Asher dropped off an entire, freshly caught herd of fourteen this morning. He still had the just pulled foals in a cardboard box ready for drop-off at the Fluffmart in the van, and both his good girls sitting up in the front. There’s at least four nursing mothers in there, and a soon mummah- as well as a unicorn performing the traditional farce of puffed cheeks and demands. They are also all absolutely filthy, to the point I have almost no idea what colors any of them are. I put up a puppy expen in the yard to hold them until I can get them hosed off. Warlock and that pegasi toughy of his were staring through the fence until the idiot playing bantam rooster started shouting at him despite the intervening five feet. Whichever of this batch gets dumped in with him will probably make his life easier when he has to pick victims for me.
Katy said Foxfire should be alright to skip the sedatives as long as the bandages stay on for another day or so and she isn’t encouraged into anything strenuous. So a certain oversized demonfluff got her reprieve today as well.
She was actually hiding behind me on the way to the kitchen where the others were eating, tail tucked. It was all “tank’ou fo’ guud kibbwe nummies, Mummah Shado’” and she just crept to her bowl like a beaten dog and started eating.
And the others pulled away from her, to the point Rook and Glory both put themselves between Foxfire and her. They all avoided her in the playroom as well, and she just sprawled in a corner with a ball between her hooves until lunch. That was about as long as they could keep the credible attempt at silent treatment up, though. Glory nudged at Rook, Foxfire gave him puppy eyes- and he picked up a chunk of fluffy meat from his bowl and dropped it on top of Aurora’s kibble before he returned to the others. She’s since been allowed near the others again without them walking off- if not much…
Okay, as of dinner there has been a fluff-pile and communal grooming. Pack unity seems to have been restored- just with an altered hierarchy. I can live with that.
I did finally get around to hosing off the newest batch. Easy enough to pick out the milkbag possibilities by the teats swollen after a day without their foals nursing, and I made sure those were clean enough not to cause problems. One of them has tried to bite me twice so far- Lucky I wear gloves when dealing with ferals now. “Wet Stowmy gu! Stowmy speciew fwiend gib wowstest huwties if hoomin nu put Stowmy downies! Gib babbehs back! Nee’ wittw babbehs! Big babbehs gib huwties tu!”
Mr. Puffed cheeks himself seemed to be the one responding to that nonsense, which I will keep in mind. Four of the others looked up when she started shouting- all of them in about the same stage of adolescence as the Pack, maybe just a little bit older- but only one of them seemed inclined to any level of action at all, let alone anything like the belligerence of her father. Since the next demand claimed her bestest big babbeh would defend her, I have a suspicion.
On the other hand, I’m going to get these inside to wait for Katy and come back to scrub down these idiots a little more. I still need potential… “playmates” for the boys when they start noticing mares. They’re still dirty, but they’d be a great age and if that one cleans up the way I think hope she will…
Oh, the uproar when I took all the now sans foals mummahs inside. None of the grown stallions in the herd liked that at all. All but one of the mares are probably on their second or third litter, but they aren’t more than two or three. Still pretty good for ferals.
“Magic milk boxes” the semi easy way. Katy just either picked me up a few Alenix brand kits or brought me some of the ones she had on hand. Nice, concealing plastic containers with attachments inside. Legs go away, gel goes on, waste tube placed, feeding tube down the throat with a gag, settle them in the box with teats out, and the lid goes on. Empty the waste and refill the feedbin once a day. Completely manageable, won’t even have to open the box again unless the mare dies. Probably not going to hand that job over to Jake or Genny, though. Or Randy, much as he’d enjoy taunting them.
(For some mysterious reason, Genny has picked up all of the afterschool weekday shifts, and the nice afternoon weekend ones, Jake still has the ten hours a weekend he asked to drop back to so he can get his school stuff caught up, and Randy is just on the 6 to 2 weekend shift he’s always whined about. The one that’s almost entirely scrubbing things down and other monotonous, menial, easily supervised tasks. Strange how that works.)
Made it back out to finish scrubbing down the younger ferals. All of them just look so much smaller when they’re that wet. There are six of them at that edge between older foal and young fluffy, two of them just a bit older than the litter the one soon-to-be milkbag was screaming for. Pulled all six of them out, got them properly scrubbed down after I dropped the remaining adults of their herd in with Warlock’s lot.
Even split between colts and fillies. The older pair are a solidly pale pink unicorn almost mare and and a dark green and mint pegasi colt, both of them firmly in the humans are terrifying side of feral life. Stormy’s litter is a far more mixed bag. Both the fillies are admittedly very pretty finds. Even if the one didn’t clean up into the Rarity I could have mistaken her for, she does look like a pretty credible Coluratura. Light grey earthy, purple and blue streaked mane. The sister is a pegasi, lavender fluffed with a nice shaded blue mane. They have a very beleaguered, underweight brown brother, with the so-predictable naming scheme.
