Poopy’s legs were secured to a table. He’d been on my shit list since day one since he had both bad colors and was a smarty. When I requested plain-colored inbred Fluffies, I was expecting more of a chocolate brown like Ginger had, not this terrible shit-brown shade that Poopy had. Well, at least I had a suitable target for the first phase of my experiment, which was determining how much fluffy blood could be replaced with another animal’s blood without the Fluffy dying.
“Tabwe tu cowd. Smawty no wike dis game,” Poopy complained. I flicked him in the forehead.
“I already told you. Your name is Poopy, not Smarty. If you keep calling yourself Smarty, then I’m going to have to sorry-stick you,” I said. The mention of a potential sorry-sticking had cowed the terribly colored Fluffy. I was prepping the machine, which was something like a dialysis machine fitted with two needles. One needle was for draining blood and the other was for injecting it. I installed an empty tank for the drainer and a tank full of bat blood for the injector. The bat blood was going to be the more expensive part of the project since bats were real animals and protected by animal abuse laws. Let’s just say I had a few connections that could provide me with the blood.
I realized that I had forgotten to weigh Poopy before the experiment so I picked him up and squeezed his stomach over the drain. A flood of liquid shit flowed out from the tiny stallion and I turned on the water so it could drain.
“Huu huu. Tummy am hab biggest owwies. Smawty no wike! Smawty no wike!”
There was that Smawty name again. Once the sink was clean, I filled a tub with very cold water and dunked Poopy in the cold water. “Huuu cowdies… Wawa not gud fow fwuffies huuuu,” Poopy cried.
“I said not to call yourself Smarty again,” I said. “What did I name you?”
“Smawty no am poopy! Smawty am smawty!”
At the mention of Smarty, I dunked Poopy in the ice cold water again, holding him there for a good ten seconds before letting him out and asking the same question again.
“SCREEE! Smawty no poopy! SMAWTY NO POOPY!”
That last one was pretty loud and the two Saferooms were just down the corner from the medical room. I was a little worried that the innocent fluffies could hear me dunking Poopy in the water. “Your name is Poopy! You’re a poopy pony!” I said as I dunked the smarty in the cold water again, holding him there for ten seconds as he desperately flailed his limbs and tried to surface.
“Huuu huuu! Wawa bad fow fwuffies! Huu huu huu!” The smarty cried. I asked him again what his name was.
“Huu huu Fwuffy am Poopy! Fwuffy am Poopy! Huu huu huu!” Tears were streaming down its face and quickly mixed into the water soaking him.
Now that Poopy knows what his name is, I proceeded to dry him off and weigh him. He was a bit below average weight for a fluffy, but he was smaller so that wasn’t a big surprise. I noted it down on a sheet, along with his other info, then strapped him back to the dialysis machine.
I bunched up a bunch of skin near his scruff and put the two needles in. Poopy complains about ‘Shawp owwies’, then cries a bunch more. I start the machine up and the ‘drain’ tank starts filling with Fluffy blood. A sound indicates that the machine is done draining.
“Wat du tu fwuffy? Wowd am hab big spinnies and fwuffy head hab big owwies…” I notice that Poopy wasn’t using his name again, but at least he wasn’t calling himself Smarty anymore. I figured I could let it go since Poopy just had 10 percent of his body weight in blood drained from him. I start injecting the bat blood, then pull the needles out once that’s done. I pick Poopy up like a football, tucking him under my arm.
“Daddeh am gib uppies? Daddeh wub fwuffy aftew aww,” Poopy sighs with relief.
“I already told you. Your name is Poopy, not Fluffy or Smarty,” I corrected him.
“O… Otay. Poopy name is Poopy,” the fluffy says dejectedly.
I placed Poopy back in the saferoom and called Storm Cloud over. I told him to watch over Poopy and to tell me if anything happens to the poorly covered colt. I played blocks with the stallions for a bit and did the same for the mares. Not usually one for childrens’ games, but it’s actually pretty fun playing with blocks with the fluffies. I’m not a hugboxer or anything, but there’s no need to be needlessly cruel with fluffies as long as they haven’t done anything wrong. Smarties are free game, though.
After I was done playing with the fluffies, I made sure to double check Poopy’s records, noting down the date of the transfusion and the amount of blood injected. I cleaned all the medical equipment, and put the used needles and plastic tanks into a biowaste bin.
The next day, while I was feeding the stallions, I noticed that Poopy wasn’t quite as energetic as he was the day before. It could have been the water thing from yesterday, but I asked Storm Cloud what was up with Poopy to be sure.
“Stowm Cwoud nu knu. Poopy no eat his nummies and say Poopy am feew not pwetty.”
Loss of appetite huh. I picked up the brown colt and placed him near the feeding trough, but he still wasn’t eating. Poopy’s temperature was a bit high for a fluffy’s too so I took him to the medical room to have his temperature checked.
Poopy definitely had a fever, then.
I couldn’t let him starve though, so I ended up force feeding him some kibble, moving his mouth to chew then rubbing at his throat to force him to swallow. Poopy retched a few times, but the food thankfully didn’t come back up.
“Storm Cloud, make sure Poopy eats, okay? He might be a Poopy Pony, but we don’t want him to go forever sleepies from not eating.”
“Otay… Stowm Cwoud make suwe poopy bwudda eat nummies.”