The Rainbow Coat
Fluffies have a pretty good sense of smell, though you would never guess this from their lack of ability to use it intelligently.
It’s got a few uses, mares use it to identify their young once they’re born and the licky cleanies they give help them remember the scent of their foals.
It’s also a curse.
Bad smells like poopie smells cause them some harm.
They don’t like their own poopies and poopies are the worst thing ever to a fluffy.
Yes, they’re pretty wimpy like that.
The nose is also closely associated with pleasure.
They love the smell of Sketties after all and sweet treats, popcorn smell is pretty popular, and candy floss too. Fluffies are also known to have a fondness for sushi.
So anything with a sweet smell they absolutely love.
This is all well and good but is there a practical use for it?
Interestingly, yes.
Fluffies are drawn to the smell of other fluffies, especially if close by, and seek out companionship of other fluffies if there are no humans interacting with them.
They hate being lonely, and the greater their numbers the safer they feel.
Though that’s not helpful when they’re all scaredy-cats but it also means lots and lots of friends to play with.
This is why you see herds form in the alleys of cities or in parks and especially in woods and forests. And how they eventually draw to each other.
And how they almost always happen to find their dead foals after they’ve wandered off.
It’s not just a family of fluffies who knock on doors and it’s not always herds that invade your garden thanks to poor, broken fencing and open gates.
Fluffy herds can form in places where they’re often dumped.
Is there any difference between a feral and a domesticated?
Domestics are always better kept and suffer less conditions related to malnutrition.
Feral borns, if anything, who have never been raised in a human home are always more grateful when they’re eventually taken in.
This is why some people actually take them in and adopt them. Despite their filthiness and the diseases they carry.
They’re also considered a challenge to trainers hoping to overcome their defective programming from being raised in the wild.
But true feral borns are pretty uncommon, most of the time domestics become “ferals” once they’re out on the street.
And it’s not like they’re not all dead by winter anyway.
A herd had been wandering the street and it was dark time now.
Each knock (or light tapping) on the doors had been ignored or that they were shooed away.
No one wanted to feed ferals in this street, all the good and clean fluffies were kept indoors where they were safe and wanted.
What pests they are!! Disease riddled vermin!! Shitrats!!
The smarty needed to find nummies for the herd and for the soon-babbehs.
There were tummy babbehs but no talkie babbehs or chirpeh babbehs.
A few of the foals had been actually taken. It’s rare to see a herd without any foals.
They had pretty colours. The mummehs cried at first but their bestest babbeh had to be saved and given nummies.
No Babbeh deserved to be out here but definitely not the bestest babbehs.
The Daddehs and Mummehs only had their good Babbehs now.
The smarty had taken the poopie babbehs and the no pretty colours away from the other babbehs.
Selected to be eaten for the mares who would need milkies and food for tummy babbehs.
You’d think fluffies are pretty dumb which is true, but their programming means that they know when they’re pregnant and know what’s needed for their babbehs.
They don’t understand, they just know that’s how it is. Like they don’t understand why special huggies make babbehs, just that it does.
And Daddehs only want the good, pretty babbehs.
The mares cried when they took their bites into the morsels of food that were presented. These Babbehs were still good despite being no pretty and poopie.
The mares and the smarty cried. Babbehs weren’t for nummies. Babbehs are for love, Huggies and playing.
But the tummy babbehs needed nummies and the soon-Mummehs needed to have milkies for them.
The smarty kept the hungry males away while they ate. Tummy Babbehs are good babbehs that need nummies and milkies. And the mares needed the nummies.
The males cried pathetically, when would they get their nummies?!
And then one desperate evening, the rest of the babbehs had to be eaten for the tummy babbehs and for the herd.
They were too hungry now.
Not even being good Babbehs could save them from being nummies.
The herd was at its largest that it had ever been with 9 grown fluffies amongst its ranks.
There was much less before, but the herd grew and grew as more fluffies who had been kicked out by their Daddehs had joined the herd.
