My Giant and Me (A Fluffy Pony Hugbox Story) Part 7

My Giant and Me, Part 7

>Be Silk, watching Daddy hold a Foal in his big-big hands, holding a bottle of Not-Mumma-Milk in one hand and holding it close enough for your Red Baby to suckle at the teat.
>The Pink and White Babies are tucked up against your chest as you lie flat on your belly, dozing as they sleep buried in your fluff. The Feral Babies, Orange, Purple and Green, stare at you from within a big, somewhat-round metal thing that Daddy called a 'Cage'.
>It's got lots of holes in it, big enough for a baby to stick a leg through, but not anything bigger, like a head, or their bodies. Daddy said he wanted to make sure that your Babies were fed first, then he would feed the Feral babies. He also said he wants you to help him make the Feral Babies into Good Babies, like how you helped White.
>And then Daddy will find them Good Mummies and Daddies, like he did for your Brothers and Sisters.
>That ... makes you a little bit nervous, but it also makes you happy and relieved. Daddy isn't expecting you to be a Mumma to six Babies.
>And it makes you a little bit sad too ...
>White is your Baby, and Daddy says you are a Very Good Mumma for helping White to not only not be a Feral, but also a Good Baby, and a Good Fluffy in your Family. And Daddy says he'll help ... maybe these Feral Foals can also be taught to be Good Babies for their new Mummies and Daddies.
>"Yikky ..." Red sighs, pushing away from the bottle. She's frowning, staring at the plastic teat and pushing at it with her hooves. "Miwk yikky!"
>"Uh ... huh." Daddy says, looking surprised. "Uhm, Silk, does this smell alright to you?"
>You lean forwards as Daddy holds out the White Not-Mumma-Milk toy and sniff, and wrinkle your nose. This Not-Mumma-Milk smells ... old. Dusty. Starchy. Not sweet enough!
>"Smeww bad, Daddy. Smeww Bitta, wike owd gwasses." You reply, sneezing suddenly as the bad smell makes your nose itch. "Siwk tink hew Miwk smeww sweetie, wike white dust Daddy put in his Bwack Nu-Wa-Wa's."
>Daddy sniffs the teat himself, frowning.
>This is probably why Mares give the best milk.
>Daddy's Milk isn't sweet enough for the Babies! Proper Mumma Milk should be sweet and thick and delicious, so the Babies will always want to have nummies and be big and strong!
>"Alright. Huh. Well, I guess a little sugar can't hurt ..." Daddy mutters to himself as he walks away, leaving your Red Baby on the carpet.
>"Why Daddy gif miwk? Mumma gif miwk, is Mumma." Red Baby asks, confused, as it sits a few feet away from you, head turning from Daddy's big back to you, and then to the three Feral Babies. "Mumma nu haf Miwk? Otha Baybehs dwink aww Miwk?"
>You could say yes. Your babies would never know. It's not your fault, you're only just making enough milk for your three babies as thing stand.
>But ... you look at the cage, where the three Feral Foals are lying on the soft towel bedding.
>The Orange and Purple Foals are pushing each other back and forth, whining loudly about 'Miwk!' and 'Baybeh fiwst!' and 'Hung'wy!'. The Green Foal has his face pressed up against the cage wall, teary eyes fixed on your face, his hooves pressed out through two of the holes, reaching for you.
>"Mumma, wuv! Gween wuv Wed Mumma! Wuv Guud Baybeh! Pwease wuv Gween! Nu owies! Nu meanies!" He whimpers brokenly as the squabbling between the other two Ferals gets louder, and their pushing and shoving turns into too-tight huggies.
>"Nu, Baybeh, is nu dere bad. Siwk nu haf 'nuff miwk-nummies fo' six Baybehs, onwy haf 'nuff fo' thwee." You say loudly, closing your eyes sadly. There, you've said it, they know you're a Bad Mumma now, because you can't feed them the delicious Milk.
>If not for Daddy, they would be soooo hungry. So hungry, and then ... then ...
>You whimper and cry a little as you think of your Babies, now so fat and happy, lying on the grass, thin and bony and crying for you to help them, for your milk, for milk you can't give them anymore.
>You can hear the squabbling of the Orange and Purple Foals grow louder as they hear the news, their too-tight huggies making them squeak in pain as they squeeze each other and roll back and forth on the blankets, and the despondant sobbing of the Green Foal.
