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Jenny stood back to assess her work. A 9- by 6-inch pen walled by sturdy, fluffy-proof plexiglass with colourful foam pads that fit together like puzzle pieces to cover the concrete floor of the cozy basement. Inside lay a comfortable fluffy-sized pet bed in the right far corner, a filled food and water dish in the far-left corner, and a suitable litter box filled with litter in the near left corner. Strewn about were several toys: fluffy-safe blocks, a fun colourful ball, and a stuffy friend that looked like another fluffy, among other things. Jenny nodded to herself, satisfied with what she had put together. The fluffy care guide she found online recommended dedicating an entire room to a pet fluffy, but Jenny found that absurd with the limited space she already had in her home. The basement would be just fine if she kept the temperature mild.
âAll this for a fluffy,â Jenny said to herself, but deep down she was eager for a fuzzy friend she could come home to and pet after a long day dealing with her shitty co-workers. Cheaper than a cat or dog, with reasonable vet bills, and decently priced necessities if you didnât buy the Fluff Co. branded items.
Parker had really sold it to her that day she saw them for a walk with their fluffy Lemonade. A sweet little thing, and Jenny still couldnât get over how soft his fluff was. After thinking it over, she decided to give it a try.
Jenny pulled herself away from her thoughts to get her car keys. The shelter Parker had mentioned to her wasnât too far away, but sheâd rather not waste any more time on her day off daydreaming.
Cucumber Street was a long stretch of road, and Jenny had to drive for a while to find the shelter Parker had mentioned. Happy Fluffs Rescue and Adoption Centre. A cute name for a medium-sized square building squished between other square buildings. Unlike the other drab and dull store fronts, Happy Fluffs was bright yellow with large, hand-painted pink flowers, which gave off a cheerful and bouncy childlike vibe. To Jenny it certainly looked nice enough.
She parked her car in the shared parking lot and made extra sure to lock it with her key fob before entering the store. A little bell jingled above her head when she opened the door, and she was immediately greeted by a cacophony of excited and hopeful âNyu fwiend?â. The employee at the register near the front cheerfully greeted Jenny, but was not as excited, desperate, or high-pitched. âHello, let me know if I can help you with anything.â
Jenny smiled politely at the worker, then slowly walked around the place to take in the vibe. In the center of the store was a large pen with several adult and juvenile fluffies, some of them trying to get her attention by dancing, or other forms of persuasion. These ones were brightly coloured. The drabber âpoopieâ fluffies gave her no mind, likely knowing their worth and instead continued playing, eating, or using the litterbox.
Closer to the back but still in the center was a smaller pen for mummahs and their babbehs. A well-mannered green mare with a white mane and tail waved a hoof at Jenny while her little pink newborn foals nursed from her. âHewwo, nice wady! Wan be Nyu Mummah to Mummah and babbehs? Am su pwetty chiwpy babbehs!â Jenny only gave her a polite smile before moving on.
There were a few isles in the space on either side of the pens which held essential items like food, dishes, fluffy beds, and even a few discipline items. Jenny noted they werenât the Fluff Co. brand.
Along the back wall were standard wall pens meant for single fluffies. Many were empty, but Jenny took the time to look over the ones that were filled. The majority were pillowed fluffies, some showing the scars of past abuse on their potato bodies. Some begged Jenny to take them home, others cowered from her in fear. But one fluffy stood out from the rest.
âYu wook at Smawty, dummeh wady!â
Jenny looked at the end of the pens to her right. An indignant turquoise fluffy with a pink mane and tail stared back at her and snorted. âDas wite, Dummeh! Yu take Smawty tu nyu housie anâ give wots ov sketties and toysies wite nao!â The little prick stomped a hoof, making the newspaper under him crinkle slightly.
Jenny felt her blood pressure rise and she narrowed her eyes at the demanding asshole. She thought better than to argue with a sapient toy and turned heel to walk back to the register. She could hear the self-entitled smarty still making demands from across the store. The other fluffies were starting to get agitated, with some âSu wowdiesâ and âNu wanâ noisies!â springing up from the pens.
To her credit, the employee â her name tag said Anissa â apologetically smiled. âSorry about that one, itâs been hard trying to find a home for him.â
âCanât imagine why,â Jenny retorted quickly. Then she sighed. âSorry, Iâm not mad at you. He just hit a nerve.â
âNo, I get it.â Anissa shifted on her feet. âSmarties arenât easy pets.â
Jenny tried to drown out the smartyâs shrieking. âHow did he get like that? Fluffies arenât born that way, are they?â
âNo,â Anissa sighed, âtheyâre not. His mother was brought to us when she was still pregnant. Just another stray. She was adopted after she gave birth, but the owners brought him back a few weeks later because of his attitude.â She leaned in closer, speaking conspiratorially. âHis mother chose him as a âbest babyâ. Thatâs usually how they get to be smarties.â She leaned back again, and her voice returned to normal. âHeâs been returned at least five times now. People just canât handle it.â
âYeah, being screamed at by a toy all day would have me pulling my hair out.â Jenny found it increasingly difficult to drown the still-screaming smartyâs voice out. The shrillness of it was making her head hurt and her jaw clench. She desperately wanted to teach him a lesson.
