It’s been two days since Applefluff had her foals. You’ve moved her back into her safe room; you were already going to do that since you didn’t want the foals underfoot, but what happened yesterday prompted you to do it sooner than anticipated. A foal literally got underfoot.
You’d just finished dressing for work. Applefluff was laying in her bed next to your dresser, foals snuggled up on her back, singing some adorable song to them to encourage them to nap, and just as you finished adjusting your tie and turned to walk out the room, the little peach-colored colt tumbled off his mother’s back, rolled off the bed, and came to a stop where your wingtip-clad foot was coming down. The foal chirped in distress (mainly from suddenly tumbling and losing his mother’s warmth; he had no idea he was about to be crushed underfoot since his eyes weren’t even open yet) and Applefluff SCREAMED louder than any living creature you’ve ever heard. In order to avoid killing your sweet fluffy’s offspring right in front of her you had to throw yourself to one side, landing on the bed, or else all your weight would have come down on that foot and crushed the foal.
Applefluff, naturally, snagged the baby immediately, hugging it and its sister, and had a panic attack. You were afraid she would hyperventilate or have a heart attack, so you did your best to calm her down and check to make sure you hadn’t hurt the little guy. But she eventually calmed down, and she didn’t blame you; she understood it was an accident. But she was terrified, having had a brush with her own child’s mortality, and you hated to leave her like that, but you had to go to work.
You ended up twenty minutes late to the office and had to rush to get to the courthouse on time once you’d gathered your briefs from your desk.
Applefluff knew it wasn’t your fault, but if you HAD accidentally killed her baby… would she forgive you? You didn’t want to find out. She was a good, well-behaved fluffy, and she loved and trusted you. You didn’t want to damage that any more than you wanted to harm her foals. Especially since the entire point of letting her have foals in the first place was to keep her from suffering the fluffy equivalent of depression brought on by ennui and boredom.
So when you got home yesterday, you moved her bed, litter box, and bowls back into the safe room and she followed you, babies curled up on her back, quietly chirping as they settled down for a nap. She was reluctant to move back in since she liked being close to you while she slept, but you told her it was safer for her babies and she didn’t complain once.
Today, you’ve just gotten home from work at the district attorney’s office, and your house is a mess.
Not because of Applefluff, of course. She’s been locked in the safe room all day. Your house is a mess because your cousin Andrew, who needed the work, brought a couple friends over to tear up the linoleum floor in your kitchen and the area by the back door and replace it with a wood floor. It was yellow, so it matched your cabinets and table nicely, it was fairly easy to assemble (the pieces went together like a jigsaw puzzle and had rubberized felt underneath to keep them stuck to the concrete beneath.), and it was easy to clean in case of fluffy accidents, so you liked it. Your kitchen table was currently occupying your living room, between the couch and tv, and the coffee table that normally went there was shoved against the wall under the window. Your kitchen chairs were all beside the table, each with another chair turned upside down and stacked on top of it to minimize the space they took up. Your kitchen floor was half assembled and half bare concrete, tools scattered on your countertops. Your old linoleum had been scraped up and stacked on the small porch outside the back door.
Andrew and his buddies had left it half finished because they got an emergency call; some old lady had had a leaky ceiling and the last time it rained, her carpet had gotten soaked and now it was moldy and a health hazard. That was definitely more important than replacing your cousin’s floor, so you told him he could finish in a couple days when he called you about it.
Ugh. What a mess in the meantime though. Still, it’d be like this even longer if you were to do the work yourself.
You open the door to the safe room and discover the pale pink, almost white, filly is in the litter box, chirping, and Applefluff is thoroughly grooming the peach pegasus colt, making “yickies” noises when she starts licking its rear. Then she sets it down and carefully picks up the peeping filly and starts licking her next.
“Hi, sweetie. Did you and the babies have a good day?”
She looks up at you, clearly happy and wanting to run over and greet you, but she stays put and continues grooming her foal. She’s a good mummah.
“Yus, suw! Appuwfwuff haf gud day! Babbehs dwink wots an wots uf miwkies so dey gwow up big an stwong!”
“That’s good,” you say, only slightly patronizing her. You’re glad to hear the foals are healthy. “Why did you have them in the litter box though?”
Applefluff makes another face, flicking her tongue between her lips and spitting until a bit of litter leaves her tongue, then gives her foal another lick.
“Babbehs awways make peepees an poopies aftew dwinking dey miwkies if dey nu gu nappies, so Appuwfwuff put babbehs in witta bawx aftew miwkies. Nu wike poopies and peepees in fwuff ow beddie.”