>"Nu ... haf Miwk-Nummies?" Pink asks, confused, from her safe little corner, between your front leg and your chest. "Is why Mumma haf saddies? Nu haf Miwk?"
>"Gif Huggies! Haf Happehs!" White chirps eagerly, nuzzling your fluff and neck from the other side of your chest. "Guud Mumma! Wuv Mumma!"
>"Is oh'tay! Nu haf tummeh owies!" Red adds quickly, waving at you happily. "Nu cwy, nu haf Saddies, wuv yuu!"
>"Guud Mumma! Wuv Baybehs! Nu cwy, wan gif Mumma huggies!" The Green Foal shouts suddenly, reaching for you again, straining his body against the wire wall of the cage. "Meanie ting! Mumma nee' Huggies!"
>Open your eyes and stare at your babies and feel ... relieved.
>They don't think you're a Bad Mumma. Even one of the Feral Foals thinks so.
>You cry again, as you hear Daddy stomping back from the kitchen, but for the first time in days, it's with relief and happiness.

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>Be a Fluffy Mumma called Cowbell... and you're so tired, and so sad.
>When the Big Fluffy Munsta came, you ran, and you were followed by the Foals old enough to run.
>Your own babies cling to your teats, warded by your hooves and fluff, and the younger Foals eye your small babies with barely disguised envy and whisper they want delicious Milk-Nummies as well. But your teats are so small now, you are running out of milk, and your babies will soon be squeaking with hunger.
>You'll be a Bad Mumma ... and that makes you so, so sad. Your babies deserve to have as much Milk as they want, damn Stuuuupid Fern's idea to share Milk! She only gets away with it because she's the Smarty Friend's Sometimes Special Friend!
>If the Smarty Friend would just listen to you instead of Stuuuuupid Fern, then the Milk-Sharing Plan would work, because you'd make sure nobody's Foals would drink all of their Mumma's Milk, so that every Foal could have enough Milk to feel warm and safe, even if their tummies weren't full all the time!
>Fern's Foals always drink all her milk and then come looking for more! Every time, her Foals get all the milk, but yours have to fight, and if you so much as poked one of her Foals to make them behave, Fern would throw a temper tantrum or bite your ear! And the Smarty Friend would always back her up, because she gave him Special Huggies whenever he wanted them, even if she was a Fluffy Mumma or had Babies!
>She would always let her Foals drink all of her Milk, but if you let your Foals do the same, she called you the Bad Mumma! Poor Cobbles had a Bad Baby, and you know how badly that hurts a Mumma inside, but Stuuuuuuupid Fern insisted that this time the milk-sharing plan would work.
>Poopies it would! Fern's Babies always survive, but yours nearly starved last time, they grew up weaker and smaller because they didn't get enough milk! And poor Cobbles's little green baby kept on getting bitten by his Mumma, who was so worried about losing all her milk all the time she didn't watch where she grazed, and kept on nipping her baby by accident!
>The Older Foals at least can eat the grass and the plants, but the younger Foals still need a little bit of Milk ... but your Babies! They need all of your Milk! They were only just born, they can only eat Milk-Nummis for now!
>You heard the shouting this morning ... your Herd was being so, so mean to each other, with the Smarty Friend and the Bad Mumma in the thick of it.
>It makes you so sad you want to start crying again. The Foals were so busy being good and making a hug-pile around you to keep your Babies warm that none of you could go out and eat some of the Sketties before it was too late.
>By the time everyone got untangled and started to shuffle out, the rest of the Herd had started to fight, and that had made the Foals very upset and start to cry, and you had to run around and hug them all, promising that everything would be alright.
>And then Everyone started spraying their Sorry Poopies! You screamed in horror, at the Sketties that were totally ruined, at your friends who were now so terribly stinky!
>And then you saw the three other New Babies crawling towards you ... you rushed out to save them from the Sorry Poopies and the brawling Fluffies ... and then the Hoomin appeared, stomping out of his Safe Place and looking sooooo angry!
>You are so ashamed. You ordered the Older Foals to shove the Younger Foals back into the bushes, and shuffled in after them, franticly trying to hide. You left the Herd behind to save the Foals, and now all of you are vulnerable.
>The Hoomin took the Foals away ... and then came back and blasted your Herd all over the grass with Cold Wa-Wa's that came out of a Meanie Long Green Toy.
