didn’t think it was right to keep them from getting their little rocks off when they wanted if they were already on fluffy birth control feed. “The way I handle it is this: I breed mares twice a year on a rotating schedule. It gives them something to look forward to and it’s a massive reward. Bigger than the S-word.” Emrys explained, “I noticed they’re more cohesive as a herd with that system, too, so I encourage it. The other mares help the new soon-mummah and her foals when they’re born and they’re all on their best behavior so they can have their turn. We don’t have much of a problem with brown foals or alicorns, either. They know bad mummahs don’t get to have foals and, thankfully, they’ve all been good about that. Moon and the toughies help keep the pressure on, too.”

“Toughies?” Dylan asked. He’d heard the term before, but mostly in relation to feral fluffies.

“You’ll learn the lingo and how it plays out. Moon and I are what the herd calls its smarty friends. They all listen to us as their leaders. In Star Trek terms, I’m the captain and he’s my number one. He and I have a few of the other fluffies that help keep the others in line. Those are the toughie friends. They enforce the rules and watch the others to make sure there’s no bad behavior or anything. They also keep the others safe from small threats around the farm, mostly by making sure they’re all wearing their safety gear when they leave the barn.”

“Got it. I forgot how much you liked TNG. We gotta talk about Picard later. Anyway… They have their own safety gear? It doesn’t involve little red shirts does it?”

“Cute trope, but no. The biggest threats we have out here are wild dogs and birds of prey looking for a meal. I found some plans on the internet with intructions on how to make them some DIY spiked barding. It’s a combination high-vis, mirrored, spiked safety vest, so if anything tries to get close or get its mouth or talons on them, they’ll get dissuaded pretty damn quick one way or the other. Works great.”

“Cool.”

“Sure is. Gotta keep the little guys safe. The toughies know how to help the others get their vests on and off before they leave the barn so ‘munstahs’ don’t get them. In the event of ferals, though, the toughies have their own tactics for keeping the others safe. The strategy is a little guerilla. They use their knowledge of the farm to hit and run, distracting invaders so the others can get to safety. Meanwhile, the scout comes and gets me or, in the future, you.”

“Scout? That must be Speed, right? That little pegasus you introduced me to?” Dylan asked.

Emrys smiled and nodded. “You got it. If she runs to you and tells you there’s ferals, grab the invasion kit inside the barn and follow her as fast as you can. I’ll show you how to use it later. The problem with ferals is that they’re largely unpredictable so we have to be on our toes to come to the herd’s defense. I fully expect that eventually they might get wise to our game plan.”

“Got it.”

“Good. I don’t want to see any of these guys hurt. Continuing on, since Moon’s in charge, you’re basically like a new toughie friend and he’ll tell the herd to treat you like one. Do what Moon tells you, make friends with the other toughies, and you’ll find a place pretty quick. I know it’s weird, but they’ve got their own quirky behaviors and pecking order. It’s fucked up but it works here, especially once you find a place in it. You ever see how horses, especially mares, follow their trainers? Sort of like that.”

Dylan’s head was spinning with the crash course in fluffy care. Emrys continued to instruct him on how things were done around the farm and Moon instructed him on the basics. For all Dylan had read up on fluffies, it was a vastly different experience to have one explain to him how the simple things worked: like how to pick up a fluffy, proper bath water temperature and bathing procedure, disciplining bad behavior, and so on. It was an eye opening experience for him. He’d always wanted a pet that could speak but never stopped to consider what it would be like to try to care for one that could articulate its wants and needs and even correct him when he screwed up.

That first day was a knowledge dump. The ones that followed weren’t any easier, but he got a little more easy guidance from Moon. Moon walked him through refilling the water and food dispensers and checking the status of the litter box systems. The litter boxes were automated and largely fluffy-proofed. After a fluffy did their business, their waste was automatically dumped into the fertilizer processing system beneath the barn. It largely ran itself, but Moon had Dylan get into the habit of checking it daily to make sure there were no problems. “Pwobwems awways huwt fwuffies fiwst.” He was prone to saying, and, “Du it wight da fiwst time.”

The other thing that Dylan was tasked with by his new tiny boss was getting to know the herd. That meant Dylan’s first two weeks were really pretty easy. He sat in the pens and played with some of the off-duty fluffies, talked to them, groomed and petted them. It was largely so they would come to trust him but also so he would learn their names and how they behaved. On the flip side, it was so they could learn how Dylan behaved around them. During the whole time, Moon watched over both human and fluffy alike, just as Emrys had trained him to do. He wasn’t alone in his duties, either. There were other fluffies among the herd that he had taught. Like mystery shoppers or air marshals, they didn’t make their presence known to humans or the herd. Only to Emrys and Moon and only in secret.

