“Tee Hee Wiwey am smawtest fwuffeh ebah!” you not so quietly exclaim to yourself as you shimmy your way through the cracked screen door while your mummah carries in nummies from the nummie store. Your green and white fluff and your soft wingies getting only slightly ruffled by the door the whole while.
You had asked her for babies last week after seeing them on the TV but mummah said nummies were too expensive and that there were already too many fluffy foals in the world.
“Buh mummah! Wiwey wub yuu! Nee Bebbehs!”
Both of the things she said were obviously lies since mummah always brought too many nummies home for you to eat anyway, even though she only ever gave you kibbles. That, and babies were the bestest thing ever.
Since mummah was being a meanie liar, it was fine to tell lies to her too. You pretended to agree with her and say no babbehs even though in fact, yes babbehs. Still, you were an only fluff without a male in your homesie to make babbehs with. Not even a brother or daddeh if it came down to it.
But that didn’t matter because, while sitting on the couch by the front window every day waiting for mummah to come home, you noticed a pretty blue and green fluff stallion in the yard across the way had taken up a nest in the pretty flower bushes.
Staring out the window was your favorite pastime. It reminded you of when mummah use to take you to the fluff park all the time. But mummah said that it was too ‘spensive’ now.
You waddle down the driveway and around mummah’s vroom vroom, careful to stay out of her sight then make your way across the road towards the flowery hedges. You book it rather quickly as the ground is hot and hurts your soft little hooves.
Making it to the bush, you poke your head in and immediately see him. It appeared he had made a proper fluffy nest from leaves and scraps of fluff. Not that you knew what one looked like as a domestic fluff. Still, you had a gut feeling this was a responsible and intelligent stallion.
“Hewwo…” he manages to force out before you interrupted him.
“Hewwo, namesie am Wiwey! Yu be nyu spechow fwen? Nee spechow huggies tu make bestes bebbehs!” This wasn’t how you had ever imagined meeting your special friend. Your soaps on fluff TV taught you stallions were supposed to give mares presents first. Things like flowers or skettis and the like.
However, desperate circumstances called for desperate measures, and you scramble into the bush and over to his nest. The branches got caught in your fluff and snagged, leaving twigs and leaves behind.
“Wuh? Bwubewwie wan spechow fwiend an famiwy wike Bwubewwie’s owd hewd! Suu happies!”
Without any further deliberation, he climbed up and a rather disappointing 30 seconds later, you were a soon mummah. With that, your stomach started to growl, so you began trotting back to your house.
“Wewe Wiweh guin?” Blueberry asked with confusion.
“It am nummie times! Wiwey am soon mummah an nee nummies fow tummeh bebbehs tu gwo big an stwong!” You chirp matter-o-factly.
“Yus! Bwubewwie hab bigges nummie piwe! Wookies!” He says as he pushes a pile of dead leaves aside to reveal a pile of bruised fruit and wilting flowers stolen from neighboring yards and from beneath fruit trees.
They don’t look super appetizing since mummah always gave you fresh fruit and you only ever ate the flowers off the bushes in mummah’s yard before. “Mebbeh aftah skettis!” you politely decline.
“Wiwey fin sketts!?” Blueberry asked excitedly.
Tonight was sketti night, you knew that much and skettis were so much better than fruits or flowers. It was always skettis on the day the man in the white vroom vroom didn’t come to give mummah paper thingies called mail.
“Nu fin! Mummah bwing skettis fwom nummie stowe!” You chirp back.
As you trot back up the driveway and go to push back through the door, you find that it won’t budge. You begin to panic and tap your hooves on the door as you stand on your back two legs crying for mummah to let you in.
All the while, Blueberry slowly catches up to you and watches as you cry and beg. “Wiwey hab hoomin mummah?”
The door opens and mummah looks down. “Oh goodness, filthy strays. How disgusting.” And begins to shut the door.
“Mummah! Mummah! Am Wiwey! Pwease wet in! Wub Yuu!” You cry out, insulted that mummah would ever call you filthy.
She looks closer at you and her meanie face looks to one of concern. “Riley! How did you get out? Let’s get you inside and wash all that dirt and leaves out of your fluff.”
You waddle through the screen door as mummah pushes it open for you.
“Woah there bud. No strays are allowed in my home. And you Riley, you know better than to talk to strays!” Mummah directed towards bluberry then you.
