I’ve combined these into one long story with three chapters, since the original got away from me length-wise.
CHAPTER I
“Gu way dummeh hoomin! Dis am smawty wand nao!”
Fucking cool. I had shit to do today. Now I get to deal with a bunch of cartoons shitting on my porch. “Fuck off, you go away. This is hoomin’s land.” He stepped back, shocked at my reversal. Christ, it’s like a Furby with teeth.
“Hewd! Dummeh hoomin nu wisten tu smawty! Hewd gotta pwotec smawty! Hewd gotta pwotect hewd nyu wand!” He’s scampering away to round up his tuffies. It’s honestly adorable, it’s not like I don’t see the appeal. Even had one for a couple years before he got popcorn lung from vaping too much.
Yeah, I’m not great with pets.
While the Smarty bounces his way to his herd to formulate a cunning battle plan, I head around to the side of the house and grab my garden hose. It’s got one of those sprayer heads and I figure they probably won’t love that, so i drag it back to the porch and sit on the step.
The smarty walks back towards me flanked by three tuffies. Two normal pighorses and a “wingy friend.” Cool. "Smawty gib dummeh hoomin wun mow chancey! Hoomin gu way! Dis Smawty wand nao!!!" He puffs his cheeks and bucks, bouncing from his front to his back hooves and kicking when he does it. Good god, kid has some energy.
I spray him in the face. It’s not hard, but it’s unpleasant to be sure. Kinda chilly out, too. Lots of wind. Bet he’s not loving it. He sputters out, tipping into one of his tuffies who rights him. This tuffy gets hit.
“Dummeh tuffy! Nu gib huggies fow smawty, gub huwties tu dummeh hoomin!” The two earthies “charge,” if you can call it that. I switch to the focus setting and zing the one on the right. Gets him in the eye. He goes down hard and starts sobbing. “Huhuhuhuhu! See pwace owwies! Hewp Pumkin!” The other turns from me to help his comrade and I use the opportunity to get him in the balls.
“Nuuuuuu! Nu huwt tuffy wumps! Gween Gwassie need wumps fow babbehs!” He abandons both the fallen tuffy, and his Smarty. Now the only able bodied soldier for this tin pot Mussolini is the wingy friend. Probably the brains of the operation.
I put the hose down and approach. The wingy friend tries to run but the smarty shoves it over so he can get away. I pick up the terrified fluffy and his earthie buddy rough by their manes.
“Hewp! Munstah hab Cwoudy! Hewp cwoudy!” I sorta jerk up on his mane. It hurts him, but he pipes down. I bring them around back and by the time I reach the dig site, Pumpkin is back to yelling. “Put Pumkin down nao! Pumkin nu wike upsies! Upsies fow babbehs! Nu fow tuffy Pumkin!”
I’ve got like a six foot deep hole. About three feet across both directions. Was gonna install a new motor for my septic tank pump, but I hit an unmarked pipe. No damage, but I had to put it somewhere else. Now the hole floods when it rains.
I chuck the tuffies in.
They each land with an ‘oomph’ and start whining. “Meanie! Wet tuffy gu! Nu wan be in dummeh sowwy howe!” “Wingies hewp! Cwoudy scawed! Nu wan pway tuffy nu mowe, wan mummah!” I stood and watched them scream for like ten minutes, but when I turned to go I saw the herd rounding the corner. Not that many fluffies, maybe a dozen total not counting foals. The smarty is in the middle using the other fluffies as shields. “Whewe tuffies? Hoomin gunna gif back tuffies wite nao!” Man, little dude can’t stop bucking when he’s riled up. Accidentally knocks a babbeh off the mare behind him. “Smawty wook out! Nu huwt bestest babbeh!”
The smarty pushes through the crowd, suddenly angry that they’re trying to protect him like he’d told them to do mere moments before. “Hoomin betta du wat smawty say ow ewse smawty gib sowwiest poopies ebba saw!”