Dylan was loving his new job. It felt like he’d hit easy street. He was getting paid to play with fluffies even with all the particulars that his new job entailed. He still felt a little weirded out by the fact that he was taking orders from one, but if Emrys trusted Moon then what the hell? He was learning. Learning meant getting that much closer to eventually having a fluffy of his own as Emrys promised to help him out with. Of course, that line of thought kept bringing him back to Frost and how much he regretted what happened to her as well as his own cowardice.


Frost’s mobility gradually returned over time, thankfully. It was a small victory since the brain damage she’d sustained largely kept her laying in one spot, babbling the same words to herself over and over. Not that she would have been able to move much, anyway. Her advancing pregnancy had rendered her immobile. Emrys, having concerns about her ability to deliver, had his local vet come by to examine her fairly frequently until the decision was made that her foals would have be delivered via Cesarean section.

The procedure was performed in the farm’s small clinic, with Dylan and Emrys present to assist the vet Dylan had come to know as Doctor Janet. They assisted with cleaning Frost and helping Janet insert a catheter and Poopies Plug™ before she ran an IV line to Frost for fluids and medication. The pregnant dam was given a regional anesthetic to block the pain of the procedure. Janet didn’t want to risk a general. Once the numbing had taken hold, the vet shaved Frost’s abdomen and used an antiseptic to prepare the area. She made an incision across the abdomen, parting the abdominal wall down to her udder. Deftly, she located the fluffy’s uterine wall and made another incision, parting tissue to reveal Frost’s nascent brood.

Emrys watched Doctor Janet work with some interest. He’d seen this kind of procedure before, of course, but he was always keen on watching a vet work.

As for Dylan, he could feel his heart racing. He’d never seen a proper surgery in person before. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he watched the vet open Frost up.

Carefully, Janet extracted each foal, one by one. There were five in total. Since Emrys had a some experience in assisting with this sort of birth, she handed the foals off to him to clean and get breathing their first tentative lungfuls of air. Once they’d been cleaned and were breathing clear, he placed them into a simu-fluff incubator and set the timer. Foals typically needed their first nutritional load from a nursing mare in the first fifteen minutes of life to avoid complications or, worse, outright death.

“Okay, Janet. Timer’s set. I know you’re still working, but they need the good stuff.”

“Yep. Just hold them tiny horses. Won’t be a minute.”

No sooner were the foals out, Janet began the process of suturing to close the incisions she’d made while being mindful of Frost’s bleeding. She glanced up at the mare while Frost babbled the only word her vocabulary had been reduced to and chuckled beneath her surgical mask. “I ever tell you boys I kinda prefer the derpy ones?” She asked offhandedly. “Dunno what it is about 'em, and this little gal here reminds me of Porky Pig. You know, ‘Abadee… Abadee… Abadee… that’s b-b-b-babbehs, folks!’”

She laughed as she wrapped up the suturing with enough time for Emrys to get Frost’s offspring out of the incubator and to her teats to start their first nursing. They had to rotate the foals manually since Frost wasn’t capable of doing so herself. While Emrys and Dylan were handling the foals and feeding, Janet pulled her mask and gloves off. “Aw, shit. I forgot to scream ‘biggest poopies’ while I was takin’ 'em out.”

Emrys laughed. Dylan snorted.

With Frost stitched back up, treated with another round of antiseptic, and bandaged, she was placed in a recovery pen. She didn’t even seem aware that she’d had babies, let alone been through a surgical procedure to deliver them. The catheter and plug remained in place as did the IV line. Once the foals were fed, Janet gave her a final check. “She oughtta be okay. Don’t see any bad reactions or complications. Easy peasy C-sy. Thanks, guys. Keep an eye on her tonight. Call me if there’s any problems and I’ll come by tomorrow to check on her.”

Emrys and Dylan both thanked the vet, shook her hand and saw her out to her truck. Dylan felt drained now that the ordeal was over. He was so happy to see Frost’s foals born healthy but he couldn’t shake the weight of guilt and responsibility for her condition. It tormented him still, that fateful moment running over and over in the back of his mind while the vet’s truck rattled down the dirt rural road and ought of sight. It wasn’t until Emrys clapped him on the back and congratulated him on his first procedure that he snapped out of it and asked, “What’re we going to do with them, now? She can’t care for them properly.”

Emrys pursed his lips. “Well, Hazel is the only fluffy in the barn that was allowed to have foals recently. She’s a soon-mummah but she’s going to have her own to deal with. She can’t take on an extra five on top of however many she delivers. For now, we’ll just have to rotate them on Frost so they can nurse until I can figure something out. If worse comes to worse, we can just keep them in the incubator with an auto-feeder but the real mummah-juice is usually better for them than formula. For now, though, did you want the first shift on feeding duty? They’ll need to nurse pretty regularly. I can grab the folding cot and bring it here if you want to catch some sleep in between feedings. You look pretty drained.”

“Yeah. That sounds good. Thanks, Em.”

“No problem.”

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I can’t express how much I’m enjoying this series. Love enjoy character involve for there own reasons. Curious tonsee what the next point of conflict in the story will be.

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Thanks! Glad you’re enjoying it!

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