>So you huddle in the bushes, trying to feed your babies while the Younger Foals sulk at not getting any Milk, and the Older Foals try to keep you safe, peering out from behind the bushes for danger even as they nibble tentatively at the leaves.
>Some of these bushes are Meanies. One Foal ate a whole leaf of a plant with red stripes on it, and threw up and up and up ... poor thing. At least he was able to eat some grass after that, and seems to be recovering.
>"Ssssh, is oh'tay, baybehs, Mumma hewe, Mumma wuv yuu su much." You whisper as one of your two precious babies lets go of the teat long enough to whine softly. Your milk ... it's running out. Your precious Babies have nursed nearly non-stop since their birth, your only break was when the Big Scary Fluffy Munsta appeared and made everyone run around, screaming and crying.
>Your teats hurt, but you can't find it within yourself to take your babies away from them. They are protected there. Warm. Surrounded by your fluff, made to feel safe and loved. You can handle the owies, you just ... you just wish you could help them more. Them and all the other Foals! Abandoned by their Mummas for Sketties!
>Why did the Smarty Friend not let everyone go for Sketties when the other Herds shouted that they had found Sketties for everyone? It's not fair! Everyone could have had Sketties, Mummas, Stallions, Fillies, Colts.
>Stroke the head of the whining Baby with a hoof and whisper your Mumma-Song to it as you imagine your babies playing on top of a pile of fresh, hot, steaming spaghetti, and shed a bitter tear for what might have been.
>You haven't eaten since yesterday, just before you had your babies. You need to eat some grass, and something even nummier, to make more milk for your babies ...
>And eat a lot. Your Babies have had a lot of Milk Nummies, but they need a lot-lot-lot more than what they've had. And the Younger Foals could do with a few mouthfuls as well. They can eat the grass, but they still want, still need, some Milk Nummies.
>Bite your lip ... and gently pull your babies off the teats, wincing as the sore, chafed nubs are exposed. Immediately, both of your babies begin to panic, but you sing your Mumma-Song to them louder, and they quiet down.
>You've told them you love them, so they are calmer, but still unhappy about being taken away from the warmth of your belly and the sweet milk you give to them.
>"Pwease, hewp Mumma. Haf tu gu, eat gwasses, mus' make Miwk fo' Baybehs." You whisper as you awkwardly place the Foals onto your shoulders and wait for the tell-tale tugging of your fluff as they grab on, and then slowly lean forwards, moving off your rear and onto your front, and then back, legs. "Aww Foaws come tuu, haf nummies, den Fwuffies ... Fwuffies mus' find Howe 'gain. Fwuffies mus' weave dis pwace, nu safe. Hoomin hewe, Big Scawy Fwuffy Munsta hewe tu."
>So of the Foals cry, but the Older Foals nod. It's not safe here. Everyone is making their poopies away from you, but everyone knows that eventually the Muntas will find you if you stay near your poopies.
>So you shuffle cautiously out onto the grass, your precious babies clinging to your back and mewling excitedly at this, to them, bright, shiny new world, with the other Foals of your Herd following in your wake, cropping at the grass, giving the patch still stained with Sorry Poopies and the Ruined Sketties a wide berth.
>Fill your bellies, and then try to find the Hole, and leave this accursed place. Hopefully you can find the rest of the Herd, or failing that, the Herds who were promising Sketties. They might be able to spare some milk for the Younger Foals, while the Older Foals would be a valuable addition to any Herd.
>And then you hear something that, deep inside, you'd hoped you'd never hear again. A high-pitched, angry, screeching Fluffy Pony voice.
>Two of them, in fact. Two Fluffy voices, arguing with each other from the smaller of the Hoomin Places in this garden. You'd know those two voices anywhere ... bah!
>Close your eyes and sigh in disgust, and then re-focus on grazing as the Foals start to babble about 'Sweet gwassies!' and 'Nu smeww wike poopies nu moar!'.
>You'll see what sort of stupidity the Smarty Friend and the Bad Mumma are up to after everyone else has been fed.

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>Be the Owner of Silk and Bruce, watching as Silk grooms her three Babies happily.
>Something must have happened while you were off adding some brown sugar to the formula. Silk's happier now than she has been all day, and her Foals are hugging the hell out of her.
>The Ferals are ... well, the Green Male seems to be quieter now, although he's still crying as he pushes his legs through the wire, although the Orange and Purple Foals are squabbling still.