“Okay. You win. Your tuffies are down in my sketty hole.” I point to the pit. “Go see for yourself.”
He and his remaining tuffy peer over the edge and see the other tuffies crying at the bottom, hoarse from yelling. “Wha? Whewe sket-”
Naturally I kicked the smarty in. His tuffy jumped, but I got him by the head scruff. “Owwies! Nu huwt Gween Gwassie! Nu huwt Gween Gwassie!” I grab his snout and hold it shut with my free hand. He shits himself, either out of fear or anger.
“Shut the fuck up. Which babies are yours?” He tries to speak but my hand is blocking him. I look out at the herd, quaking and hugging each other for comfort. “It otay fwend, hoomin nu huwt gud fwaffy.” “Huuhuu munstah scawy!”
“Well? Who has his babbehs?” I shake him around by his snout. I can hear him sobbing and it turns to screaming in his closed mouth when I almost drop him and reacquire my grip by clamping down and crushing his nose. A green mare steps forward with four tawkie babbehs on her back. “Nice Mistah? Pwease wet speshaw fwend gu. Wosie nee speshaw fwend tu hewp babbehs gwow big an stwong!” She’s got tears in her eyes and shakes as I approach. The tuffy is struggling, his eyes are glued to the babbeh in back. Green just like him. But with a horn. Potential smarty friend.
I pluck him before the mare can even object. She’s whining about upsies when I lightly kick her in the mouth and make her tumble backwards. Her babbehs are all on the ground now, chirping and yelling and complaining. “Mummah hewp! Munstah take bwudda!” “Cheep! Scawy! Cheep peep! Babbeh hide!”
I drop the tuffy at my feet. Some teeth fall out and his nose gushes blood for a second. Guess I’d been holding him at an angle where that couldn’t drain. He looks up, but the rage is tempered with fear. “Nu! Gib back Cwovew! Gib back daddeh’s wittwe babbeh!”
“Okay.” I say. “But only if you bring me the smarty’s babbehs.” A gasp goes out over the herd. “Wai…wai mistah wan smawty babbehs?” A fair question. No reason to lie here. “I’m going to throw them in that hole over there with their daddy and his two tuffies. Then I’m going to let you all leave. Anyone who tries to trick me or give me hurties goes in the hole. It’s not nice down there.” I step forward, eyes locked with Green Grassy as I squeeze his baby and pull my thumb from its mouth. “Peep! Owwies! Huwties! Daddeh, mummah, hewp! Nu wub babbeh nu mow?”
“Where. Are. His. Babies.”
The tuffy looks sullen and defeated. He walks towards the herd to a very nervous white wingie mare. There are five babies on her back. Three look like the smarty in some regard. “Dis…dis am smawty famiwy.” The mare is sobbing but too afraid to move. “Nuuu nu take babbehs way! Tuffy wyin! Tuffy teww wies! Mummah wub babbehs! Babbehs wub mummah!” I look at Green Grassie. "I need all of those babies to go in that hole. If you do it, I’ll give your baby back. If you don’t, I am going to fucking eat him in front of you." He wasn’t expecting that energy and he shits again. “Nuuuu! Nu am nummie babbeh! Am onwy wittwe babbeh huhuhuhuhu…”
I flick the baby in the belly. It’s soft like a beanbag and I can feel the indentation left. That’s tissue damage. “Owwwwwww! Huhuhuhu peeeeeeeep”
The tuffy goes to the mare. She’s backing away frantically. "Nu! Nu can hab babbehs! Mummah wub babbehs! Nu! Nu!" She lunges at him, ironically dropping her babbehs when she does. He gives her sorry hoofies to the face and when she falls over abd cries he bites her ear and pulls. “Eeeeee! Nunununununu! Nu take heawie pwace! Nu take heawie pwace! Take babbehs, take babbehs!” The tuffy collects the babbehs by flipping them up on his back. He walks to the edge of the hole and drops them onto the grass. “Mistew weawwy mean it? Gween Gwassie hafta huwt aww dese babbehs?”
