“Daddeh,”
“Yes, Tato?”
“Am poopies soon, hewp Tato go poopies?”
“Alright, give me a sec.”
I stand up from my chair at the table, walk over and pick up Tato. It’s been about a week since I took her home from that alley. She’s…well, she’s real fucking fat now. Her soft little hoofsies now are barely touching the floor. She’s become a big and round ball of fluff. All soft, warm and fucking adorable. I hold her in my hands, and walk over to her litterbox. I set up a small space in my home for her the day after I got her, using a small plastic enclosure, one of those used for babies.
“Hmm, Tato make good poopies fow daddeh! Poopies in wittewbox,” she says cheerfully as we begin the process. Due to her advanced pregnancy she can’t move under her own power. In a herd, she would be cared for by the younger mares, rolled around as the herd moved, and after shitting, they would clean her. “wickie cweanies” Tato had called it. Since she only had me, she would have to settle for the process I came up with, and unscented wet wipes. Fair trade, I’d say.
“Alright, Tato. We’re ready, go for it.”
I tell her after readying her. The process is simple. I gently hold Tato above the litterbox, her face towards me, and her anus towards the box. I use one hand to lift her tail, make sure she doesn’t smear it with shit, and the other hand I use to “encourage” her by giving small rubs to her tummy with my thumb.
Essentially, I hold Tato like a fluffy gun, her pooper aimed, ready to fire her shit at the innocent box.
“Ja, kamerad poopen boxen, you are to be summarily executed, for der crimes against ze regime.”
A monster am I, indeed.
“Hmm” Tato closes her eyes and focuses. “Make poopies” she says quietly, ignoring my German officer impression. She frowns for a moment, then…
Pop, pop, pop,
Out come the fluffy sized logs. Solid, thankfully. A week of good diet, and liquid shits are a thing of the past. Spaghetti is a once a week treat, lots of water and veggies. Works wonders.
After she’s done, I gently set her down on the floor.
“Don’t move” I say as I reach over and grab the scooper. I make sure to hold her tail, keep it straight up, so she doesn’t smear it.
“Tato make good poopies?”
In goes the scooper, and the evidence is fully covered. “Yup, sure did, buddy.”
I finish with the litterbox and with my free hand I pat it. “Danke, herr poopen boxen,”
Then comes the cleanies. Unscented wet wipes, one hand gently cleaning her rear, while the other holds her tail straight up.
“Hehe, daddeh giwe wickie cweanies. Tato wove daddeh, daddeh clean tato” she sings and hums while I clean her behind. Once I’m done and have thrown away all the trash, I bring her with me to the living room for some enrichment, which for her state of pregnancy mainly means gently tipping her over and rolling her back and forth a little.
She smiles brightly and giggles as I roll her on her side, wiggling her hoofsies and her useless little wings.
“Thank you, daddeh! Danke heww poopen bowxen”
Almost pissed myself laughing.