Huh. You always knew she was more clever than the average fluffy.
“Good job, sweetie! That was really clever.”
She beams at your praise and resumes licking her foal thoroughly, ignoring its chirps of protest when she starts licking its rear clean.
“I’m going to leave the door open, so if you need anything, let me know, ok?”
“Otay, daddeh!”
“And stay out of the kitchen! It’s dangerous in there, your babies might get hurt if you go in there.”
“Yus, suw!” she squeaks.
Well, you mostly just want her to stay out of the kitchen so she doesn’t make a mess, but it could conceivably be dangerous for her little foals. You walk out into the living room and turn the tv on, watching the news. Farmers in the midwest were PRAISING the feral herds of fluffies, which was totally unexpected. Feral herds had been devastating crops ever since they got loose, and that mega herd, numbering over a thousand fluffies, had moved like a horde of locusts, annihilating entire fields of crops and raiding stored grain and animal feed. Farmers had been out millions because of the damage, but since they were receiving government subsidies anyway and were insured, they could survive a year with little or no production. The herd was culled with poisoned spaghetti and US Forestry Service agents flying over it in a helicopter, making multiple passes while they sprayed the herd with buckshot from fully-automatic AA-12 shotguns they’d finally found a use for. The mega herd had split up into dozens of smaller herds scattering in all directions, but they’d eventually reformed another enormous herd with hundreds of fluffies and were migrating in a counter-clockwise circle.
As it turns out, the farmers whose crops had been devastated just a couple years ago and had been calling for the extinction of fluffies as a species, were now praising them. The fluffies hadn’t just eaten their crops and stored feed, they’d fertilized the soil with their feces and, in many cases, their corpses. Farmers who had lost nearly all their crops to the fluffies were now experiencing a boom in production. The reporter doing the story showed some close ups of fields of grain and vegetables that were much larger and healthier than normal. The Department of the Interior, which oversaw the National Park Service, Forestry Service, Bureau of Land Management, and other, similar agencies, had done a study and determined that the feral herds, even the massive one that had been considered such an enormous threat, were actually doing more good than harm by fertilizing the soil. Crops were now producing a much higher yield in their wake, forests and grasslands were flourishing, and an area that had been stripped by a lumber company and left bare now had the start of a new woodland growing after the fluffies had enriched the soil while passing through. An area that had been devastated by a wildfire the year before was now recovering faster than usual, and enough fluffies had died of starvation crossing the broad area of ash and tree stumps that even the ones too hungry to poop had been enriching the soil with their bodies. Experts with the Department of the Interior estimated it would take the herd three or four years to make a complete circle, and that while they would devour whatever they found in the immediate area around them, they more than made up for it in the abundant growth of vegetation that came afterward. Farmers who had spent years exterminating fluffies were now praising them and said they couldn’t wait for a large herd to come through again.
“Sure, I ain’t making money that one season, but I make triple that in every season afterward for the next couple years. I figure it’s worth it.”
Some expert from the BLM, a guy with long hair, a beard, and glasses that went out of date in the 70’s comes on the screen and starts discussing studies of how feral fluffies actually benefit the ecosystem, rather than posing an ecological disaster like everyone had thought for years.
“Wolves have made a comeback in several areas and the northern spotted owl is no longer endangered, thanks to fluffies providing a plentiful and regular source of food. Old growth forest isn’t experiencing as big a boon, but younger trees and vegetation are definitely seeing a payoff from fluffies. For years, we’ve thought of them as nothing but a nuisance, even an ecological disaster on the scale of introducing snakes to Guam, or Fukushima leaking radiation into the environment, but what we’re actually seeing, after years of study, is that nature is making a comeback. Pollution, deforestation, killing endangered predators, nature is making a comeback from all the damage we’ve done to it, and it’s all thanks to fluffy ponies. Sure, they’re neon fuzzballs that talk like cartoon characters and have all the intelligence of a brain damaged puppy, but… they’re helping. They’re actually beneficial. We’d have never guessed that when PETA released those genetically-engineered ‘abominations’ all those years ago, but what we’re seeing now is just… extraordinary. We still have a lot of research to do, and we’re trying to find ways to limit the damage done by the herds while still benefitting from them, but this is looking very promising.”
Huh. Well, that’s an interesting development. You start loosening your tie as you head to your bedroom to get changed, glad to finally get to relax after a long day.
You’re Applefluff. You’re a mummah now. You love your babies. You love your daddy. Earlier today you wondered which you loved more and it hurt your head. You love your babies and your daddy.