Then it dawned on her. She could teach him a lesson. One heâd never forget.
âYou know what, Iâll take him.â
A look of shock and confusion crossed over Anissaâs âOh, are you sure?â
Jenny nodded decisively. âYeah. I think Iâm gonna try and train him. And if it works, Iâll come back and let you know.â
âIf you manage to do that, Iâd count it as a miracle.â Anissa typed on the keyboard at the register. âOur adoption fee is thirty dollars, plus any supplies you get with the fluffy.â
âThirty dollars? Thatâs a lot for a talking toy.â
Anissa nodded, her eyes coming back up to look at Jenny. âUh-huh. It keeps the malicious kind of owner from adopting. We want these fluffies to go to loving homes, even if they are insufferable.â
Jenny sighed, not reaching for her wallet just yet. âOkay, I think Iâm going to get a few extra things while Iâm here. Do you have muzzles?â
âOh yes, weâll definitely muzzle him for you.â
Jenny went to look for some discipline items while Anissa called for another worker to help with packing up the smarty. She remembered seeing sorry sticks in one isle and had a look at the selection. Most of them were variations of the standard horse crop, and Jenny went with one of them. Made of soft leather so as not to leave any permanent damage but guaranteed to sting.
She heard the smarty shout again, âNyu homesie foâ bestest Smawty? Yus, das wite! Desewve bestest homâeeek!â There was some shrieking and squealing, and finally silence. Jenny sighed in relief; she could think again.
Larger vertical boxes caught her eye on the bottom shelf. The text said âMIKAHORSIEâS SORRY PIT. The Sorry Box for the unrepentant!â, along with an image of the Sorry Pit in the center of a list of features. The Sorry Pit included a lid to reduce lighting and sound, heat absorbing gel built into the durable and stain resistant walls, and hard plastic cones built into the easy clean removable tray bottom to stimulate hooves.
Jenny had a look at the price. $99.99. She wrinkled her nose at the idea of paying more for a sorry box than the actual fluffy she was getting. She gave it some thought, however, the gears turning in her head. It could be a good investment, and depending on just how unrepentant this smarty was, she would get a lot of use out of it. It might even pay for itself eventually, she reasoned with herself over her impulsive decision. Damn persuasive advertising.
After paying for everything and getting The Sorry Pit into the trunk, Jenny drove home with the smarty in the front seat. The shelter provided her with a cheap fluffy carrier to transport him in, and the muzzle was doing its job of keeping him quiet, which Jenny appreciated. She could hear him snorting and uselessly tapping his soft hooves against the bars of his carrier. Jenny imagined he was just fuming in there.
She turned the radio on to drown him out, thinking pleasant thoughts of using her new sorry stick on her bad fluffy; screaming at him when he fucked up, which he would. Often.
Yeah , Jenny thought to herself, this is way better than getting a good fluffy.
She would create her good fluffy and get some frustration out in the meantime. And if he didnât become a good fluffy? Well, thirty dollars wasnât that much money.
At home, car parked in her driveway, Jenny let the little shit stew in the front seat a while longer while she brought in The Sorry Pit and got it out of the box. She decided to put it beside the stairs of the basement, so it was both out of the way and able to be seen by the smarty. Heâd know what it was soon enough.
Finally, it was time to bring the smarty inside. She picked up the carrier, locked her car, and took him to his new safe pen. Roughly grabbing him by his scruff - which made him squeak against the muzzle - she yanked him out of the carrier and looked him straight in the eyes.
âListen here you little shit. The shelter says youâre a bad fluffy. The worst fluffy ever. So Iâm doing you a favour by adopting you, got it?â
The smarty snorted and glared so hard at Jenny she thought heâd shit himself from the effort.
Jenny continued with a firm, serious tone, âThere are rules in this house, and I want you to listen to them carefully, because thatâs what good fluffies do. And I want you to be a good fluffy for me. Good fluffies eat their kibble, poop in their litterbox, and donât yell and demand things from their Mummah. If youâre a good fluffy, youâll get love, huggies, and spaghetti. But if youâre a bad fluffy, Iâll take away your toys, youâll get the sorry stick, and Iâll put you in The Sorry Pit. Got it?â
Another snort from the little prick, and he uselessly wiggled against her grip on him. Jenny sighed, but she expected this. He hadnât listened at all.
âNow, your new name is Bubblegum. Will you be a good fluffy for me, Bubblegum?â Jenny set Bubblegum down in his pen and took his muzzle off. His fluff was flattened where it had clamped his mouth shut.
As Jenny expected, Bubblegum looked up at her defiantly. âHumph! Dummeh Mummah! Bestest Smawty Bubbewgum nu wisten tu yu! Yu giv sketties tu Bubbewgum wite nao ow get wowstest sowwy hoofsies!â He stomps his front hooves on the soft padding under him.