“Buh mummah! Dis am bwubewweh! Wib obah dewe!” You indicated to the yard across the street. “He gun be spechow fwen an bestest daddeh fow bebbehs!”
“I already said no babies! And Blueberry, I’m sure your momma will be very worried about you. Why don’t you go home to your momma? We can arrange a playday next week.”
“Buh-” Slam The door closed in his face.
Your bath and dinner came and went uneventfully. Mummah gave you Fluff Boyardee canned skettis which you felt go straight to your tummeh and milkie places. Not really, but you had seen enough Fluff TV to delusionally assume you could feel your motherly processes functioning in real time.
You tucked into your fluff bed in the living room and after cuddling up with your favorite baby blue blankie, one that was tattering on the edges, and one you had since you were a little foal in the fluffmart. You begin to sing mummah songs to the slurry of eggs and fluffy jizz in your abdomen that were certainly capable of understanding every word you chirped out.
“Riley. What are you singing?” Mummah asks.
“Tee Hee Wiwey am singin mummah song tu tummeh bebbehs!” you chirp with pride. There’s no point in lying now. You’ve already won.
“Riley, you aren’t a momma and you’re not going to be. We already had this conversation.”
“Tee Hee Das wite! Nu am mummah! Wiwey am soon mummah!”
“Wait, did you have se- make special hugs?”
“Wit Bwubewweh mummah! Wiwey teww yuu!”
“Riley. I can’t afford to feed a whole litter of foals.”
“Mummah awweadeh hab enuf nummies in cowd nummie box!”
“Riley, that’s my food and it barely feeds me.”
“Tee Hee mummah am dummeh. Mummah num mowe nummies den Wiwey eben doe yu nu hab tummeh bebbehs!”
Your mummah, Jill, had gotten a liberal arts degree in basket weaving and was rather offended by the patriarchy judging her be the ability of her uterus to push out babies. Now her own fluffy was judging her for her lack of baby making and this was something she would not stand.
“Riley. No foals, and that’s final. I’ll take you to the vet to get you fixed and deal with the foals then.”
You roll over and ignore mummah. The vet made pointy hurties sometimes but all he did was make big hurties go away. A vet would be the best thing since he’d protect you from getting hurties as a soon mummah.
The next day, you watched from the couch as mummah went across the street to talk to the neighbor who owned the house with the flower bushes. They looked like they got into an argument and mummah came stomping back.
“Riley that filthy stallion was a stray! Do you know how many diseases or parasites he could have had?”
“Spechow fwen nu am fiwfee! He am pwetties spechow fwen!” You argue.
Mummah just stomped away.
Some time later you see the neighbor man with a stick with a bunch of pointies on the end (a garden rake), he is climbing behind the bush your special friend’s nest is in.
You see blueberry dash out from the bushes, only for the man to swing the stick down right into blueberry’s belly. His back looked like it was bending the wrong way and booboo juice started to stain his fluff.
“Spechow friend nuuu!” You cried out and began sobbing.
Blueberry flailed his front legs in pain but he back legs and tail sat eerily still.
The man walked away. All you could do was watch as he lay in pain, his cries of fear and anguish muffled through the window. You tapped your hooves on the glass as if you could break through and run over to save him.
The man came back with another stick and pointed it at your special friend’s head. You remembered this from FluffTV, this wasn’t a stick, Safe Room Safies said this was called a gun. It was a stick shaped gun!
POP a .22 short from a plinking rifle struck Blueberry in the skull and killed him apparently instantly. The meanie man waved to you as Blueberry was unceremoniously dumped in the trash on the curb.
You cried and cried. Your poor tummeh bebbehs would never have a daddeh.
You sat tapping your hooves on the examination table mumbling a mummah song to your tummeh babbehs. It was cold and hard, but you knew the nice vet lady would never hurt you. The loss of your special friend had faded from your mind somewhat under the happiness of your pregnancy.
While mummah was frustrated with you and kept telling you your tummeh babbehs weren’t going to stay. She kept you fed
“What do you mean fixing her will cost 500 dollars? They quoted me 200 on the phone a month ago.” Mummah sounded angry.
“The spaying itself is $200.” It’s $80 is the exam fee. The pregnancy termination this far along is $120, waste disposal of the stillborns is another $70 and then taxes and county fees for unregistered fluffy breeding. If you had come the day you called, it would have just been some foal-b-gone and the surgery. It’s much harder this far along.”
jill cupped her face in her hands. Her savings were nonexistent due to a reduction of hours at work. She was waiting for payday to fix Riley but then her car got a flat tire that she needed to change.