And then the babbehs were born, and then there were tummy babbehs, and then every fluffy was hungry.
Fluffies have no real sense of time beyond light time and dark time.
And the cold time.
The smarty’s special friend had been out on the street the longest, around 3 months.
There was barely food on the streets and in alleys that could sustain them comfortably.
An initiative against street litter meant that fines could be dealt out swiftly.
Encouraging people to actually put their crap in the trash.
Meaning that there was barely any food for fluffies.
The smarty felt sad, all of the herd were sad. They really wanted a Daddeh to save them all.
Babbehs weren’t for nummies, they all knew that, they were for huggies and play.
They were all bad fluffies, no wonder no Daddehs wanted them.
There had to be someone with nummies!
There just had to be.
The smarty was getting more desperate and more sad.
He had learned to ask nicely as his Daddeh had taught him before he got kicked out.
His Daddeh was a good Daddeh and wanted him to be a good smarty.
His Daddeh had saved him when no other Daddeh had wanted to.
And then he had no Daddeh.
And then he played the hidey gu seekie game with his nyu mummeh.
And then he had no one. Until he became part of a herd with special friend.
Tonight was different though.
They could all smell Sketties!!
Their nostrils took a whiff of that beautiful air and knew instantly what it was.
Their tummy hurties grew sharper but their mouths began to whet. It smelt so good.
They had to have it.
The smarty followed the smell, the herd had all been moving slowly, they stopped confused a few time’s until the gentle breeze blew to give them a hint.
They were so very hungry, the smarty wouldn’t take no for an answer.
They needed those nummies!!
The smarty would be polite as Daddeh taught him to always be.
But that wasn’t working, being polite and nice never got nummies. Dummeh humans! They had to give the fluffies nummies and save the herd.
They found the source of the smell.
A house, well lit and yet foreboding.
The skettie smell was really strong here.
But onions.
But garlic.
But stinky.
But it was nummies.
The herd began to get jittery with excitement. Bestest nummies. They needed the bestest nummies for their tummy hurties.
But where was the skettie?
The fluffy patted as hard as could on the door of the house.
The lights were on and the fluffies were drawn to it like moths.
Light, any light, is inviting to a fluffy.
The dark was always too scary and there was always something out there, unseen and waiting.
The door opened.
“Mistah giv smawtie an Hewd nummies nao!! Hewd hav tummy hewties!! Nee nummies!! Nao Dummeh human!!”
He blew out his cheeks and he was ready to make further threats.
The tall man had looked down on all of them, his face unmoved and passive.
He merely stared down. There was nothing about his face that gave a flicker of emotion. He merely looked down on them. The lack of response unsettled the smarty.
”Come in. I’ll feed you.”
The door opened wider and the hallway was well-lit.
They walked inside and began to smell the air.
Sketties?
No. fluffy?
was there another fluffy here? It smelled like a fluffy lived here. But why did the air no smell pretty? Was it a poopie fluffy?
They were instructed to wait, which is no problem for an adult fluffy (they’re only really adventurous when they’re foals).
The smarty’s mouth began to salivate, they would soon get their nummies at last.
Sketties.
Instead he brought out a kitbag, and he opened it and pulled out a comb and a magnifying glass.
The smarty was confused, what was the Daddeh doing?
”I need to check if you’re all good fluffies. If I see you’re a good fluffy, you get your nummies. If you’re a bad fluffy, you get none. Understand?”
The fluffies all smiled and opened their mouths to express their cuteness and their happiness (a programmed response, they do this unconsciously to look cute).
There was a chorus of “Otay Daddeh” from the herd.
They all wanted to be good fluffies so bad!!
The tall man had pulled on some gloves and checked the smarty first.
The smarty had a red coloured fur that was popular around Christmas.
Seasonal fluffies are often the first to be disposed of once the holidays are over.
