March 2nd, 2021: The first of many failed attempts to get a series going. Maybe I’ll revisit these. Maybe not. If anyone finds one particularly compelling, comments go a long way to making me think about a story again.
I moved out here to get away.
I’d finally made good on my longstanding threats to buy a scrap of land in the hills, drag an Airstream out there, and spend my remaining decades neither bothering nor being bothered by humanity. Nobody would be dumb enough or lost enough to find me out here.
But then Fluffies happened.
I’d heard all the stories. Before long I’d even seen some when I drove into town for dry goods and other sundries. Seemed interesting to me, albeit sorta chatty. They come off like really trusting toddlers.
I chose not to think about what type of people that appeals to, or why. Better to just share some of my sandwich with one and go home. I don’t need a fragile shitting pig that can talk but not learn basic self preservation. If I want that I’ll just completely cut calcium out of my diet and do zero other things.
Then COVID hit. Suddenly my friends and loved ones, the people I did want to see, weren’t safe to be around. And while I was grateful for the safety my isolation brought, I found myself missing the little annoyances of having neighbors. A faint ruckus disturbed my porch based introspection session. Almost like speaking. Wait…it was speaking.
Well, off to grab my rifle. Hope it ain’t cops this time. County Sheriff didn’t appreciate the material support me and mine were giving to protesters and decided to make a thing out of it, so my old apartment got rummaged through four or five times. After the fifth, I packed my bags. Hope it was far enough.
I returned to the porch with my Mini-14 ready to say some dumb shit about warrants and see how close I could get to threatening a cop without legally having threatened a cop. What I was not ready for was an extremely determined fluffy, chest puffed out, proudly shouting instructions to his herd.
“Dis way, hewd! Smawty smeww gud nummies, gon’ make hewd big an’ stwong! Hewd wand fowebba!”
Huh. A Smarty. Hadn’t met one before. For some reason I expected more sexual violence and threats to my safety.
“Dummeh hoomin!”
Ope.
“Smawty an’ hewd hab come fo’ nummies! Nu wan gib huwties to dummeh hoomin, su gib aww da nummies fo’ hewd an’ nu take owwies o’ sowwy poopies fwom Smawty. Hoomin’ unnastan?”
My first instinct was to start picking off limbs from the porch, but bullets aren’t free and I get shit cell reception out here so conversations are few and far between. Besides, it’s not like they could actually DO anything.
“Fine, dude. Y’all hang out over by those bushes, I’m gonna go see what I’ve got for you.” The Smarty squinted his eyes.
“Otay mistuh, nu twy pway twicky joke on Smawty…”
Wouldn’t dare, kiddo.
I did some light googling while I boiled water. I know they’re big pasta fans, but so am I so fuck that. Not sharing my damn sketties. Got some ramen though, and my light research seemed to indicate that would be close enough. Threw in some powdered garlic and a dollop of mayo because something told me they’d be into that. Creamy just seems like their speed.
I brought it out front and, armed with the knowledge of a cursory internet search, I was able to identify some specifics about the herd.
The smarty friend, as I had learned they are called, is a Wolfram-Sparks breed characterised by prominent chest muscles, stubby legs, thick shaggy fluff, and less pronounced snouts. Sorta like a hamster, but big. About half the herd was of the same breed. The other type I was seeing was ShaferAraks breed. Doofy looking loaf boys with fat chubby legs that moved too slow, big clumsy mouths that combined with their weird voicebox to give them a sort of low dopey clown voice, eyes that are simultaneously huge and squinty, and bowl cuts.
I’d lucked out. Not only were these breeds pretty durable, they’re also fairly hardy survivalists. Supposedly WS breeds have the strongest stomachs of all fluffies. Still not up to snuff with an actual animal, but they aren’t shitting themselves to death because they ate a stale cookie or having liver failure after eating a single piece of candy. SA aren’t as hardy digestively speaking, but they make up for it in terms of physical stability and endurance. They whine like any fluffy, but the consensus online seems to be that they live through substantially more torment than other breeds.
Probably not today though.
I’d poured a couple pots of ramen into my painters bucket and when I reached my bushes out about 30 feet from the porch, I went ahead and dumped it in the clearing furthest from what had clearly been designated as the Poopy Place. “Eat up fellas, fresh from the kitchen.”
