My Giant and Me (A Fluffy Pony Hugbox Story) Part 14

My Giant and Me, FINALE

>Be Cowbell, the Smarty Friend of your Herd, circling the Hug-Pile one last time, poking the Mares and Stallions you picked as Sentries to ensure they have stayed awake. The Mares are drowsy, but the Stallions are alert.
>Admittedly, the Hoomin and the Dog-Not-Munsta helped by dragging the Dog-Not-Munsta's bed out onto the grass, so you'd all have somebody to run to if a real Munsta came for protection, but you feel that it's best if the Herd sets guards too.
>Also, the Dog-Not-Munsta is lying on his back, snoring and waving his legs in the air. He's not much of a sentry ...
>The Stallions are still ashamed of their actions, and as such are determined to prove that they can be Good Fluffies to you.
>Cobble and her Friends have rejoined the Herd, however they still protest that the White-Fluffed Red-Eyed baby should have remained with Cobble. Still ... they are at least listening when you explain that the White Baby has chosen Silk as it's Mumma, and there's nothing else to be done, unless they want to be Meanies and break the White Baby's heart by taking it away from the Mare it considers it's Mumma.
>Lots of grumbling, but Cobble has shifted her focus back onto her Green Baby, so that's a load off your mind.
>You do chuckle a bit as you remember Green getting hugged and cuddled and groomed and all but smothered in affection to the point the little baby started to complain. It was a rocky start, but it looks like Green knows that his Mumma really does love him. Perhaps a bit too much, but that's not a bad thing when you're a Feral.
>As you complete your circuit of the Hug-Pile, you can't help but let your eyes be drawn to the hole that leads to the outside world, at the base of the fence that separates Silk's Garden from the rest of the Cruel, Meanie World.
>The Bad Mares who demanded the White baby be put to death escaped earlier out through that hole. They'll be wandering the streets by now, looking for a new, stronger Herd. And they'll be full of rage, rage at you, at your Herd, at the 'Bad' Baby, because it's so much easier to blame all that pain on the Bad Babies than to admit you failed your own children.
>They know all your Safe Places. All your Nummies-Places. All the places where your Herd is at it's most vulnerable. And they'll be back someday, with a Herd of their own, to take it all away if they can, just so they can keep lying to themselves and keep the pain at bay.
>But that's a worry for another day. Right now, your duty as Smarty is over, and your duties as a Mumma must take priority.
>"Mumma ... Mumma bawk." One of your babies chirps sleepily as you squeeze into the side of the Hug-Pile, gratefully accepting your babies back from a Mare who was cuddling them and keeping them warm and safe while you patrolled.
>Your babies snuggle as deep as they can into your fluff, two warm, soft bodies cradled between your chest and your fore-legs, as a nearby Fluffy murmurs 'nite' and flicks his tail over your belly, to help keep you and your babies warm.
>The Herd has suffered, but it will heal in time.
>In time ... you will all ....
>And then you yawn one last time, and fall deep, deep asleep.

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>Be the Owner of Silk and Bruce, peering out the window to check on the Ferals for the last time tonight.
>The sun's only just set, but they've already formed a hug-pile right next to the Sorry Holes where the two Bratty Foals will be spending the night.
>Bruce is sleeping near their Hug-Pile, they are as safe as you can make them, for tonight at least.
>You quietly asked Cowbell if she wanted Spaghetti for her Herd tonight, but she said it would be better in the morning, especially when a nearby Stallion flinched and started to cry when you mentioned the 'S' word ...
>Jesus. Does that mean the Stallions have been scarred for life because of their fight and it's repercussions?
>Behind you, you can hear Silk and her Babies watching the TV, babbling to each other. Some Fluff-TV special on Fluffies playing with Dogs or something ...
>You're actually watching the news on your Lap-Top. In part because the Fluffies need to be distracted so you can have five minutes to yourself and relax. But mostly because the last time you let Silk near the Lap-Top, you left her watching MLP on YouTube, and came back just in time to stop her buying ten tonnes of Bananas from a chinese website.
>No, you still don't know how she did it.
>So, all the 'Special' Spaghetti will be cooked tomorrow morning, the Ferals will get the greatest meal of their lives (hopefully without any pushing and shoving) and you'll drive them to their Safe Place.
>Yeah, the Stallions aren't walking anywhere. They might be used to pain, but jesus, you checked their hooves before they went to sleep, and the raw undersides of their hooves are still puffy and inflamed. Infected at best ...
>God, you hope they didn't get Legionnares Disease or something similar from your fertilized garden ...
>Then your musing is interrupted by your Fluffies cheering from the Lounge Room.
>"Wook! Baybehs, Doggy-Fwiend wook wike Bwuce!"
>"Bwuce-Bwuce!" "H'waaay, Bwuce!" "Doggy! Wan' Doggy-Huggies!"
>Hnnnnnnnnngh, fuck, your heart ...
>Hmm ... oh, something popped up on Google News ... Oh for the love of all things Holy, Lady GaGa melted under the stage-lights, all the plastic surgery gave way, and now she's just a sentient puddle of silicone and plastic?
>And yet MTV is still playing her crap ....
>Distracted, you keep scrolling down until you feel something tugging on your legs.
>It's Silk, yawning heavily, with all three Foals asleep on her back.
>Jesus, it's 9pm already? It was just 5:30 the last time you ... blinked ...
>Why is there a torch shining into your back-yard?