“I’ll just let her carry them to term then find a shelter to take them.” She finally sighed.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll have a nurse bring you new paperwork. I’ll just warn you now. Zero abuse no kill shelters have surrender fees.”
Mummah scooped you back up and took you home. She stopped giving you skettis on sketti day and said it was because you kept begging for extra food. You called her a dummeh and insisted she give your more nummies so your tummeh bebbehs could grow big and strong, but this didn’t work.
Mummah accused you of being selfish and demanding and said you were going to ignore all your foals, but you promised you were going to be “da bestest mummah ebah!”™
As each week passed, you counted the lost sketti days (one for each hoof and then some) until you were too bloated to move around. You still asked for skettis hoping she would budge.
“Buh mummah! Wiwey wub yuu! Nee skettis!”
You huuhuu’d to mummah to lift you up to the couch but she said that you shouldn’t have had tummeh bebbehs if you wanted to walk and climb.
“Buh mummah! Wiwey wub yuu! Nee hewp!”
This gave you the biggest heart hurties since you liked looking out the window when mummah wasn’t home.
One day you made a mess while dragging yourself across the floor to the litterbox to make good poopies. Mummah made you lick some of it up and then stuck you in the litterbox, it was so disgusting.
She said when you had your foals you would need to clean up after them just like that. She was a dummy though. You sang your tummeh babbies the good fluffies make poopies in the litterbox song every day so they would know to use the litterbox when they were born immediately.
Mummah told you that you had to stay in the litterbox if you couldn’t make good poopies. She brought your water and kibble bowl right up to the litterbox, so you didn’t have to leave it. Your fluff felt so not pretty from sitting in your poopies and you hated how litter always got into your wawa and nummie bowls.
“Buh mummah! Wiwey wub yuu! Nu feew pwetty!”
Still everything would be ok once you finally had your bebbehs!
The big day came while mummah was at work.
“BIGGEST POOPIES!” You cried out in pain for help from no one in particular.
One after the other you squeezed foal after foal from your cooter. It wasn’t an exceptionally painful experience by mammalian standards but fluffies were all little bitches almost by design.
You turned around to inspect them. Four perfect little angels. A green earthy filly just like you, blue earthy colt just like daddeh, a pretty white pegasus filly, and brown unicorn colt. After some licky cleanies you let them drink their share of milk.
The litter clung to their damp fluff and no matter how many times you licked it off it kept sticking on again, leaving them to look more like grey Good Humor bar than a fluffy.
You stood up to grab your fluff bed and drag it closer. PEEP PEEP CHEEP PEEP CHEEP CHEEP PEEP
“Sowwy bebbehs, wait wight hewe! Mummah am get bestest softest bed fow bestest bebbehs!”
You quickly returned from dragging the fluff bed in from the other room to find your four chirpies caked in litter. They were all flopping around in it or caked in shit from tripping over a pile of birth poopies.
You huu huu to yourself. The taste was awful, but you would have to lick them all clean yet again.
One by one you lift them out of the litter and clean them. Finally, all four chirpies are in your fluffbed with you. With their fill of milk, they tuck in to sleep on top of your favorite blankie while nuzzling against you.
You coo with contentment and drift off to sleep.
“Mummah… Wiwey wub yuu… Wub bebbehs…”
“Riley! Why are you letting your foals shitting everywhere?” Mummah’s voice startled you awake.
Silly mummah. All your foals are sleeping in the fluffbed with you. You chirp quizzically, you look down at you stomach and see them all missing. “Bebbehs? BEBBEHS!” You shriek and stand up.
Looking around you see them wiggling on the floor anywhere from a few inches to 3 feet away from your bed. Little trails of milky foal poop left behind like snail trails stain the floor, bed, and your blankie.
“Bebbeh’s nu wun way fwom mummah! Pwease cum bahk su mummah can gib yuu wickie cweanies!” You cry out to them all, you had been explaining how to be a proper fluffy to all your tummy babies for so many forevers that you were shocked to see them this poorly behaved already.
“Riley! You gave birth and instead of watching them you decided to take a nap? You are such a bad mother.” Mummah chided you.