You’d have thought I’d brought God’s gift of eternal life or like a free xbox that gives blowjobs or something. Lil’ dudes were stoked. “Sketties? Sketties!” They couldn’t believe their noses. But something unexpected happened. Smarty walked over to me. He looked puzzled. Puzzled and wary.
“Nice Mistuh Dummeh Hoomin, wai gib sketties?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Hadn’t anticipated any pushback. I figured they’d go bananas at the sight of their beloved pasta and dig in, but for once here was a Smarty living up to the name. Okay, fine. I’ll level with him.
“I gave you sketties because you looked hungry. You looked hungry and even though you weren’t asking nicely,” I said, causing him to shrink back a bit, “you did offer to not hurt me if I gave you food. Besides, I had some to spare.”
He stood for a moment processing what I’d told him. After a few seconds he looked back up.
“Mistuh? Hewd am gud hewd, an’ need gud nummies fo cowd times. Sketties am bestes’ nummies, but smawty scawed hewd gon’ num all sketties an’ nu hab nu mo’ nummies wen cowd time come! Smawty mummah awways teww Smawty ‘Ou bedda sabe aww da nummies ou can, speshawwy da gwassy an twee nummies dat nu tuwn meanie an’ awways taste pwetty.’ Can mistuh pwease hewp Smawty sabe nummies fo hewd?”
I had to admit, I was taken aback by the little fella. This kind of planning was, to my understanding, atypical. That in and of itself would have been enough of a reason for me to pitch in, but I had another thought that sealed it.
If these guys were hanging out in the yard, not only would I have access to the kind of inane neighbor chatter I’d come to miss, but I bet they’d keep other fluffy herds from showing up and shitting everywhere. I’m in the ass end of nowhere, but it’s an ass end that’s just the right kind of nowhere for people to dump unwanted pets. I’d seen herds, just never closer than ten miles. But even then, they’d moved so much in just a few months. When I first moved here they didn’t even have signs about not feeding them. Now the state put one up at most intersections and under most speed limit signs.
No, I couldn’t avoid them forever. It seemed I’d lucked out and gotten a decent bunch. Certainly helps that the biggest one was just impossibly huggable.
He was standing over the big pile of noodles and was so excited that he kept forgetting he had some in his mouth and would spit it out exclaiming “Wub sketties!”
“Yeah. I think I can help.”
I went over to the herd. “Listen up, I’m gonna take the sketties and put them in boxes for later.” This was an unpopular move, but the fluffies seemed to mostly be just whining or crying, rather than actively fighting it. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, you’ll still get to eat it. I just don’t want you to get sick from eating too much, and if you’re gonna stay here through the winter, you’ll need more food. It won’t taste as good, but it’ll keep you strong and warm.”
The Smarty was the one taken aback now. “Weawwy? Mistuh nu twy make hewd weabe?” “That’s right,” I chuckled, “you can stay as long as you like. If you don’t demand things from me, I’ll happily share what I have with you. I’m not going to give you whatever nummies you want whenever you want them, but I’ll make sure that when I eat, y’all eat.”
“Daddeh wan’ fwuffies du anytin?”
“Well first off, I’m not your daddy. You’re all free fluffies. A herd doesn’t need a daddy, a herd just needs a herd. But ‘Nice Mister’ had a good ring to it, just call me that.” He smiled. Good. He’s starting to get it. “Secondly, all I ask from you is that you explain how things work to any new fluffies who show up. You don’t need to fight them or scare them or whatever, just talk to them and make sure they know there will always be nummies and there’s no need to be meanie about it.”
“Das aww? Nu eben wan Smawty an Tuffies pwotec wand? Nice Mistuh nu scawed udda hewds gonna inbad…ivnad…innnnnbbbvbade…sigh take obah hoomin wand?”
“Nope. I don’t think they’ll be a problem.”
“Otay, Nice Mistuh. Smawty twust.” He turned and walked back towards his herd, stopping a few steps in to look back. “M-mistuh nu pway meanie twick on gud fwuffies, wite?” I smiled and shook my head. He took this as a good enough answer and trundled back to his herd to explain the whole arrangement to them.
For a smarty, he sure can be dumb. Of course I’m not worried about my lawn getting invaded.
It’s not an invasion when you welcome the invaders with open arms.