>"Mine!" The Purple one grunts, pushing at the Orange foal with his legs, making the Orange female squeal angrily in protest.
>"Nuuuu, Miwk, MIWK!" She babbles, pushing back and almost squishing the smaller Purple male.
>"Nuu, Bes' Baybeh haf miwk!" Purple squeaks back, now kicking feebly at Orange, who grins at her smaller 'brother', pinned under her 'superior' weight.
>"Yah, is Bes' Baybeh!" Orange gloats, grinning, before she squeaks in alarm. It appears Purple isn't giving up without a fight, and somehow, the two scrappy siblings fluff has gotten tangled, so when Purple tried to wriggle away, he took his 'sister' with him into a flailing two-tone pile.
>"Nu! Is Bes' Baybeh!" Is all that comes out of the pile as the two argue over which is the 'best baby'. Probably something to do with who gets to drink first.
>Yeah, fuck that. If what you saw before was a hint, those two are the 'dominant' Foals, likely belonging to a higher-ranking Mare or even that wretched little shit-stain of a Smarty Friend, and the Green Foal belongs to a weaker, timidly or lower-ranked Mare.
>So, while they're busy ... lift the cage 'lid' off the old towels, trying to not smile as the Green Feral Foal stares at the 'flying cage' in shocked awe before you scoop him up with your free hand, then drop the cage back down over the towels and the squabbling siblings.
>And they didn't even notice. Jesus. There's no words now, just two thin, irritated-sounding squeals of "Nyeeeeeeeee!" that goes on and on until they have to take a breath as they flail away at each other with their legs.
>Not that they're doing much damage, they're too little, too unco-ordinated and too fat to do anything more than ruffle each other's fluff.
>The Green Foal in your hand is sniffing you, whispering something too low and soft to hear, but it's ... hugging your little finger. Awwww.
>Poor little thing. Bullied from birth, no wonder it's desperate for a hug.
>Shuffle over to Silk, who has just finished grooming White, and is humming softly, a tuneless, low-pitched hmmm that must be some kind of calming noise to Fluffies, as her Foals are rapidly snuggling without asking for hugs or playing, smiling with their eyes closed.
>"Hey, Silk, did you want your Babies fed now, or later?" You ask softly, and wait for Silk to answer.
>Yeah, she's your pet, but those are her kids. After all she's been through in the past two days, she's earned that much, at least!
>It takes a minute or so, and by now even the Green Feral is trying to humm as well, but only manages to go "Auuummm". Wait ... You reach a finger down and lightly rest it on the Red Foal, and yeah, she's humming too.
>So the Pink and White Foals. What in the ... they're all humming together, a low, soft noise, the Foals all but vibrating, Silk with her eyes half-closed, her mouth curved into a half smile. Well, Silk and her Foals are. The Green Feral keeps stopping and starting, and there's tears in his eyes.
>Okay ... none of the books or the internet forums mentioned anything about Mares and Foals humming to each other ...
>Finally, Silk opens her eyes and smiles at you, like nothing unusual has happened, and you ask her again about feeding her babies. Was that some sort of bonding? Was that why she 'adopted' the Albino runt? Because it could humm the right tone or ....
>Shit, what will happen if Green learns to make the right tone too? No way she can feed 4 Foals ...
>"Baybehs nu hungwy ... buh wittwe nummies nu huwt." She sighs and turns her head to stare down at her three babies, now all on their backs, curled up together against her chest. "Buh ... gif Gween Baybeh fiwst nummies. Wed an' Pink an' White aww fuww, nu nee' Nummies yet."
>Well ... that's another switch. You're actually feeling rather nervous yourself now. First Silk will only agree to look after the Feral Orphans if you feed her Foals first, now she's saying you can feed the Ferals first, and she did that weird humming ....
>Bruce whuffs at you from the couch, ears twitching. Whatever happened, the Saint Bernard isn't worried, and he's got better hearing than you by a mile.
>Maybe it's just ... Silk? She humms to her babies, and they've learned to humm back? The Green Feral Foal tried to humm as well, to try and 'fit in', but didn't know how to make the right noise?
>"Uh ... right. Would you like to help me feed the Green Baby, Silk." You ask nervously, reaching for the bottle of sweetened Fluffy Formula as you lower the hand containing the Green Foal down till it's level with Silk's head. "I'm just a Daddy, so I don't know how to feed a Foal properly."
