With a frustrated huff, Spruce circled the perimeter of his land again, looking for his smartest nummie finder. The scruffy little grey unicorn was not with his special friend in their tiki-man housie. Pansy was globular and due to foal any minute, so heavy with foals she could not fit out the door of their shelter.
“Spwoose! Spwoose! Miwwten wookin aww obah fo yu!” The scratchy little voice of the nummie finder echoed across the putting greens.
“Spwoose ben wookin fo Miwwten!” The dark green smarty tried not to sound as irritated as he felt. Good leaders listened first and reacted after. “U otay, Miwwten?”
The little grey stallion positively shook with excitement from his pale green mane to his mottled flanks, “Bettow den otay. Bestest. Spwoose nee see dis.”
The two fluffy ponies walked to the furthest side of the Mini Golf course to the concessions area. Spruce was annoyed, because the fluffy pony herd had already ransacked all the trash cans for anything edible over the winter. To Spruce’s suprise, they went even futher, to the little concessions booths.
“Miwwten an Pansy nee biggow nesties aftuh bebbehs come. Scawwy-man wawmsies buh too widdle fo wotsa bebbehs.”
“Spwuce su smawties.” the little stallion agreed, “Mebbe aftuh bebbehs heew, Miwwten make nesties in duh Not-Fwowwa Pwace.”
Milton was speaking about a fairy garden themed putting green decorated with plywood flowers and syrofoam mushrooms that would be ideal for foals to run around, after shoring up the gaps in the plywood of the mechanical housing.
“Wookit up dere, stwon fwuffy with big hoofies cod open.” Milton tapped a hoof on a flimsy door that opened at the middle, closed with a rusted out bolt.
Spruce looked up and saw the bolt to the half door was indeed broken in such a way a fluffy pony could push it open, if only there were a way to scale the impossible distance of about three and a half feet.
“Miwwten smeww nummies. wotsa bad nummies, but mebbeh gud nummies, too.” The scruffy grey pony beamed, exceptionally proud of his find. He had anticipated needing to venture beyond the protection of the mini golf course to find nummies, but luck seemed to favor the nummie finder and the herd yet again.
The quiet suburban sprawl was mostly devoid of life, save the occasional squirrel or flock of crows. The humans of the mini golf course seemed to have only just left when Spruce and the herd happened upon it last autumn. Hot dogs charred on grills that no longer rolled, slushie machines leaking sweet colored water.
The fluffy ponies settled in to the various fluffy sized buildings that housed the machinations for the putting greens. Milton and Pansy settled in the Tiki-man, whose mouth used to open and close. Most of the rest of the herd slowly built nests around, settling in a fluff pile in the manager’s office during the worst of the cold times, which was full of papers and brochures and other such good nesting materials they could tear and shape to their needs.
Spruce was deep in ponderment wondering how they would get the door open when the distant tapping of hooves and a commotion approached from the far side of the greens.
“Miwwten! Miwwten! bebbehs comin!”
Fluffy ponies are not quick or agile creatures, but Milton was off as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. Spruce struggled to keep up with the much smaller and faster stallion, arriving at the tiki-man out of breath and pushed to the back of the crowd.
Milton was already in his nest, giving his special friend affectionate encouragement, licking her ears and whispering encouragement so close only the two of them could hear.
Mulberry stood outside the tiki hut, ready to help, but none was requested. Pansy was strong. A rare toughie mare, she wasn’t one to scream when the contractions hit like most mares, but her strained groans could be heard outside. Milton cleaned up the soiled magazine pages that caught the blood and feces that accompanied birth, dragging each to the entrance where another herd member dragged it away.
Milton gently scooted each foal towards his mate’s head so she could lick them clean. At the height of the delivery, the foals were coming so fast that Milton was also licking the chirping newborns.
Mulberry counted eight foals, when she was finally asked to bring Pansy something to eat. Five little colts and three litle fillies. Spruce brought the new family the gift he had been saving since the cold times: a half bag of gummy worms. Milton and Pansy cooed excitedly as their leader presented them with ‘sweet sketties.’
Spruce mingled with the rest of the herd, as the young timid, stallions found themselves emboldened by Milton’s display of dedication, there was much talk about potential special friends. Mulberry walked beside her brother, humming a happy little tune to herself.
The beautiful purple maned mare chattered happily about how babies are the best and how exciting it was to be right there at the door watching how brave and strong Pansy was before Mulberry abruptly stopped in her tracks.
Spruce paused and sniffed at his sister, “Sissy otay?”
She gave a small grunt as a her side visibly shifted under her fluff. Spruce assumed she needed to make poopies before the realization dawned on him.
“Spwuce gon be Uncoo?” Mulberry nodded to spruce’s relief, “FINOWWY… I mean… grad-you-ashuns, Sissy.”
“Nao bestest bwudda nee speshul fwen to has babbehs!”
Spruce scoffed. He didn’t have time to persue a special friend or take care of a pregnant mare, he had a herd to take care of. The spring fever wouldn’t take hold of him.
but the thought lingered in his mind long after the conversation.
