The science boys are back. Hope you folks enjoy.
The room. An experiment by Dr. Alyosha Branovich.
“Hey doc haven’t we already done one like this?”
Vincent asks. You answer without looking up from your clipboard.
“Sort of. Unlike last time we’re going to study how a fluffy reacts in complete and total isolation. To do this we took a foal from its mother directly after birth.”
You stand in what’s going to be the subject’s room.
“Jeez. These are name brand toys. And this thing on the wall. A kibble dispenser?”
Vincent asks.
“I mean it’s going to spend it’s entire life in here. Why not atleast give it decent toys, and yes. The dispener is set up to release a sufficient amount of food on a set schedule three times a day. That is after the foal is big enough to eat solids. For now he’ll be living off the milk dispenser.”
You point to a small nipple that’s attached to the end of a hose.
“We’ll make sure he knows it’s there and what it is. The room will be kept a toasty 82 degrees Fahrenheit for the first week. That way he won’t die of hypothermia without his mother. We’ll lower it down to a more comfortable temperature when he’s old enough.”
You say.
“No TV? Don’t Fluffies worship TV?”
Vince asks.
“It could be considered social interaction. He may not be able to distinguish Fluffies on a screen from real Fluffies. That’s not to say he’ll be in complete silence. We have a speaker on the ceiling that will play classical music.”
You continue jotting stuff down.
“Jeez that’s practically torture.”
Vincent jokes.
Vincent continues to look at the set up. He picks up a teddy bear and presses the heart on it’s stomach.
“Hi I’m Lisa!”
The bear says.
“How many of these talk?”
He asks.
“All of them. We’re not changing the batteries either. Once they’re done they’re done.”
Vincent presses a stuffed rabbit.
“My name’s Mark! You ready for a hopping good time?”
He laughs.
“Jeez. Free food. Good stuff? And a soft fluffy bed? Can I live here too?”
Vincent asks.
“The bed is custom made. Designed to feel like the mothers fluff to give the creature some comfort. At first though he’ll be staying on the puppy pad by the milk Despenser. Wouldn’t want him getting his bed dirty.”
You say.
You think you’re ready to start. You usher Vince out the door and shut it.
“From this point on the only times this door is to be open is placing the subject inside, emergencies, and when the test is over.”
You and Vince go home for the night.
The next day you and Vince are sitting in the all to familiar observation chamber. You speak into a microphone.
“Insert test subject 349.”
The door to the room opens
A man walks in carrying a small gray newborn pegasus foal. It chirps loudly for it’s mother. He sits the foal gently down on the soft pad. The foal immediately quiets down. The man walks out and gently shuts the door. Locking it behind him.
The foal sniffs around and finds the milk nozzle rather quickly.
“We let him suckle for fifteen minutes then we shut it off. Wouldn’t want the foal dying from obesity.”
You say.
For the next ten days the foal barely moves. You and Vincent sit dying of boredom watching the foal eat, sleep, and shit.
“So Alyosha. How do you intend to make it use the litterbox when it gets older?”
Vince asks.
“Simple. We’re not using a litter box as that requires cleaning. We essentially have a vent on the floor with a pipe leading directly to the furnace. When time comes for him to learn to use the litterbox I’ll release the scent of fluffy feces through the vent. Just a little. Enough to trigger in his brain that this is the place to shit.”
“Won’t be fall in?”
Vincent asks.
“No. The holes are large enough for feces but by the time he’s in the talking foal stage he’ll be too big to fall through.”
Another week passes before finally something happens.
“Cheep cheep! Mu…mummah!.. Whewe mummah!”
Vincent runs his hands down his face.
“FUCKIN FINALLY!”
He declares.
Though you don’t voice it you agree. If you had to sit through one more day of nothing you’d blow a fuse.
The foals looks around his environment.
“Mummah?.. Daddeh?.. Bwuddas an sissies?.. Babbeh am hewe… Huuhuu Whewe mummah!”
It says before it starts crying and chirping.
" I expected this. Must be a shock to it’s preprogrammed system to see the thing it’s been getting warm fluffy milk from isn’t its mother."
The foals cried for about thirty minutes before immediately falling back asleep.
Two hours later it wakes up.
“Huuhuuhuu!”
Your name is… Well… You guess you don’t have a name. So you’ll call yourself babbeh.
You just opened your see places a little bit ago.
You looked and called for your mummah but you can’t find her. Maybe the big miwkie place is your mummah? No. It can’t be.
“Hewwo! … Mummah!.. Babbeh nee wub an Huggies!”
You yell. You’re scared. You shake but it’s not coldies.
“Buuhuuhuu. Nu wike be awone. Am onwy wittwe babbeh! Babbeh am foh Huggies an wub! Nu foh be awone. MUMMAH! MUMMAAAAAAAAH!!! Huuhuuhuu.”
You look around the room and while you don’t see your mummah you see other pretty things.
“T…toysies?.. Toysies foh babbeh?”
You ask no one in particular. Of course they’re for you. You’re the only one here.
You try your best to crawl. you can’t hold yourself up yet but you can scoot yourself across the floor with your hoofsies.
You arrive at your destination. A stuffy friend. You give it bestest Huggies.
“Hi! I’m Lisa!”
The stuffy friend says. It startled you. A bit of scaredy poopies comes out.
“S…stuffy fwen tawkie? Stuffy fwen be nyu fwen!?!”
You ask and hug it again.
“Hi! I’m Lisa!”
“Babbeh wuuuuub wisa!”
You say still giving Huggies.
You fall asleep in Lisa’s soft fuzz.