>"Daddy is siwwy, yuu put Baybeh on teat an' ..." Now her eyes open fully, as she looks from the teat-capped bottle to your chest, and then your face, her expression screwing up into one of absolutely confusion. "Wai' ... how Daddy do ... Daddy's teats come off?" She asks in awe, her fluffy eyebrows rising into her mane.
>"Auuuugh, Silk." You groan in protest. You only just got her to understand Fluffy Formula, now you have to make her understand about milk-bottles?

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>Be the Green Feral Foal.
>You're snuggled in between two of the Beautiful Babies, the Big Red and the Little White, while the Big Pink Baby hugs your back end and tells you to slow down.
>"Nu haf nummies wike dat, yuu be sickies." The Big Pink Baby urges you, hugging your back again. She's hugging you, not trying to pull you away from the Milk-Nummies ...
>They aren't hungry. They don't want this milk. The Red Mumma said that her friend the Five-Headed Munsta could get you as much Milk-Nummies as you could ever want, but you must not fight with or scare her Babies.
>You are so confused. You want to cry, to laugh, to scream, to sob in relief.
>The Red Mumma was making the Mumma-Song as the Five-Headed Munsta took you away from your Meanie Siblings. She was soothing her babies, telling them everything was alright, and they were singing her song back, telling her they loved her, that they were happy.
>But ... it was a different Mumma-Song to what your Mumma sang. You tried, but you couldn't change the Mumma-Song you knew. You tried to make the right Mumma-Song, but ... you couldn't! You couldn't! Every time you tried, it was like your mouth and throat wouldn't listen, they would only make the Your-Mumma Song!
>You could only make the Meanie-Mumma-Song, no matter how hard you tried, and your heart broke when you realised this. Without that Mumma-Song, you'll never be able to convince the Red Mumma that you could be one of her Babies. She'll never ... love you. Not like she would love one of her Babies.
>The Red Mumma ... will never be Your Mumma. And it makes you so sad, as you sit here, hugged by her babies, with the Red Mumma just behind you, an unseen warmth and feeling of protection that makes you relax, even as the Five-Headed Munsta holds a ... thing in the air, a thing with a teat, full of Strange Milk-Nummies, all for you!
>What is this thing? The Milk-Nummies that come out of it aren't as thick as Milk is supposed to be, but it's sweeter ... and there's so much!
>And ... you get to have your fill? These Babies don't fight, they're so fat and warm and clean and they smell good too, and they're happy to let you have Nummies first! But they were so frightened and mean the last time ... was it ...
>Was it you? They thought you were like Orange and Purple, coming to steal their Nummies! They must really love each other to share milk between three of them, when you fight Orange and Purple and ... and even your own Mumma to get any milk!
>Finally, for the first time ever, your belly is so full! You stop suckling, head weaving as you feel so good, so full, so drowsy, and the Five-Headed Munsta reaches out with one of it's blind, faceless Heads and rubs the top of your head.
>Despite being so ugly and impossible to hurt, the Five-Headed Munsta is trying to comfort you. It's nicer than Your Mumma was ... it didn't pick you up by your fluff, or make you fight for nummies with Orange and Purple, no, it took you away from them so you could have the Milk-Nummies!
>"Poor little thing." Something impossibly loud rumbles, and then ... the Red Mumma's head is there, nuzzling your head from behind, making you smile instinctively. She's there, she's looking after you, you're safe. That's what the nuzzling means ... "You're sure, Silk? Daddy understands if you don't want the Feral to sleep with you and the Babies."
>"Is oh'tay. Baybehs nu hung'wy yet. Gween Few'aw haf Nummies now, nu need Nummies tiww afta Baybehs get hung'wy." The Red Mumma says softly as she slowly climbs over you and her Babies, and lies down on her knees, covering you all in her soft, warm, clean fluff, putting you all into a warm darkness that is so familiar, a place where you can hear her heart beating softly, the warmth and the darkness soothing and familiar, and you remember dreaming in a place of absolute darkness and warmth and security.
>You sob ... but you're happy, as you hug the Red Foal, and the Pink Foal and White Foal hug you, their Mumma's fluff encircling you all. This is what a Mumma is supposed to be like ... and while you're warm and safe and so, so happy, a small part of your mind knows that soon, this will end.