Less predictable is the fact the last, black and grey colt is doing his level best to shield the brown one from me, and became even more protective the moment I turned them out in the larger pen. Warlock took those two under his metaphorical wing the moment I put them in, despite the puffed cheeks and stomping hooves of their smarty father. Aster still hates him, but it’s hard to imagine anything else, and it isn’t like he doesn’t seem to echo her disdain. (He’s not a bad sort. Pity it’s so much fun to fuck with him.)
All three of the fillies are in adjacent wall cages, and none of them are happy about it. Debating between introducing them this week or waiting until after the boys display actual interest in the difference between boy fluffies and girl fluffies. Either way, Bill has expressed a strong preference that I get the introduction and any courtship behaviors on film. (I’m going to assume this is for research and analysis purposes, coming from him.)
The two green mares from the outside pen gave birth. They’re cuddled up so tightly together I can’t tell who’s foals are whose, but there are six of them, and I can see a preponderance of dark blue-ish colors. If they come out with the brains and colors of who I’m pretty sure sired both litters, most of those will end up pulled into the sale stock once they’re weaned. He’d probably have been much happier if I’d let him sacrifice himself, but the very fact he was willing to… I want his butt right where it is, keeping the others under control and maybe siring me more fluffies with whatever went right in his brain. His brother’s mate- who is admittedly a very pleasant shade of golden brown no matter what the newest additions and Aster are calling her- is getting close to whelping herself, probably by next week. Pretty sure the mare that looks like living hazard lights is pregnant as well, but I have less hopes for that litter.
Have I mentioned I’m going to be glad when we can start weaning salestock next week or so? Pepper is wrapped up enough in the week old grey alicorn, and the rest of Absinthe’s six she got back, plus helping with the two litters of ittybitties that she isn’t fighting me moving hers, Cotton Candy’s and Margarita’s over to the next run during the day so they can play themselves exhausted without tripping over the chirpies. It did take a little convincing at first, but that lot is all “Wawkie- Talkie babbehs” at nearly three weeks old. They are all right within her sight, with magic miwk boxes to feed from and Marnie to keep them in line, and I’m putting all fourteen back in with her every night, when they are tired out enough to be good and just want mummah, milk and huggies.
This also means they get practice listening to me on the way between runs every day. Miss Shadow is the one who lets them have access to toys and turns on the fluff-tv, as well as the one Marnie can use the baby monitor to summon in case of bad behavior. Bad foals who don’t listen to Marnie or Mama Pepper get to go sit in the next run over, where they can see the others playing without them and can’t see the tv through the covered door, and can hear Pepper and Marnie both telling them how bad they were to be sent to the sorry run. Thus far, an hour of that has rendered all the tiny victims into sobbing messes, and I haven’t needed to escalate to the lidded shoebox sitting in the sorry run.
Three litters all the same age is work to keep in line at this stage, especially with three more two weeks younger, which is why I was planning to keep the litters staggered. Hint. Birch should whelp sometime by the end of the week, and it’s looking like one of the bigger litters. Tansy and Bunny are both due week after next with the first of the litters full bred in house. And sometime in the week or so after that, I’ll have Cotton Candy, Margarita, and Absinthe all probably whelping within hours of each other. Again, thanks for that.
There is one thing for the fact all the current dams and studs have names- it means when I stop by Fluffmart for incidental supplies and end up in conversation, that this place sounds far more reputable than we honestly deserve on the normal fluffy side.
Incidentally, since I’m reminded, we were due an inspection for the higher grade breeding license as well as the licensing for any potential daycare work, and Asher recommended someone to sign off on the forms for us who isn’t a card carrying member of the anti-abuse petitioners. He came by on Friday, he peered at the nice clean cages that are slightly bigger than industry standard, with neatly typed up name labels and charts, the clean runs with polished, hygienically boxed milk bags supervised by cheerful nursemares, the larger foals playing happily in theirs. Our Playroom and the yard got very positive checks, as did the larger demonfluff kennel rooms. The outdoor run was waved off- which was the main reason I went with Asher’s advice, to have someone who wouldn’t question the existence of an extra herd of fluffies on the property. He saw that they had food, water, shelter, and a bare minimum of cleanliness, and checked it off the list. The Pack themselves managed to pull off charming and well behaved, even if Aurora remains far quieter than I’m used to. Glory more than made up for that by being his usual flamboyant self.
We have nine grown broodmares and four studs, since the Pack and the filly potentials aren’t quite mature enough to count and I listed the feeder-stock as temporary rather than broodstock/ permanent assets… Apparently we can have up to twenty five mares without upgrading the licence, which may involve upgrading the facility and definitely involves a higher fee. I can add a few of the herd to the listing if they prove out, it’s just that any not added need to not still be there next time an inspection comes due. (If numbers become an issue I can fix Pepper and just keep her as a nurse mare like Marnie is. I do wish Marnie wasn’t already spayed when Ash found her, because I like her temperament and the colors aren’t bad. Eh. What is, is. )
Regardless of that, we’re well within our classification and passed all the checks with flying colors. (Dave, I emailed copies of the forms to you and Kal so you can put it up on the sale website he was setting up. I need it all up and working by next week, so chop chop.)
First Chapter- The Pack- because what we need is more fluffies bred to eat other fluffies. (1) by :Shadowfox
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