Though this wasn’t the case for the smarty. He was an “unwanted gift” that was given to his Daddeh, but his Daddeh then had the forever sleepies and he couldn’t remember what his Daddeh looked like.
He combed through the smarty’s fur, checking the skin underneath as well as the overall health and condition of the fluffy’s coat and for parasites.
”you’re a smarty?”
“Yes Daddeh. Am smawty”
”…you’re a good fluffy. You have pretty colours”
“Tank oo Daddeh. Smawty am gud smawty”
The smarty began to wag his tail with joy.
At last a new Daddeh, and he was a good fluffy now because his new Daddeh had said so.
He would soon get his nummies.
The tall man checked the pretty coloured fluffies the same way that he had checked the smarty and deemed them good.
He put them close to the smarty and asked them to remain patient. And still.
The rest of the fluffies, those with no pretty colours, were taken outside.
The good fluffies had wondered where Daddeh would be taking them.
A half hour had passed and the smarty was growing more impatient.
Where was Daddeh? And where was herd? He was really hungry now like all the fluffies.
Only himself (a red coloured unicorn), a yellow coloured wingie fluffy, an emerald coloured soon-Mummeh and a deep purple soon-mummeh with wingies remained.
The tall man came back in, his expression looked pretty dark, there were no fluffies with him.
”…they were not good fluffies, so they don’t get any nummies……… I’m going to take you downstairs and give you a new home and feed you”
The tall man took them down to the basement. The smarty’s impatience disappeared upon being told he was finally being given nummies.
He had forgotten all about his special friend, he was too hungry to care about her absence. He had even forgotten about his own babbehs. The ones that the herd had to ravenously eat.
It was all the Dummeh fluffies’ fault! That’s why there were no nummies! Nummies were only for good fluffies. And now the bad ones were all gone.
Thank you Daddeh.
The downstairs basement smelt of fluffies.
Where were the other fluffies?
The fluffies could smell that fluffies had been here previously, some of them called out “fwends? Wan pway?”
There was no response inside that empty basement.
”there used to be fluffies here but they were bad. I only want to keep good fluffies………will you all be good fluffies for me?”
The fluffies began to assure their new Daddeh that they would be good.
Inside the basement, small pens were set out with hay covering the floor, a blanket for comfort, soft toys, a fluffy safe water dispenser, a tray for food and a small tray for litter.
If you were to look at the play pens which had been converted to fluffy pens you would think they were cells.
The fluffies could move in them, but barely with any room, and they could see their friends.
But they could not climb out. And that was important.
Before they went in their pens, the tall man bathed them and put an oil in their fur.
Tea tree oil.
It tingled their skin and it was hurtie but it would be enough to kill bugs in their skin and fur.
After an hour he rinsed it out with clean water and combed through their fur.
”only clean, pretty fluffies are good fluffies”
He patted each of them dry with a towel and then gave them pin-prick hurties.
They cried out in pain but were silenced when he gave them a treat. They were now clean and vaccinated and could safely live in the home.
They were given nummies in the morning and were so happy to finally be given a good home.
The smarty was convinced that it was all the Dummeh fluffies’ fault.
They were why all the bad things happened. Dummehs!!! Bad Fluffies!!! He was so glad that they were gone.
New Daddeh loved them all.
In the evening, Daddeh had come back down into the basement.
The fluffies were bored and getting restless in their pens and they really wanted to play with one another and have huggies.
The playpen cells had prevented any meaningful interaction beyond chitchat. What else can a fluffy do when it’s trapped?
The Dummeh netting of the playpen stopped them from huggies. And they could barely see each other through the nets.
The smarty saw Daddeh and sat and lifted his arms up to be picked up and hugged.
As did the others.
Daddeh had brought a white bag and a white box down with him.
What were in those boxes? Where they toys?
The smarty wanted to see.
Daddeh picked up the smarty and examined his fur. The smarty was so glad for the good upsies, he was so happy to be out of the pen. He could play nicely now with daddeh.
