Turtle’s School Days
Turtle’s School Days: The Bad Boy
Turtle’s School Days: The Christmas Party
Turtle’s School Days: The New Fluffy
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It was a crisp winter morning and all the fluffies had trundled off the bus and hurried on inside to their school before too many snowflakes could fall on their heads. Miss Teacher and Mrs Weathers, her aide, would help them out of their various coats or scarves and they mingled around doing varying tasks or simply chattering before their educational activities would begin.
Strawberry, the newest addition to the happy little collection of fluffs, had been given a very important task. He was in charge of feeding the class pet, a goldfish who swam around a little tank filled with colorful decorations. The tank was mounted onto the table so that it couldn’t be knocked over and Miss Teacher would measure out the food so that the only thing they had to do was tip it over into the water. It was one of the most coveted activities that a fluffy could find themselves with and the stallion felt himself a little prideful having been assigned it.
“Hewe ye gu, Fisheh.” Of course it was named Fishy. Fluffies weren’t exactly founts of creativity. The smelly flakes were deposited into the tank , spilling out over the surface of the water. Something else was on the surface, too. It was Fishy, up on his side. Strawberry tapped a hoof against the tank.
“Miss Teachew! Fishy am sweepin’! He nu am nummin’ nummies!” The stallion called out to his teacher, who was busy unwinding a scarf from the perpetually nervous Chili’s neck. After she had finished with that she went over to Strawberry who was still anxiously tapping at the tank with one hoof. She frowned, sighed, went collect a tiny net and scooped the deceased fish from the water.
“I’m afraid he’s died, Strawberry. And don’t worry…it isn’t your fault.” She added in before the stallion could jump to conclusions and place all the blame on himself. The fluffies had gathered around her as she placed the goldfish into an empty box, murmuring among one another.
“Fisheh am fowebba sweepies?” Sunshine asked tearfully, trying to get a good look at the box.
“S-Stwawbewwy am g-gib sweepies tu Fisheh!” Chili added in, looking over to Reginald. The belligerent smarty was already winding himself up and the day hadn’t even officially began yet.
“Pwetty mawes neba do fings wite!” He spat out, still refusing to accept that Strawberry was a male and also being even more of an asshole than usual.
Turtle was watching all of this with a detached sense of interest. He didn’t really understand ‘forever sleepies’. He knew that it wasn’t a good thing usually. His mummah had gotten forever-sleepies and he’d never got to see her again.
Miss Teacher went to speak with Mrs. Weathers. The ground was frozen outside but the aide would go dig up some of the Earth regardless with a small gardening trowel. Nothing could stop that old battle-ax from getting a task done.
Well, this hadn’t been on her lesson plan for today but it was a valuable thing to learn. The fluffies were vulnerable, innocent-minded things that people often overlooked when it came to the most simple of lessons. Miss Teacher looked out to all of her students.
“This may be difficult for some of you to understand, and that’s fine. Fishy is dead. He has ‘forever-sleepies’. So he won’t ever wake up.” She tried to put it as delicately as she could without dancing around the issue. It was better to tell little white lies with some things pertaining to them but death was not one. It was best to never give them false hope.
“In a moment, we’ll bury him. That means, putting him in the ground so he can rest.” Their teacher gave them a small, wistful smile. Sunshine burst into tears.
“Nu wan fisheh tu be in gwound! Wub fisheh! He am Sunsheen’s fwend!” She told her teacher as if that would change things. Turtle looked to the mare, giving a small wag of his tail. It gave him saddies to see her cry.
“I’m sorry, Sunshine. It’s OK to be sad but we have to do it.” Miss Teacher was at her desk, working on something with a few craft supplies. Popsicle sticks and glue to make a simple grave marker which she’d write ‘Fishy’ on the front in magic marker. Was it grand? No. It was just a small token. Mrs Weathers would walk back in through the back door to give a solemn nod to her coworker. Taking the box containing Fishy and the makeshift grave marker up, she would nod to her class.
“Follow me, class.” So they went back outside to the back lawn of the place where a tiny hole had been cut up from the Earth. Bending down and slotting the box down into the hole, Mrs Weathers would follow up by patting displaced soil back over it. The little popsicle stick cross was the last step, the fluffies watching with a mix of grief or awe. Some had never experienced this once in their life.
“Would any of you like to say something nice about Fishy?” Miss Teacher asked, and they would all chirp up with something.
“He am bestest Fisheh! Wub Fishesh!” Sunshine said, still crying.
“S-Stwawbewwy gib fow…fowebba sweepies tu Fisheh!” Stammered Chili, shooting the pretty pink stallion a dirty look.
Strawberry shook his head in defiance. “Nu! Wub Fisheh! He am bestest!”
Turtle looked to the gravesite. He didn’t really have much to say, if only because his dumb little brain was trying to grasp at something. Reginald stepped forward.
“Nu! WEGINALD NU AM CAWE! Yew wake up, dummeh Fisheh!” He snorted, nostrils flaring. Suddenly he sprang forward and leapt at the grave marker! The popsicle sticks split in two as he gave it sorry-hoofs. Mrs Weathers grabbed him up and aimed him away before he could give the grave a fresh load of poopies. This caused Sunshine to give a renewed wail of grief as the smarty swung his hooves around and threatened to give forever-sleepies to Fisheh once he woke up.
As most days, Reginald found himself squarely in the embrace of the sorry-corner. It was a mystery as to how the stallion even still attended the school. He was constantly over there. Miss Teacher decided to let her students make art of their dear departed pet and enjoy free time instead of bashing them over the head with learning: There had been enough of that already. It was best to let them mull things over instead of shoving new subjects at them rapidly.
Strawberry sat by himself, moodily poking a crayon at a coloring page with his mouth. To be honest, he didn’t really want to do anything. Chili was still going around spreading rumors that he’d given Fishy fowebba-sweepies and everyone was giving him dirty looks.
Turtle was too dumb to notice any of this was going on though and decided to sidle up to his friend, plopping down beside Strawberry and looking at his coloring page. It was a simple, blocky illustration of a mummah and her foals. Strawberry was dutifully trying to stay within the lines. Turtle showed him his own coloring page, where he’d just scrawled messily with a multitude of colors. It looked like shit. Strawberry smiled and the two chattered and carried on for most of the day, the accusations of being a murderer being pushed from the pink stallion’s mind.
The rest of the day had gone on as well as it could. Reginald had even gotten out from the sorry-corner and managed to not be a war criminal for the remainder of the day at school, which was a miracle.
Later on the bus home, Turtle was about to get off the bus and meet his daddeh in the driveway. Before he could go scampering off, Strawberry wrapped him up in a big hug. Turtle gave a squeak of surprise.
“Yew am bestest fwend, Tuwtel! Wub yew!” The stallion exclaimed, Reginald watching this occur and puffing out his cheeks in fury. Turtle gave a wave of one hoof and went skittering away, stepping down from the bus carefully to meet Frederick in the driveway. He watched the bus roll away before turning to his owner.
“Daddeh, Fisheh am hab fowebba-sweepies ‘n Weginald was badsies.” He related his day to his father, Fred surprised at how the fluffy seemed to accept the death of his class pet so easily. Well, he’d already been through it before.
“Reginald’s mother is an alcoholic.” Fred said sourly. Every time they had an event for the parents, she showed up with a cloud of gin around her. “Come on, let’s go eat dinner.”