“Huuu Sowwy mummah. Nu mean tuu. Wiwey just suu sweepie an hab bigges heawt happies dat Wiwey gu sweepies…”
You climb out of your bed and began scooping the chirpies back in.
“What are you doing?” Mummah asks.
“Bebbehs nee fwuffpiwe fow wawmies an bigges happies!”
“No, look at this shit.” Mummah pointed at the bed then at you, as you looked in you saw it. Poopies everywhere all over the bed and your blankie, and even your fluff.
Mummah picked up the fluff bed and carried it away.
“Pwease mummah! Favowite bwankie nu am twashies! Wiwey wiww gib bestes cweanies!”
Mummah returned with a box and scooped you and your foals into it before carrying you into the laundry room. She sets you in the sink and turns on the water.
“Mummah nuu! Wawas am bad fow bebbehs!”
“I don’t care. You’re all caked in shit, so you need a bath.”
You struggle helplessly as your foals one by one get held under the faucet of slightly too hot water. Each peeps and screams in vain as their bowels are voided in fear. Afterwards they get deposited in a sopping pile in a square tupperware on the counter next to the sink where they won’t drown.
You beg mummah to give your foals back, but she ignores you. She scruffs you and holds you under the water next.
Bathtimes used to be fun with mummah but this wasn’t a fun bath. The hot water hurt your face and her rough handling made it hard to breath as water splashed down on your face.
There was no pretty smelling soap and you soon found out there was no soft towel either. Mummah scruffed you and dropped you on the tile floor. You shivered and slipped around as you tried to stand up.
“Wait here!” She barked at you while leaving the laundry room with all the peeping.
You remembered your babbehs and began scrambling towards them “Bebbehs? Bebbehs? Mummah am hewe!” You stood up as best as you could against a cabinet and reached vainly towards the chirply pile several feet above you. You struggled to keep your back hooves under you on the wet floor.
You push a mop handle leaning towards the sink out of your way, and it tips over, clipping the bowl that the chirpies are in and flipping it on its side.
plonk “Bebbeh?” plonk “Bebbeh am otay?” You chirp out as it sounds like they were falling in the sink.
You see the wiggling blue colt’s head poke over the ledge. “Bebbeh nu hab heawt huwties! Mummah am hewe!” You cry up to him.
“CHEEP” he lets out before wiggling over the edge.
“Bebbeh nuu!” You try to catch him but slip and land on your back. He bounces off your tummy and tumbles across the tile. Your scramble after him and fail to see his green sister follow suit.
You scoop up your screeching colt and turn around just in time to watch the green filly dive headfirst into the tile. Your heart is beating a million miles a minute and you don’t have the words to express yourself. You scramble over to her and begin hugging them both.
Mummah returned just then with a towel from the bathroom and drops it on the floor.
“Oh shit.” She mutters and reaches down into the sink to dislodge the unicorn that managed to fall headfirst into the drain.
You hug your one screeching foal and one oddly silent one trying to comfort them the way you know a mummah is supposed to. You anxiously sing the huggies make everything better song as you hyperventilate.
The screeching foal has two legs, one front and one back, bent at unnatural angles. The quiet one isn’t breathing and has booboo juice around her nose. You think about what you had learned from FluffTV and panic. One had broken leggies and only a vet could fix those, the other looked like she might be forever sleepies.
You set them both down as gently as you can and shuffle over to mummah. “Mummah Mummah!” You call up to her.
“Riley, I’m busy.” She says sternly.
“Buh Mummah!” You tap her legs.
“Riley, not now!” Now annoyed.
“Wiwey nee mummah’s hewp!”
“WHAT?” She yelled, snapping to face you. You cowered over your foals and tucked your tail between your legs.
Both of her hand were clenched in anger. One wrapped around the lower half of the brown foal which she had just ripped in half in a moment of mental fog. Booboo juice from the foal dripped from her knuckles.
You stare up at her in silence for a moment. “Bebbehs hab huwties” you manage to finally squeak out.
Mummah unclenched her hands, allowing the brown unicorn ass to fall to the ground. She rinsed her hand of blood, scooped the white foal up from the sink and knelt down to inspect the two foals on the floor.
Turning the green one over twice she dropped it next to the half a poopy. Then turned to inspect the blue one.
You look at your foals, two are dead and third has two broken leggies. You look up at mummah. “Mummah am dummeh munstah…” you mutter.
“What?” Mummah asked as she caressed the blue foal’s face; hoping to calm it.