A sheet of clean paper had been spread across the table.
The Daddeh switched on the radio and some gentle, easy listening music was put on.
It would help him concentrate. Maybe relax the fluffies.
The smarty liked the sound of the music.
He asked Daddeh what the sound was. Daddeh didn’t respond. He was pulling shiny toys out of his bag.
The smarty looked up and was wondering what game he was going to play with Daddeh.
“Wut game we pway dad-“
The smarty was pressed down against the table and the belts fastened over his neck and his behind.
He couldn’t struggle and his legs couldn’t move. He began to wail and then he began to threaten.
In a glimpse he caught view of the blade.
A scalpel.
“Pwee Daddeh nu hewt smawty!! Am gud fwaffy!!! Am gud!! Am-“
He let out a bloodcurdling wail as the blade sunk into his flesh and incisions were made.
All the fluffies began to wail out loud to match the volume of the smarty.
The tall man just increased the volume on the radio.
Why did they put Buble on again? It infuriated him a little. Maybe they should change their tunes around and get some new stuff on. He’s old but not that old. He didn’t just want to hear watered-down swing or irksome British singer-songwriters. He really hated wgite man with a guitar music. Really.
But today, it was an easy job.
A large square of flesh was cut and removed from the smarty who wailed out and screamed.
He was becoming more and more frantic, his weak limbs could only squirm.
The smarty’s flesh was then stretched and pinched together.
The staple gun fastened it together, each press the smarty let out a grunt. The tears had run out. The smarty’s voice had grown hoarse.
Disinfectant was dabbed on and a covering placed over.
“Hatchu!!! Smawty hatchu!!! Hatchu!!! Why dadddh gib hewties tu smawty!! Am gud fwaffy!!!”
”I couldn’t care less if you hate me. You live here you pay the price. And I ask for a pound of flesh fluffy. A pound of flesh. I suppose you don’t want to live here and not have nummies?”
“Smawty nu cawe Daddeh am meanie!!!”
The tall man placed the smarty back in his pen, the smarty realised how powerless he was and couldn’t move his limbs.
”Well you’re free to leave. But you must get out of this playpen yourself and walk out. You’re my guest, smarty and you’re free to leave whenever you want to. I’ll feed you in the morning so long as you’re still here.”
The smarty looked seriously down, he averted his eyes away from the tall man.
”but just remember that if you go out on the street you’ll have nothing and no friends and no herd and nothing to eat. You’ve got everything you could ever want here. You’ll be a good fluffy if you stay here and give me, your daddy who saved you from all the bad fluffies, a pound of your flesh whenever I want it. Now do you want to go out there onto those horrible streets or pay the price and live with a daddy who loves you?”
The smarty couldn’t move because of the pain but he couldn’t do anything but say
“…yes Daddeh……… Smarty Wub nyu housies………Smawty Wub Daddeh. Smawty wan stay……”
The tall man merely smirked.
(That’s what they all say, he thought)
The strip of flesh was resting in a box of ice, the tall man had to be quick now.
He had other business upstairs to attend to now that he was done with the shitrats downstairs.
He took the cold box upstairs, his patient was waiting for him. He was full of hurties.
The man changed his apron and his gloves, and began to examine his equipment.
“Pwee………Daddeh…….su….hewties. Fwaffy nu……… wike dis………”
The voice felt weak from the hurties. He knew how much his Daddeh loved him and that his Daddeh always helped him with his hurties.
His patient was suffering and had been suffering for a long time.
He was glad the skettie scent from the can trap worked so well. So many shitrats could be used to help. And be useful for a change.
He had fresh tissue that he could treat his patient with.
The questions that he had been asked at the shelter had begun to centre on if he was really capable of looking after fluffies.
After all, he had taken so many in.
Of course he was, he had a very sick fluffy at home that he took care of.
The fluffy had contracted a flesh eating virus.