“As long as they’re the smarty’s babbehs. Like I said, if the smarty babbehs go in the hole, you get your babbeh back.” He sits and stares. Then he turns to the babbehs.
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.
From the bottom I hear the smarty. “Hu twow dis? Wai babbehs…nu! Nu! Dese smawty babbehs! Nu! Nu! Nu!” I can hear them peeping but it sounds like they’re injured. I peer over the edge and see the tuffies trying not to step on them. Looks like the babies all lived.
“Okay. Fair is fair. Here’s your baby.” I toss the green foal at his mother casually. She yelps and wobbles to catch him. “Now fuck off. Leave.” The herd filed slowly out, babbling and whining as they went. “Huuhuu nu faiw hoomin nu gib nummies.” “Wai smawty gu way? Whewe smawty?” “Su hungwy, nee’ nummies…”
As the day wears on and the sun reaches the top of the sky, the fluffies in the hole get direct sunlight for the first time all day. The herd had all gone, save for the smarty’s special friend. She remained at the edge of the pit offering kind words and asking me to help as though my answer will change.
“Huuhuu babbehs in howe huuuuuhuhuhuu.” She was sat back on her fat haunches crying into her hoofies. “Meanie munstah fwow babbehs in scawy howe wif speshaw fwend!” She stopped for a moment as a look crossed her face. Oh. She’d forgotten about him. “HUUUUUU speshaw fwend in howe! Nu hab speshaw fwend ow babbehs nu mow huuhuhuuuuu.” Jesus. Talk about a literal thinker.
“Dummeh hoomin! Wet smawty outta howe nao! Nu wan be in dummeh howe nu mowe, smawty dun nao!” Hahaha. He still sounds confident. Dumb bastard. I kick at the mare to get her attention. She jumps and poops a little. “Huu nu huwties mistah.” Wow, original. I’ll keep that in mind.
“Why are you here? Leave. Your herd left. They are staying in the hole.” She starts nervously kicking her legs on the ground like a toddler. “Nuuuuu! Babbehs am in howe! Mummah nu can weabe wifout babbehs!” She’s crying so hard she sneezes and startles herself.
“The babies are in the hole. They’re gone now. Leave.” I hear voices from the hole respond. “Nu mummah! Nu weabe babbehs!” “Huuhuu babbeh scawed pwease mummah sabe babbeh!” “Dummeh babbeh! Nu need mummah! Daddeh am smawty!” I look at her, she looks at me expectantly for some fucking reason.
“You heard him. He’s got it. Leave. Now.” She’s getting it now. They’re gone. They’re not coming back. “Bu…but babbehs nu am safies! Babbehs nee mummah miwkies stiww! Babbehs nu can hab big nummies! Am onwy wittwe babbehs!” Oh is that all?
“Not a problem. They won’t be fed.”
Now she’s lost. “Wat mean?” Her head is cocked as though the answer may fall out of her ear. Maybe more words? “They won’t get any food. Nummies. I’m not giving them any.”
“Bu whewe dey fin nummies? Nu see nummies in howe…” She turns back towards it, stopping when she sees me move. She backs away from the hole. Good. “They didn’t. There aren’t any. There is nothing to eat down there except fluffies.” That gets her attention. She stands bolt upright and yells at me with a rage I’d not seen from her.
“NU! FWUFFIES NU AM NUMMIES! FWUFFIES AM FOW HUGGIES AN WUB!” She charges me, I just sorta stick my hand in her mouth and pick her up by the lower jaw. She’s shitting and crying and trying to talk so I jab my thumb in her eye and slowly start to squeeze. “Stop or I’m taking your eyes.” She does. Huh. Thought she’d call my bluff. Not interested in that kinda juice on my shirt.