>"Well ... alright. I'll feed the other two, and I'll have more formula waiting for when your Babies wake up." The Loud Rumbles continue, and then something stomps away, but the Red Mumma and her Babies don't seem concerned at all.
>There is something huge out there that is protecting the Red Mumma and her Babies. Something bigger than the Giant Fluffy. Something so big that it could do all the impossible things you have seen.
>Flying through the air in the scary, leathery grip of the Five-Headed Munsta. Lifting the Meanie Cold-Hard-Gap Thing away so you could get to the Red Mumma. Giving you an endless feast of Sweet-Not-Quite-Milk-Nummies till you thought your belly would burst ...
>As you drift off to sleep, you hear the distant, angry squeaking of your Orange and Purple siblings, and the Loud Rumbling again, and wonder what that Huge thing could be, and if it could be safer than a Mumma ... and if maybe, even if the Red Mumma won't be Your Mumma, maybe she could help you understand all the confusing things that have happened?

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>Be the Owner of Silk and Bruce, feeding the two Feral Foals in their cage.
>Yeah, these two look cute, but the're also demanding little turds.
>In the short span of their lives, they must have never been denied food or hugs, so the current situation must be hellishly frustrating for them. Strange ... Silk's Foals have been spoiled too, so why have they never displayed this attitude?
>The Purple Foal is grappling with the teat, squashing the soft plastic between his hooves as he noms on the teat, sucking so hard his little cheeks cave in, while you hold the Orange Foal back.
>She is squeaking furiously, legs flailing at the Purple Foal, and at the finger you're using to keep her on her back, on the towel.
>Yep, it's definitely a female, and checking that makes her flail even more. Knots all through fluff though her belly fluff, including some rather large chunks of the Purple Foal's fluff, and she's actually a little chubby.
>Now that you think about it, so's the Purple Foal. Green, on the other hand, you could feel his ribs.
>Was it just malnutrition or was there something else at work here? You've heard stories about Ferals operating creches for their Foals, rotating pregnant Dams to give them a chance to graze and play while the Foals can nurse and be watched over, but you didn't get a chance to see how many Mares were in that Feral Herd.
>Did one Mare have three Foals, and one was getting underfed by being bullied by his bigger, stronger siblings, or was it a case of the Ferals simply being incompetent?
>Hell, judging by what you saw with the Spaghetti, they might just be complete jerk-asses and the Green Foal somehow managed to piss the Mares off somehow.
>"Wan Miwk! Best Baybeh! Miwk fo' Bes' Baybeh!" Orange squeals suddenly, changing tactics from flailing to flexing, with absolutely no change in her situation, but you do laugh at seeing this little Foal start doing 'belly crunches' under the light pressure of your finger.
>Try to remove the bottle from the Purple Foal, and cannot help but snort with laughter as Purple holds onto the teat with an unusually firm grip, whining for all of five seconds before the plastic teat slowly slides out of his mouth with and audible 'pop!'
>"Nuuuu! Wan Miwk! Stuu'd Mumma!" He squeaks loudly, flailing his little limbs at the milk bottle, face scrunching up as tears form at the corners of his eyes.
>Stupid Mother? You think to yourself as you remove your restraining finger from the Orange Foal, offering her the now spit-stained plastic teat, which she grabs and tries to tug out of your hand for several seconds before giving up and just suckling, repeating the Purple Foal's 'squeeze and knead' trick.
>"Nuuuu, Miwk! Miwk fo' Baybeh!" Purple grunts, standing up and staggering over towards Orange, frowning and squinty-eyed, before your free hand 'swoops' over and gently rolls him onto his back.
>For close to ten seconds, he just lies there, blinking, his mouth open in a silent, surprised 'O' before he blinks and starts to flail his limbs again.
>Man, they do that a lot.
>Seriously, how can he still be hungry? The damn thing's got a pot belly, his muzzle is still wet with milk ... but maybe it's instinctive? Silk's Foals never stray far from her side, and if they aren't nursing from their mother, they're hugging her or playing with or around her.
>Perhaps this desire to 'nurse' is just the Feral Foals way of dealing with being separated from their mother? Or are they just greedy bastards?
>The Green Foal might be thin and under-fed because of a hundred different reasons. The Mother might not be eating enough, might have lost too many teeth to eat grass properly, might have a problem with absorbing nutrients, might might might.