It was unfortunate, very unfortunate.
The fluffy had at one time been a beautiful sea blue dashie type fluffy, with beautiful rainbow mane and a horn and wings.
An alicorn and super rare.
His Daddeh loved him so much.
But then the disease came. Daddeh didn’t know how he could have got it
His wingies fell off, his skin began to rot and flesh would fall off.
The disease began to eat away at his mouth muscles and begin to expose his teeth.
He began to go blind in one eye, his legs stiffened and his joints were inflamed.
The fluffy had never felt so much hurties. Such an ugly no pretty fluffy, his Daddeh must not love him like this.
The Daddeh had paid so much to let him live in this nice home with him.
And the cure would’ve been death to his fluffy’s condition.
But Daddeh knew better.
The infected tissue would be cut away from the body and replaced with fresh tissue.
Infected tissue would be replaced with healthy, fresh tissue.
Regularly.
The wingies would need to be replaced but the fluffy had no feeling and couldn’t feel if he had wings or not.
The skin stitched on and replaced the infected.
The fluffy could not feel his skin and his body began to stiffen up with each new replacement of flesh.
But he would look pretty for Daddeh. His Daddeh had lived pretty fluffies.
And with his new fur he felt like the prettiest, especially when Daddeh got rid of his stinky fur.
Each time it was done, the flesh was stitched onto the body and had stretched and stiffened and sagged in some areas.
An uneven rainbow coat that fitted the fluffy.
But he loved it so much. So many colours.
The body stiffened and the fluffy became more slow.
Kibble had to be softened with water to make it easier to bite into and vegetables were boiled to mush to allow the fluffy to eat with its stiff mouth muscles.
But then his Daddeh moved him onto fluffy purée and pate. More expensive but so much easier to eat, especially as his jaw muscles were so weak.
It was all that could be done to prolong his life.
The Daddeh wasn’t skilled enough at organ transplants and he was lucky the disease hadn’t reached that far into his body.
But he knew how to stitch and treat the skin. He was a pretty good beautician at one point. And then he became a mortician. But he didn’t enjoy that work, though his customers never complained about his methods.
Not one part of the fluffy’s skin was it’s own. Not any more.
The skin and fur had come from all different fluffies with the prettiest of colours.
His skin resembled a grotesque, multicoloured patch blanket.
He had patches of purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, pink. And not one poopie colour.
And today he would have a patch of red fur to be added to his flesh.
It had been generously given to him by a good smarty who wanted to help him.
He wished he could’ve played with the good smarty and gave him Huggies but his leggies didn’t work good any more.
Daddeh had called his most favourite fluffy, Elmer.
His new name. Dazzle no longer was suitable considering his modifications.
He resembled the multicoloured, patchwork elephant that daddeh’s Daddeh used to read to him about.
Daddeh told Elmer that the good fluffies had come to see Elmer when he was asleep and that they gave him presents of fresh fur to replace the sick fur.
Daddeh told him that his friends wanted to give him Huggies but he was sleepies.
Elmer wished he could’ve stayed awake but he was so very tired. He felt sad that he couldn’t see them.
Elmer promised Daddeh he would give them Huggies if he seen them.
Daddeh had cleaned the infected area and replaced the flesh. The flesh was beautifully stitched onto the body.
Elmer’s body was a patchwork of multi-colours and soft swells of scars from staples, stitches and where previous skin had been replaced.
Fluffy flesh unfortunately isn’t very durable and can barely form calluses except on the feet and “hooves”. A scar on a fluffy is a pulsing swelling blister that becomes less red over time. The scar tissue is never hard.
Elmer was always scared when his operation was getting done but it had to be done to make him pretty and Daddeh said it stopped the forever sleepies too.
He loved his rainbow coat, he missed his colourful rainbow mane but Daddeh had made him a better coat of fur to replace the mane.
Daddeh was such a good Daddeh.
Elmer loved his Daddeh so much.