You wonder where your mummah could have gone. Doesn’t she know you’re just a little babbeh? How rude of her. Hey atleast you have a friend now."
It’s only now you notice the soft pretty noise coming from… Somewhere in the room. You’ve listened to it for many forevers but you’ve never never paid much attention. It’s so pretty. Sort of reminds you of the songs your mummah would sing when you were just a tummeh babbeh… You want mummah.
“Well it seems he’s taken to the stuffed bear.”
Vince says.
“I figured the stuffed animals would be the first to be played with. Next I predict will be the softer fluffy bed. I hope he doesn’t discover that until he knows not to defecate everywhere.”
You say still watching the foal sleep.
“So how long is it? 14 hours a day the foal will sleep until it reaches adolescence?”
Vincent says.
“Yep. Slightly less boring than watching it eat and shit all day but still mind numbing.”
You say while jotting down notes.
“So how’s the one SBS survivor from the dumpster experiment doing? I know the guys in bio have taken to calling him “The Great Mighty Poo”. Something from a video game.”
Vince says with a chuckle.
“He’s doing exceptional. Still won’t eat anything that doesn’t atleast smell like fecal matter though. We’ll get to him eventually. They’re thinking about breeding him to make some kind of super litter pal.”
The foals wakes back up and scoots himself back over to the milk nozzle. Even with no kind of alert his internal clock is saying it’s getting close to milk time.
It doesn’t surprise you. If the mothers are eating regularly they themselves keep a set feeding schedule whether they realize it or not. Feral mares tend to just feed whenever they get the opportunity given the unstable nature of their food supply.
You Remember people asking why fluffy mares need to eat so much to produce milk. What these people fail to understand is that they were never meant to get pregnant outside of Hasbio facilities. Better yet not have a consistent source of food. The fact that the little buggers survive in the wild at all astounds you.
Their fluff is purely cosmetic and offers almost no thermal protection. which is why their little bodies are so devastated in the cold. Their bite force low and teeth sensitive to keep them from potentially harming children. Anything harder than a cooked peanut would break their teeth. Yet they continue to survive.
Of course short gestation and large broods also help. The average litter of foals is around four. More if the mare has a consistent food source. But that’s neither here nor there. You watch the foal suckle greedily. Getting as much of his precious miwkies as he possibly can before it shuts off. Little does he realize that we’re now giving him a set amount. The faster he suckles to sooner it stops. Such concepts are lost on the fluffy mind.
You suckle and suckle as fast as you can. Last time your tummy didn’t get full. This time you’re determined. Suddenly the milkies stop.
“Wha? Nu! Babbeh nu dwink nuff yet! Nee moh miwkies! Huuhuuhuu babbeh am nu fuww yet! Huuhuuhuu! Wan mummah!”
You lay on the poop covered pad crying. You don’t even know why you cry. Maybe with the vein hope that your mummah who you’ve never even met will hear and come to your rescue. But it never happens. You cry and cry until you get too tired to cry anymore.
What did you do to make mummah not love you and leave you in a safe room by yourself? Are you a bad babbeh? You just opened your eyes today. Atleast you think it was today. You really can’t tell.
“Sniffle… Babbeh nee mummah. Babbeh nee wub. Babbehs am foh Huggies an wub. Nu weave awone huuhuu.”
You suck on your front hoof trying to comfort yourself.
Atleast you have Lisa. She loves you. Atleast you think.
A long time (a week) passes and more of the same.
You scooch over and give Huggies to Lisa. Drink your unfilling miwkies, and nap. Until one day you’re suckling on the milky place and it stops before it usually does.
“Wha! NU! NU MIWKIES CUM BACKSIES! AM STIWW HUNGY!”
You didn’t even get enough to make you half full. Suddenly you hear something. Something like a sloshing noice. You look behind you and the big metal bowl has something in it. It’s brown and kind of looks like poopies. Suddenly the smell hits you.
“… MOH MIWKIES!”
You squeel before hustling over. While you still aren’t able to fully run yet you aren’t scooching like you used to. You’ve begun to explore your room a little more. You can’t play with the pretty blockies yet but you certainly love playing with the ball.
But that wasn’t important now. Finally you reach the bowl. It certainly was milkies but it had other stuff in it. Weird brown chunks. You try to suckle but that doesn’t work. All you end up doing is getting your face dirty. Finally your instinct kicks in and you take a bite.
"Mmmm. Gud chunky miwkies. You look up at the big metal thing the chunky miwkies came out of.
“Nyu fwen gib babbeh moh Nummies? Wub Nummies. Miwkie pwace nu gib nuff ta make babbeh fuww.”
You take another bite.
“Deez AM bestest Nummies babbeh ebah hab! Babbeh wub ou metah Nummie fwen.”
You say as you continue eating.
“Well it seems he’s taking to the weaning process well. We’ll keep cutting down his milk and adding more kibble with milk until eventually he’s only eating plain dry kibble.”
You say to Vincent.
“Oh wow the same exact meal every day. I guess I can’t even get on Fluffies about that considering most animals do it… Let’s switch the music from Mozart to Metallica and scare the shit out of him.”
Vince suggests with a laugh.
“Yes because we want to start the experiment all over again because it died of a heart attack right?”
You say with a smirk.
You and Vincent end your work day and head home. As you walk through the door your two fluffys run up to you.
“DADDEH!”
“FWUFFEH SUUU HAPPEH DADDEH AM HOMESIES!”
You scratch them behind both behind their ears and take your shoes off dreading watching the recorded tapes from tonight.
End Log.