Your babies are getting bigger! They do more than just lay there and peep now, they crawl around. Not very well, and they still haven’t opened their eyes, but at least now you don’t have to pick them up and put them on your miwkie pwaces every time they cheep in hunger; they can get there themselves, though you do have to help them find your miwkie pwaces sometimes.
Daddy left the door to the safe room open in case you needed to ask him for help, and you can hear the tv in the other room. He didn’t say you had to stay in here; in fact, he implied it was ok to leave the safe room since he told you to stay out of the kitchen, but didn’t mention any other room.
“Tum on, babbehs! Wets gu watch teebees wif daddeh!”
Your babies still haven’t gotten the hang of crawling onto your back, so you have to lay down and very carefully put them there, then sort of wiggle your shoulders so they end up in your middle where they won’t fall off. They can’t hold onto your fluff very well yet, so you have to walk slowly and not jump or tilt too much.
Once your babies are settled into the fluff on your back and are resting quietly, you slowly pad into the living room and stop, eyes wide in startled amazement.
Why is the table in here? Why are those chairs the wrong way up and sitting on other chairs? Chairs don’t sit on things, chairs are for sitting on! That’s silly! You look around and don’t see daddy anywhere, so you walk over to the couch so you can watch tv.
Hmmm. This isn’t going to work. You can’t jump up there or your babies will fall off your back. You guess you could set them on the couch and then jump up, but you’ve just noticed the table is in the way and you can’t see the tv. Sighing in disappointment, you trot closer to the tv, careful not to jostle your babies, and then something occurs to you.
Oh! The chairs make a perfect safe place for your babies! The chair will be overhead and provide a roof, and the back of the chair that’s wrong way up makes a good wall. You can lay under there with your babies and not worry about them getting stepped on. That was so scary! But daddy didn’t step on your baby and everything was ok.
You crawl under a chair, carefully deposit your babies on the floor, making them chirp in protest since they’d started to go nappies, and you lay down and curl around them. Now you can watch the tv and your babies are safe and out of the way! You smile to yourself and hug your babies, pleased with your cleverness.
Your filly must still be hungry, because she’s wiggling around and sniffing by your miwkie pwaces. You give her a little nudge with your hoofsie so she finds it and she latches on and starts drinking.
“Gud babbeh. Dwink aww yoo miwkies so you gwow up big an stwong!”
Your colt, on the other hand, seems restless now that you disturbed his nappies on your back, and is wiggling about, peeping irritably. You nuzzle him with your nosie and he makes a funny face, then his eyes open! They’re green like yours and soooo pretty!
“Babbeh! Yoo eyesies is open! Yaaaaay!”
You gently give him upsies with your front hoofsies; it was awkward at first, learning how to do that. Babies are much more delicate than blockies and they tend to wiggle. But you think you’ve got the hang of it now.
“Gud babbeh! See? See yoo mummah?”
He chirps and blinks at you, looking in all directions and blinking some more. You’re so proud of him!
Oops! He just squirmed out of your grasp and fell! He didn’t fall very far though, and he doesn’t seem hurt; he’s chirping quietly to himself and moving his head around, seeing the world around him for the first time. He did fall between the rungs of the chair and end up outside the safe place you discovered though.
“Siwwy babbeh, yoo nee tu stay wif mummah!”
You squeeze your head between the rungs and pick him up then… uh-oh.
You’re stuck! Your head is stuck! You can’t get back out! You start to panic. You carefully set the baby down and brace your front hoofsies against the chair and tug.
You’re still stuck.
“DAAAAAAAAADDEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!”
You’re Applefluff’s owner. And your fluffy is wailing for you, which means something is wrong. Since she isn’t screaming bloody murder, you assume the problem isn’t life threatening or involving her foals, so you finish pulling your t-shirt on before walking back into the living room.
“What’s wrong swee-”
Ok, that is hilarious. For some reason she’s under one of your kitchen chairs, nursing a foal, while the other crawls around ineffectually near her head. Her head, incidentally, is poking between the rungs of the back of the upside down chair. She tugs and goes nowhere.
“Daddeh! Appuwfwuff stuck! Hewp!”
You can’t help laughing. Your fluffy sobs miserably.
“Pwease nu waff at Appuwfwuff! It nu funny!”
“C’mere sweetie, let’s get you unstuck.”
You’re still chuckling as you help her get loose from the chair. The day wouldn’t be complete if your fluffy didn’t get into some sort of misadventure.