“Look. If none of them eat any fluffies, they all die. Those babies had teeth. They’re small, but fluffy meat isn’t hard to eat.” I pause as if to think. "Well, that’s assuming they don’t just eat the babies." She starts squirming again and I just sorta sight. “Fine. You want to stay here? Be my guest.” I toss her away from the hole and go to the woodshed. I grab a tent stake and a length of hemp rope. I drive the stake into the ground by the pit about a foot back. I cut off five feet of rope and tie one end to the stake. When it’s secure, I go to pick up the mare who is clumsily running around my yard in a panic because she doesn’t remember how to leave. Also I think she keeps forgetting her babies aren’t coming back.
She’s babbling about being scared when I grab her. She starts screeing and huuhuuing until I drop her by the rope. I slip the rough rope loop around her midsection and pull it snug. “Owwies! Nu wike scwatchy sketty! It huwt fwuffy! Nu feew pwetty.” I chuckle a bit and tighten it some. “Owwies! Nuuuuu! Tu tite! Nu pwease! Wet fwuffy gu!” Eh, one more pull. Now it draws a little blood from her tummy skin. “M…mistah! Pwease…nu make sketty su tite…nu…nu can make…gud bweathies…” Perfect. I set her down.
“There. Now youse can’t leave.”
I walk back to my house to clean up, leaving her and her mate to squabble.
As the sun sets I go back out. The mare has quite a few cuts on her tummy now and she’s running in a tight circle around the stake. Only got like a foot of clearance on the hole side. She’s just sobbing and running in circles. Doesn’t even see me walk up.
I peer into the hole. Both tuffies are dead. He stomped their heads in and now the smarty is preparing to eat. He’s not thrilled, but he’s doing it. “Huuuhuuu nu wan num tuffies, was gud tuffies huhuhuhu smawty sowwy fow hafta num.” Good. He feels shitty and doesn’t want to die. That’ll be fun to watch. He starts trying to bite through the skin of the wingie friend. It’s hard. His teeth aren’t built for this. All of this goes against his every instinct.
“Huuhuu nu taste pwetty…” He spits and cries some more. “Tu much fwuff…nu fow nummies…” And then he does it. It’s only for a second, right after his tummy growls. But he does it and seeing it is enough for me to go to bed confident that tomorrow will be a real fucking treat. Hungry son of a bitch.
He looked at his sleeping son.
CHAPTER II
We got a heat wave, y’all. Bring a beach umbrella and some sunblock, ain’t a cloud in the sky.
The fluffies in the pit have not eaten in three days.
I’ve been keeping mummah fed up here while they ran down. Since she’s up top she’s in the sun more, but I want her staying put. She made her bed, she has to lie in it. “Huuuu hewwo munstah…huuuu ‘haf’ ‘haf’ hatechu huuuuuu…” Ha. She can barely stand. She’s on famine rations, only thing she has what could be described as “enough” of is water. I caught her dumping her water today so that her suffering babbehs and speshaw fwend could make good drinkies. She freaked out thinking I was gonna punish her. I told her she doesn’t get any more today. The look on her face told me she hadn’t drank yet. Throughout the rest of that day she slowly got more thirsty. “Peez daddeh…nee wawa…suuuu fiwsty…” She’d cry and nothing would come out. Pretty funny. Before I went to bed, she was barely moving, her breathing shallow.
I filled a bar cup with water and brought it out. I gently put her in my lap and gave her the water. I was delicate, she’s in poor health and if she’s the first to die the end will be really boring. “Haf haf da…daddeh? Sabe…sabe fwaffey?” I softly stroke her face. Her fluff is matted and dirty, and her belly is stained with dried blood. “Oh, honey” I coo, “I’m not your daddy. I just don’t want you to go forever sleepies yet.” She’s crestfallen, as much as she can be in her state. I set her down gently and go to check the hole. I’ve been leaving them be because frankly it had gotten gross watching them chow down on those corpses. But now the food was basically gone.