“Dummeh mummah gib bebbehs fowebeh sweepies!”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yu put dem in scawy uppie pwace! Uppies bad fow bebbehs! Tuu dangewous!”
Mummah looked around to inspect the crime scene.
“You knocked the mop over into them. They were safe in that bowl.”
“Nu! Wiwey wub bebbehs! Nebah gib huwties! Hatchu!”
“What?”
“Hatchu!”
Mummah stood up.
“You hate me? You HATE me!?”
You cowered down over your white foal.
“After I adopted you and raised you from a little filly and even bought your favorite blanket!? After I let you roam and play in the entire house instead of locking you in a closet? After all the fucking skettis and trips to the parks? After you got pregnant anyway, when I said no? After I didn’t have the vet kill all your tummy babies? After I let you KEEP YOUR FUCKING BABIES ANYWAY? AFTER YOU PROMISE TO BE THE BEST FUCKING FLUFFY MOTHER EVER! YOU HATE ME!?”
You want to apologize but your words catch in your throat. You feel warmth under your feet and realize you are pissing all over your pegasus foal in fear.
“LET ME TELL YOU! WHEN I ADOPTED YOU! YOU WERE SUCKLING ON THAT DUMB BLANKET BUT YOU LOOKED INTO MY EYES AND SAID WUB YOU!” Mummahs voice was cracking.
“I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU INSTANTLY! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING! I SPENT ALL MY MONEY ON YOU! BUT THAT WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH! AFTER EVERYTHING YOU STILL WANTED BABIES! YOU NEVER LOVED ME! YOU JUST LOVED THAT I SPOILED YOU!”
You felt awkward sitting there but couldn’t move.
“AND THE SECOND I SAID NO YOU RAN OFF TO FUCK THE FIRST TOM DICK OR FLUFFY THAT YOU MANAGED TO FIND! AND THAT WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH! I WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH! I SPENT EVERY LAST DIME FEEDING YOU AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS BEG FOR MORE SKETTIS AND TELL ME I’M DUMB AND I’M MEAN FOR NOT WORSHIPPING YOUR BABIES!”
Mummah started sobbing. You were still angry with her, but you also wanted to hug her.
“AND THEN! I GET FIRED AND THE FIRST THING I COME HOME TO IS MY HOUSE SMELLING TO HIGH HELL OF FLUFFY SHIT AND LITTLE MISS PERFECT BESTEST MOMMAH EVER SLEEPING ON THE JOB IGNORING HER PERFECT LITTLE BABBIES WHILE THEY LEAVE LITTLE TRAILS OF DIARREAH SHIT ALL OVER MY FLOOR! YOU KNOW WHAT?”
Mummah looked at wriggling peeping blue the foal in her hand, sobbing.
“I hate you…”
Mummah wrapped her index finger and thumb around the foal’s neck. She didn’t have the money to take it to the vet. She squeezed until it stopped moving.
2 Months Later
Jill walked in to her apartment. “Mummah! Mummah!” her precious little filly Baily cried as she ran up to her. “Baiwey stack fwee bwockies wiwe mummah am gone!”
“Really? My special girl is growing up!” Jill reached down and ruffled Baily’s baby blue mane. Baily giggled bashfully as mummah praised her talent.
“Hey, guess what?” Jill asked.
“Wut mummah?” The Pegasus asked excited.
“You are finally old enough so for soft foods today is your first sketti day!”
“Skettis! Weawwy!?” Almost squealing.
“Why don’t you go get ready to watch a movie and I’ll get the skettis ready?”
“Otay mummah. Baily began to trot towards her saferoom, a hall closet, to retrieve something.
Jill heated some instant pasta in the microwave and carried it to what passed for a living room.
Baily wiggled excitedly on the couch laying on top of her favorite baby blue blanket. Tattered and bearing the faint stains of messes that could not be washed out completely.
Jill set the skettis down for Bailey, the tomato sauce would add a few new stains but that was ok.
“Tee Hee Wub you mummah!”
Afterword:
Riley was abandoned at a shelter immediately after in a box with a pile of her dead foals. Due to her trauma she is unadoptable. Initially she was restrained and used as a nurse mare for orphaned foals. Afterwards she was stuck with the baby crazy mares to remind them that babies aren’t the bestest thing ever.
Baily was bottle fed by hand while Jill looked for a new job.