Jenny didnât bother responding. She picked up his carrier and walked back upstairs, closing the basement door behind her. Bubblegum took that as a good sign. He snorted triumphantly and puffed his chest out.
âDas wite, Dummeh Mummah! Bwing bestest sketties tu Bubbewgum!â He turned to look at his surroundings. There was so much space to play in! And so many toys! There was a colourful ball next to him and he kicked it with a front hoof. âHee hee! Gonâ getchu, baww!â
Bubblegum ran after the ball, the padding under his hooves so soft and comfortable. He loved it here! He had the best Mummah and the best toys ever. Better than any of his old Mummahs and Daddehs! He was so smart for finding a good Mummah to give him the best spaghetti whenever he wanted.
The ball ended up rolling near Bubblegumâs food and water dishes. He turned his nose up at the kibble in disgust. It was not fit for a good smarty like him! âHumph! Dummeh kibbew! Gonâ hav sketties soon, nu need yu!â He squatted down to shit on the food. âTake sowwy poopies!â He grunted as he pooped, some of it landing in his water dish. âDewe! Dummeh Mummah can cwean sowwy poopies anâ dummeh kibbew when bwing sketties.â
Some colourful blocks caught Bubblegumâs eye, and he spent a while stacking them while unsuccessfully counting. âOne, tuu, uh, f-fiv⌠tuuâŚâ
Soon, though, he noticed his stomach had hurties! That wasnât good. He abandoned the blocks and ran to the edge of his pen to yell at the door. âMummah!â he shouted with all his might, âWhewe sketties, Dummeh Mummah! Bubbewgum hav tummie huwties!â He stomped his hooves on the floor padding and snorted. Waited.
Nothing.
He yelled again. âMummah!! Wan sketties nao! Whewe Bubbewgumâs sketties!â
Bubblegum coughed. It turned out that shouting as loud as he could hurt his word-making place. That made him even angrier. âHumph! Dummeh Mummah nu bwing sketties fasties enuff. Su dummeh!â
He grumbled to himself more and played with his ball again to wait. Mummah must have been making the best spaghetti in the world to take this many forevers. Bubblegum would make sure to give her sorry hooves for making him wait!
The ball got boring, so he played with his stuffy friend that looked like a mare. Well, âplayedâ really meant giving her sorry hooves and pretending she was Mummah. What was taking her so long!
Eventually, Bubblegumâs stomach was too hard to ignore. He was really hungry, and the bright ball in the sky was gone. The little window high on the wall across from his pen let him know it was dark time already.
âHuu huu, hav wowstest tummie huwties! Neeâ skettie nummies nao!â He stomped with all four hooves, desperation in his voice. âMummah! Pwease bwing sketties!â He looked at the basement door and whined.
Nothing.
Bubblegum looked over at the kibble bowl heâd shit on. âHuu huu⌠Nu wanâ num sowwy poopies, buâ Mummah nu bwing sketties foâ bestest smawty Bubbewgum. Hav wowstest tummie huwties evah.â
He stared at the bowl for what felt like many forevers, hopeless. He knew heâd have to eat it. If Mummah wasnât back by now, at dark time, then sheâd never bring the spaghetti. He walked over to the bowl, his hooves heavy under him. He stared down at his mess. It smelled so bad, and he wrinkled his nose in real disgust. âDis am Mummahâs fawt. Nu bwing sketti nummies foâ Bubbewgum tu num. Nao neeâ num sowwy poopies. HuuâŚ! Nu faiwâ!â
Shutting his eyes tightly and holding his breath, Bubblegum sunk his teeth into the soft shit. He immediately gagged but swallowed quickly, trying not to taste it. He went to take a drink from his water dish to get the bad taste out of his mouth, but the shit that landed in the bowl had dissolved. He huu-huuâed as he drank his own shit water, then went back to the poopies. He just wanted his stomach to stop hurting.
Finally at the kibble, Bubblegum panted and shook from eating his own shit. He gobbled down as much kibble as he could. It tasted like heaven compared to what heâd just choked down. There was still some kibble left in his bowl when he was finished, but he couldnât stomach anything more. He washed it down with a few gulps of shit water, then sat and cried.
He didnât want this. Where were his sketties? Where was his Mummah? He wanted huggies to make the bad feelings go away. Once more, Bubblegum looked up at the door, his tears streaming down his cheeks and wetting his fluff. âMummah⌠Wan Mummah⌠Nu-huu-huu faiwâŚ!â
Sniffling, he dragged his stuffy friend into his bed and curled up against it. It had been the worst day ever.
What Bubblegum hadnât noticed, however, was a small camera next to the window, listening and watching his every move.
Author's Note
Hi did you miss me? Back with another story, but this time I decided Iâd dip my toes into some smarty âdisciplineâ.
This little charmer is based off a McDonaldâs furby I thrifted. Took one look at the fella and said to myself, âYeah, this is a smarty all rightâ.
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