The babbehs were all huddled together in the corner. They’d formed a hugpile to keep the tummy hurties away, but it didn’t seem to work as they were still whining.
“Huuuhuuu hab wowstest tummeh huwties daddeh peeeeese hewp babbeh…” These babies used to stand out from each other, but they’re all so caked with mud and dried blood and shit that they’ve all taken on similar color, both to each other and to their surroundings. It’s pretty grim, and as a result their daddeh has taken to calling all of them “babbeh.” Near as I can tell, all five foals have names. It’s become a point of contention today.
“Babbeh awweddy knu daddeh nu hab mowe nummies. Aww da fwuffy nummies gu bad, nu smeww pwetty. Nu taste pwetty. Gib aww fwuffies sickies, nu num.” He’s right. They’d rotted. Not that the kids understand that. "Daddeh! Nu am babbeh! Am Wadybug! Wadybug, Wadybug, WADYBUG!" The one I’m now pretty sure is the red filly breaks from the huggie pile and waddles over to the rotting remains of fluffies I’m sure they all knew well. She tries to bite the exposed meat, but it’s gone bad in the hot sun. Anything that isn’t leathery and impossible for her to get through is putrefied and makes her vomit to even taste.
“Dummeh…Wadybug…nu can…num fwuffies… Am…am tu wittwe…nu can chompy…wif…wif teefies…” He’s panting. He’s so hungry he can barely move. The babbehs benefit from already having been pretty fat as well as requiring less to be full. The smarty had no limit to what he could eat, but he could only stomach so much. Both literally as fluffies aren’t really built for cannibalism on a digestive level, and figuratively in terms of the horror of his situation. Unfortunately, daddeh stopping means babbehs don’t eat. He was mama birding it. Honestly the only reason they ate so well is because he’s a fucking idiot who has no idea how much food they need. He clearly thinks he’s been barely feeding them and gorging himself, but it’s almost the opposite. Just as he doesn’t know how little they need, the psychological stress of eating his friends, a meal where he’s weeping and begging forgiveness throughout, has him undereating. He doesn’t know how much meat he needs. It’s more than he’s been eating.
To him, the pressures are enormous. He’s literally starving to death and I can see his ribs. But the last time he swallowed a bite of Cloudy he was vomiting blood within an hour. I’m pretty sure three of the foals fucking drank it. He can’t eat more of that rancid meat. It will kill him. And he can’t die. He’s the Smarty. He has a herd to protect. He has a family to protect. He cannot save his babies if he starves to death in front of them. He owes them more than that, his babies who’ve somehow managed to stay miserable but plump. So plump. God, he thinks, Ladybug is a big babbeh.
“Wadybug? Cum hewe. Cum tu daddeh weaw kwik.” He’s weak, but he’s summoning all his strength. His daughter goes to him but stops short. She loves her father, but he’s mean sometimes. She fears him too. “Wat…wat daddeh wan?” There’s a quiver in her voice. I can’t tell if she’s failing to hide it, or if it’s an affectation to get sympathy from her father. It seems to work regardless. “Daddeh…daddeh hewp sho hao get nummies. Su…su Wadybug can hewp udda babbehs tuu.” Huh. Interesting tactic.
She waddles over to him and he picks her up. She’s soft in his little weggies and she nuzzles his neck. “Cooooo… Fankyu fow gud upsies daddeh, Wadybug sowwy fow meanie wowdies befow. Am jus suuuuu hungwy an hab tummy huwties…” He hugged her tight, a tear coming to his eye. Her mother was watching from above. She’s still too weak to speak loud enough for them to hear, but I can hear her. She’s trying to sing a mummah song. No…a Famiwy song.
“Mummah wub babbehs, awso wub bestes daddeh, daddeh wub aww his babbehs an babbehs an daddeh wub mummah. Mummah hab bestes famiwy, wub fam-wy fowebba.”
