Beatrice had been so excited to have her babbehs. Daddeh gave her all the love and huggies and nummies she needed to make good babbehs, and daddeh even wanted them to all be a family! Not like the meanie lady at the shelter who took her poor babbehs away. They were so little! They still needed mummah for milkies! Thinking about them always made Beatrice sad.
But daddeh wanted her to be a mummah, and Beatrice was pumped. But her excitement was short lived.
She had six foals. She was giving licky cleanies, but one of them smelled wrong. It was too small, and it wasn’t a pretty color. It was a greenish brown unicorn with a half formed horn, and it was smaller than her other chirpies. She stopped licking and dropped him off of her birthing pad onto the linoleum floor. It was late at night and she had good babbehs to clean.
The tiny brown foal chirped for attention. He was hungry and cold and now he had hurties. “Nu make noiseies, ou nu get miwkies. Miwkies onwy fow gud babbehs, nu am fow sicky babbehs. Gu sweepies, mummah tuu tiwed. Nu wike noisies.” Undeterred, he kept cheeping. He even got louder and louder as his tummy hurties worsened. After a few hours of fitful sleep, mummah was awoken by the sun. Soon, daddeh entered.
“Oh! Beatrice! You had your babbehs!” Daddeh was so happy, and that made Beatrice happy. “Das wite, daddeh! Nu am soon mummah nu mowe! Nao Beatwiss am weaw mummah gain!” She gently patted the various pastel foals on her tummy. The three who weren’t nursing made happy peeps and gave tiny babbeh huggies.
Daddeh’s eyes turned to the runt on the floor. “Honey? It looks like one got a bit lost.” Beatrice smiled warmly and giggled. “Siwwy daddeh, dat nu am gud babbeh. Tuu smaww. Tuu sickies. Bad babbeh, Beatwiss nu wan.” Her demeanor faded and sadness washed over her face. “Mummah 'posed tu gib fowebba sweepies tu bad babbehs but…” She choked back a tear. “But mummah nu can gif stompies tu babbeh, eben if bad babbeh.” Her eyes brightened up again as she looked back to daddeh. “Daddeh hewp gud mummah Beatwice?”
To her surprise, daddeh picked the runt up and set him down at her milkie place! He even moved one of her good babbehs who wasn’t done drinking! He peeped distress as daddeh plucked him away, a soft “pop” accompanying the break of his seal on her nipple.
“Nnnnn…nnnuuuuu! Daddeh, nu wet bad babbeh steaw miwkies! Dose am fow mummah babbehs! Nu fow dummeh sicky babbeh! Gu way!” She batted the tiny bony foal, who after some difficulty had finally latched, away from her milky place, prompting a storm of scaredy peeps. As her rejected son rolled off onto the tile again, he started crying in his tiny shrill voice.
Daddeh was displeased. “Beatrice! Bad fluffy!” The new mummah was taken aback. “Nu! Am gud mummah!” Her face went from confusion to alarm and finally terror in less than a second. “NU TAKE BABBEHS! MUMMAH GUD MUMMAH! BEATWISS WAN BE GUD MUMMAH FOW BABBEHS! NU TAKE!” She started scrambling as she gathered her five beloved children and held them close to her chest for protection.
“I’m not going to take your babies, Beatrice. But you can’t kill a baby just because they’re different.” Beatrice was getting worried. Daddeh didn’t understand! “Nu daddeh, dat nu am wite. Mummah nu cawe bout pwetty cowows, mummah nu wan dummeh babbeh wastin miwkies! Wan gud babbehs be big an stwong!” She closed her eyes and huffed. "Nu gunna gib miwkies tu dummeh sicky babbeh. Dat’s dat!"
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Later that day Beatrice was feeding her children when daddeh came in with dummeh sicky babbeh wrapped in a tiny soft blanky, feeding him from a bowl of warm foalmula. Mummah was almost out of her breakfast milkies, so it was time for daddeh to feed her. But something was wrong. He poured her nummy wet kibble like she liked, but it was less than half what she normally got. “Uhmmm, daddeh? Dat nu am enuff kibbwe. Mummah need mow nummies, make miwkies fow babbehs!” Daddeh laughed warmly and gently patted her head. “Don’t worry, since you don’t have to feed this little guy” He lifted the peeping foal, now expanded to a good healthy chub. “You don’t need as much food. After all, he’s not here to steal milkies from you!” Beatrice was confused, but daddeh made sense. She accepted his explanation and ate all her kibble. “Aww wite babbehs, time fow mummah miwkies!”
But she ran dry when only three babbehs had beem fed. She called for daddeh, but he kust explained she needed to be more careful with her milkies. “You have to make sure all your babbehs have food, if you just let them drink until they stop, you’ll run out.” She tried to explain that babbehs need all milkies so they can be suuuuuu fuww all the time and be healthy happy fluffies who love daddeh suuuuuuu big! But daddeh wasn’t hearing it. He admonished her for being a bad mummah and left her to consider what he’d said.
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It’s been two weeks. The foals are all walking and talking, even the little one Daddeh named Rupert. But something was wrong.
Her good babbehs had been hungry. They were ALWAYS hungry. She didn’t have enough milkies, and they all had to ration. Today she saw her prettiest pink and green wingy babbeh get stuck in the litterbox. She was too feeble to lift herself out.
Her good babbehs didn’t even have names yet.
“Daddeh? Can…cab gud babbehs hab fow…fow…fow-myu-wa? Babbehs bewy hungy, an mummah nu hab nuff miwkies!” Daddeh was feeding Rupert from a bottle as he cradled the chubby foal in his arms like a baby. “No, like you said, Rupert is sick. He needs all the nummies he can get. Don’t worry, your babbehs have plenty to eat.” Beatrice was crestfallen. She was out of ideas.
She looked to her one bright spot. The one babbeh she’d tried to feed enough. It meant the rest got even LESS, but she tried to give him more in secret, making up for the difference and allowing him to grow and develop.
Too bad fluffy ponies are bad at math.
As she patted her good white babbeh on the head and softly cooed, he looked up at her with floaty, unfocused eyes. “Hebbo Mubbah! Bankoob fbow bibkies!”
And her heart broke.