You aren’t mad at Piccolo for what he and Snowball have just done. It’s your fault, after all. And, as that old dude once told you, Tommy, that’s what his name was, every hurdle we cross, every trial and tribulation, is all just part of the Way.
You had already given the boys The Talk, and had made it clear that they were not to go around giving mares they don’t know special huggies without your say-so.
And they had understood it, too, and even proved that they understood, a week or so ago.
A week or so ago, you and the boys were out on a walk, just the three of you, just guy time. You love Judy, but every man needs to spend some time with just the boys.
Anyway, that’s when you ran into Strawberry. Again.
Strawberry has become notorious among fluffy owners in your neighborhood, for being absolutely foal-crazy. Her owner has caught her trying to escape several times by now, presumably with the intention of getting knocked up by the first asshole she lays eyes on.
By coincidence, her owner was walking her at the same time you were walking the boys, and she slipped through the cheap FluffCo collar she wore (studded with real diamonds, but you could see how poorly made the collar was), and ran into you and the boys.
She came right out with it, walking right up to Piccolo, getting right up in his face. You saw the poor guy, obviously feeling uncomfortable. She made her proposition right there on the street, like the cheap hookers you’ve seen in the rough part of town. You’ve never accepted. They’re not exactly, ah, your type, and besides, you and Judy are faithful to each other. She’s insatiable in the bedroom. You went off and bought one of the hookers a sandwich, because she looked like she really needed it, but she said that Daddy told her she’s a fat cow and she doesn’t need any more food, threw the sandwich in the trash, and asked you if you couldn’t just give her some money instead. She said she needed to pay off her dealer. Who is also her pimp. And one of her baby daddies. Most of the other baby daddies either being on drugs as well, in prison or dead. Yeah, she told you her whole life story.
At that point you were so depressed that you just gave up and walked away. You weren’t mentally equipped to deal with it.
Incidentally, you’ve seen the fluffy impaler there too, a couple of times, pretending he didn’t recognize you and shaking his head in a way that clearly said “Please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”
Anyway, Strawberry’s proposal to Piccolo was short and to the point.
“Stwawbewwy wan babbehs. Hansum fwuffy gib Stwawbewwy speciaw huggies, su Stwawbewwy can haf babbehs?”
She actually fluttered her eyes while she emphasised “handsome”, and she was actually wearing fluffy-safe stick on eyelashes, and even fluffy-safe makeup. Her owner is some YouTube beautician, you don’t know her username, she spoils Strawberry rotten, and is probably the one who taught her how to flirt. Unfortunately, human flirting techniques don’t work so well on fluffies, and that’s probably for the best. You suspect that if Strawberry ever does succeed in her mission, she will promptly go full bitch.
Poor Piccolo was actually flustered. You knew by now that he had a crush on Snowball, and he knew not to go around sticking it in fluffies he didn’t know, and he was trying to obey you.
Strawberry was having none of it. She would not take no for an answer. She said, essentially, that if Piccolo wouldn’t give her special huggies, she would make him give her special huggies.
At this point you had reached your limit. You don’t like potentially hurting fluffies, but nobody rapes one of your boys.
You picked the little bitch up, carried her over to her owner, who honestly needs the makeup she both wears and shamelessly shills on YouTube, unceremoniously handed Strawberry over to her, completely ignored her complaints about how you were “manhandling her precious princess”, told her to keep a closer eye on her fluffy before she winds up with a bitch mare and a litter, and recommended the Flufftopia harness, before going home with your boys to comfort Piccolo after the traumatic experience with some ice cream and a hit of your bong.
So yeah, Marley and Piccolo know not to go around giving the D to mares they don’t know without your permission. But when you invited Judy and Snowball to move in, you had failed to take one teeny-tiny detail into account.
You had neglected to tell the boys not to give the D to mares they do know.
“Daddeh am angwy wif Piccolo an Snowbaww?”
“No, little guy. I’m not angry at you. I didn’t tell you that you couldn’t have se-- special huggies with Snowball, I just said not mares you don’t know. But I’m closing the loophole. From now on, you two aren’t giving any fluffies special huggies without my permission, alright? Don’t give me that look, I’ve got a solution for the obvious problem. Just wait one night, okay? Okay.” You put out the end of the spliff in the ashtray, and light another. At times like this, it helps you think, and see which way the Way leads.
You’re going to Flufftopia to pick up some… ahem, toys, so they can, ah, sate their urges. They’re closing soon, and you don’t have the time tonight, but it’s the first thing you’ll do in the morning. You’ll also be picking up things for the new litter. You’ve still got the stuff you used when the boys were foals, but you need a supply of Bestest Babbehs kibble, and milk, and bottles, and anything else an expectant fluffy mother might need.
Special Huggie Friends, they’re called. Basically: advanced, highly advanced, very realistic sex-dolls for fluffies, with genuine, humanely sourced fluff. They sell them premade, but you can also get them custom made, real fast, they’ve got a big machine that puts them together real quick, so if your boys want a specific kind of doll, it’s no problem, but you have a feeling you already know what kinds they’ll want. There’s even an optional voice chip, with customizable soundbites, and it comes with a free spray bottle of Gud-Feew synthetic mare pheromones. And they’re easy to clean.
You think that, if you had bought two of those things sooner, you wouldn’t be in this mess.
“Look, I’m not mad at you two. You were doing what comes naturally. I can’t blame you. But look, here’s the deal. I’ve got room for you two, and you, Snowball, but we don’t have room for an entire litter. So, you can have the babbehs–” Piccolo and Snowball start making an eeeeeeee sound. You raise a finger, to shush them. “But, you pick one of those babbehs, and that babbeh stays here, and lives with us. The others, when they’re weaned, meaning they don’t need to drink milkies anymore, will have to go.”
The previously happy couple is crestfallen. Even Marley looks sad. He’ll practically be an uncle to those babbehs.
“Whewe babbehs gu?” Piccolo finally asks. You gently stroke him.
“To other, um, hoomin mummahs and daddehs, who, and this I can promise you, will love them just as much as Judy and I love the three of you. We can probably put an ad on Fluffbook, right Jude?” you say, turning to your beautiful second-in-command.
“Oh yeah, people do it all the time, and any known abusers are quickly filtered out. We’ll be able to make sure they all go to loving homes.”
“Right. So you see, guys, they’ll all be happy, and safe, and depending on how close by their new mummahs and daddehs live, you might even get to see them again! But no promises yet. It’s a long way off, so don’t worry about it for now. Since today has been such a special day, I think some… sketties are due!”
The three amigos are visibly excited.
“And I think we’ll need to pop another bottle of champagne.” Judy suggests. And you agree. You two are usually on the same page.
So, after pouring two more glasses of champagne, and three bowls of sparkling apple juice for the fluffies, and lighting another spliff, the five of you make your toast.
“To new life and new chances! To following the Way, wherever it leads!”