It’s adorable. I’ll have to remember it. Teach it to a fluffy someday. One whose family will hear it. She’s miserable to be sure, but there’s a reason she didn’t beg me to move her away from the stinky hole. She loves her family. And while things are bad right now, they’re together.
Down below daddeh and babbeh are hugging as daddeh cries quiet but very visible tears. “Daddeh? Wai daddeh cwyin? Daddeh hab saddies?” He tries to stop it but can’t. “Huuu, nu Wadybug. Jus…” He trails off. His daughter reaches up and tries to hug his face. She slumps down as her father slowly has, until she rests below his chin. “Sowwy daddeh, Wadybug twy gib huggies, but am tu wittwe an tu hungwy…” Her fathers tears have stopped. He picks her up and holds her close. “Nu wowwy babbeh, nebba gunna hab tummie huwties nebba again.” She’s beaming. "Weawwy? Awe ou sewious?"
“Nu,” he says, “nu am sewious. Am daddeh.” She laughs. “Teeheehee siwwy da-”
And he bites her head off of her body.
Rosie screams.
Her family can hear her now.
CHAPTER III
She still couldn’t comprehend it. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes she’d have never believed it. Her babbeh, little Ladybug! Red like mummah! Red like the buggy fwends that shared her name! Red like…
Red like lots of things.
Down in the hole, the smarty fed. It was all he could do not to retch. “Huu nu wike fwuffy nummies tu much fwuff…” His babbehs, meanwhile, had come entirely unglued seeing their father eat their sister. They’d recoiled in horror when he bit her head off, and the biggest started scrambling to run to her aid. "Wet gu! Hafta sabe sissy! Aww babbehs wet gu!" It was no use. They wrestled him down, much to his chagrin. While he begged and pleaded for them to let him help her, the obvious fact sunk in. She was already gone. Daddeh was a munstah fwuffy.
To his credit, the smarty was in his own brand of Hell. He didn’t want to be doing this. It made his head hurt trying to understand it! He was so hungwy but they’re his wittwe babbehs but he’s gon die but he wub dem…
He started to vomit. He was able to choke it back down. He’s already devoured his daughter. He can’t bear the though of her death being for nothing. If he can’t keep her down, then he’ll effectively have just killed her to see how she tasted. He won’t. He can’t. He has to save his remaining children. He has to save his babbehs.
Another day passes.
Mummah has gone hoarse from screaming. "Dummeh speshaw fwend! Am munstah! Ou num bestest babbeh! Nu wan be speshaw fwend nu mow! Hatechu!" I sat by and laughed. She’d forgotten I was there. “Hoomie munstah nu gud. Hoomie munstah am meanie! Nu hab tu du aww dis! Mistah onwy wan nu mowe fwuffies, mistah say. Bu mistah nu kiww fwuffies. Mistah gon wet fwuffies gu fowebba sweepies swow. Aww huwtie.” Her anger broke and exposed a filament of sadness out of which it had shone. "W…wai? Wai nu kiww? Wai gib wowstest tummie owwies? Wai…wai…huuuuuuuuuuuu babbehs huuuu mummah nu can sabe…" She collapsed in a heap so I approached her. I cradled her like I had before, when she’d almost died of thirst. I want to spin a story. I want to walk her through my horrible machinations, to find new ways to make her hate herself. Until…
I just don’t anymore.
I’m done. I’ve watched a father break and devour his own child in front of his entire family. He’s lower than low to them now. His special friend would kill him if she was able. His remaining children know there’s no escape. He’s already picked his meal tonight, and I don’t even care. It stopped mattering to me. Once I’d seen him cross that line, heard the wail of a suffering mother as she saw the unthinkable, I realize it’s a waste of my time to watch the rest. That I’d be better off just washing my hands of it and filling the hole in when the weather cooled down.
So I tell her that.
And then I roll her over the side.
And four days later there is a brown patch on my lawn where no grass has yet grown.
And within months it’s as though there was never a hole at all.