>Look over your shoulder at Silk, who is now crouching over her three Foals and the Green Feral Foal, her eyes closed, slowly nodding off.
>When you first saw her doing that, you were worried about her crushing the Foals under her, but curiously, when she kneels like that, her legs seem to lock into place, leaving a small crawl-space under her, where the Foals are completely enclosed between her softer belly fluff and the ground.
>When they get bigger ... yeah, that won't work, but for now, they're still small enough to fit.
>Bruce is staring at you from the lounge-room, tail thumping on the carpet. Maybe a snuggle with the Saint Bernard will help the attitudes of the Ferals?
>"C'mere Bruce, I want to introduce you to somebody." You say, and the young Saint Bernard immediately jumps up and rushes over.
>Poor Silk squeaks in alarm as her eyes snap open to see what is causing the rucus, then she sighs and relaxes again when she realises its only Bruce.
>With all the grace of a team of drunken sumo wrestlers trying to run over a freshly-waxed floor, Bruce thuds over to you, sniffing the air and wagging his tail excitedly.
>Some dogs, they wag the tail. Others ... the tail wags the dog. And Bruce falls firmly into the latter group. Thankfully you don't have any vases or lamps anymore, learned that lesson the hard way ...
>The two Feral Foals hear the thumping and their eyes go wide. And then they see Bruce coming towards them, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
>The Purple Feral Foal tries to roll over, but has either forgotten your finger lightly pressing him to the towel-covered floor or thinks peeping loudly and doing his version of the 'Belly Crunches' is enough to make you let him up.
>The Orange Feral Foal tries to squeak, but she's stubbornly refusing to give up the bottle, so she inhales a mouthful of the Fluffy Formula and starts to cough and splutter, milk shooting out her nose.
>Oh, you.
>And by the time you finish sniggering at their antics, Bruce is at your side, his massive head hanging low as his sniffles and snorts his way over the coughing Orange Foal, works his way down your arm and then investigates the Purple Foal that is now flexing madly.
>Seriously, damn Foal could be the mascot for those useless day-time 'Call Now!' adverts for supposedly miraculously effective exercise equipment, he's 'feeling the burn' like he's getting paid.
>Then again, if something the size of Godzilla wandered over, you'd probably panic too. But why the reaction to Bruce, and not you?
>Snuffle snuffle snort goes Bruce as you remove your hand from the Purple Foal. You're not concerned about Bruce hurting the Foals, but you are hoping that he can act as a 'Temporary Mumma' for the Ferals while you try to figure out what to do next.
>And then Bruce licks the Purple Foal ... and you can't stop laughing, clutching your sides as you guffaw like a loon.
>The Foal's belly, leg and chest fluff have been damped down with saliva and 'brushed' forwards by Bruce's tongue, and the little Foal is lying there in the 'Jesus' position, blinking slowly, his fluff all pushed up towards his head like somebody just used hair-gel on him.
>And then Bruce's heavy head turns around and licks the Orange Foal as she tries to roll away with the Bottle, slathering her with drool as well and plastering the fluff from her side and back over the side of the bottle.
>Well, there goes your dignity as you lean against the Saint Bernard and snigger uncontrollably.
>It might not have been what you intended, but Bruce seems to have stopped the antics of the Foals. They're both too busy blinking, their fluff formed into strange, un-natural 'shapes' thanks to the Saint Bernard's tongue bath, to bicker over the Milk Bottle that will soon be glued to Orange's flank if you don't get a move on.
>Just ... got to get your breath back. Aaah-hee-hee-hee ... oh boy.
>"How do you feel about being a Mumma for an hour or so?" You gasp as Bruce snuffles at the Foals once again, tail wagging furiously.
>Finally, you get Bruce to lay down, pick up the two Foals, who are still utterly silent, hugging each other as you nestle them under Bruce's head and walk away, holding the now mostly-empty milk bottle and still shaking with laughter.
>Unfortunately, you're so busy chuckling you don't see their tiny little legs flailing at you desperately, or their squeaks of dismay as Bruce's head lowers to his paws, trapping them in a 'cave' of the Saint Bernard's fluff, formed of his thick chest and neck hair and his thick, powerful front legs.
>"Nu wan Munsta Huggies!" Their little voices whisper out from Bruce's fluff, and the Saint Bernard's tail thumps happily on the floor again.
>Hooray! Fluffy Pups to play with!

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