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>It's morning ... and god-damn, you're tired.
>Who-ever the torch-wielding invader was, they're long gone now, and Cowbell swears the Herd isn't missing anbody.
>First time you saw the torch, you grabbed for your pistol in the kitchen drawer and rushed out the back, heard somebody curse as the motion-sensor went off and lit you up, browning clutched in your hand.
>Jesus Christ. Every time you thought you so much as heard a noise, bang, up and out with a torch, scanning the backyard, pistol in hand.
>And the Fluffies slept the whole night long, completely secure in the 'safety' of your Saint Bernard's presence.
>Bruce is almost falling asleep on the spot too, the poor Saint Bernard got rattled by the would-be thief, and spent most of the night pacing around the Herd, growling at anything that moved.
>Still, you promised Cowbell's Herd enough Spaghetti to make their eyes burst, and dropping four tin-foil trays of the expired Spaghetti onto the grass makes them all cheer, even the Stallions whom shuffle forwards on their third set of heavy-duty bandages since they came back into your yard.
>And wonder of wonder, no fighting. Foals, Fillies and Colts, as well as the fattest Mares, probably pregnant, eat first, and it's heart-warming to see the Herd's Foals picking their way across the spaghetti pile, eyes wide open as they stop and lean down, pick up a noodle and walk forwards, chewing as they go and following 'their' noodle like troopers.
>Man, they are bottomless pits .....
>Silk's still inside, eating her breeder's chow and drinking a saucer of skim milk, while her Babies nurse from her again. When you explained that the Ferals would be getting one last good meal from you before they left, she sighed, but said that was a good thing, they didn't have a Daddy like you, they needed the Spaghetti more.
>Note to Self : Get Silk more spaghetti and let her Foals play with it. Record with your camera, you've got a shoe-in for winning the Funniest Home Videos top prize, if only for the "D'aaaaaawwww!" it would generate!
>Cobble's got a big smear of spaghetti sauce all over her face, smiling serenely as she holds a short piece of sauce-covered spaghetti between her hooves, while Green noms on the other end of it, his toothless gums mashing the soft noodle eagerly.
>"Is that enough food? I don't have any more Spaghetti, but I think I have some more apples inside." You ask a nearby Stallion, a ragged-looking Green Earth Fluffy who is slowly eating a mouthful of spaghetti.
>"Nu, dis moaw den 'nuff. Sketties ... sketties fo' two bwite times." The Stallions says after swallowing his mouthful, then sighs gustily. "Dis is guud sketties, nu bad sketties wike wast time. Fam'wy nu fite, nu haf meanies makin' Hewd haf saddies an' angwies, Hewd haf found new Hoomin-Fwiend, Hewd's baybehs safe an' happeh."
>The Green Stallion turns to you and smiles happily.
>"Dis is bestest bwite-time eva." The Stallion finishes, then leans down, picks up another mouthful of spaghetti and toddles over to a cluster of three Mares.
>Two of them are holding the Orange and Purple Foals, muttering under their breath as they glare at the offending Foals that fuss and whine in their hooves, while the third holds a bottle of warm Fluffy Milk-Formula so the two Babies can feed. When they smell, and then see, the Green Pegasus Stallion shuffling over with spaghetti for them, however, the three Mares put their burdens down and shuffle over to him, bleating happily as they eat the offering, and then rush over to the pile of Spaghetti with the Stallion in tow.
>Your eyes remain glued to the two Bitchy Feral Foals, as they stagger up to their hooves, glare at each other with their mouths drawn into thin, angry lines, and then they both spot the milk-bottle's spit-stained teat at the same time.
>They glare at each other, then toddle towards the bottle as fast as they can, squeaking 'Miiiiiwk!' and 'Mine!' at the top of their lungs, giving each other full-body bumps as they try to monopolize the teat for themselves.
>Orange grabs the teat first, holding it between her front hooves and making and pursing her lips as she tries to suckle, and by God, you swear you can see the air sparkle around her head and the teat as she makes contact, and then pow! Purples punched her in the face with a hoof, making Orange squeal in pain and surprise and stumble away, and the victorious Purple wraps both limbs around the plastic teat and opens his mouth to start to feed ...
>Squeaking furiously, with a dribble of blood coming out of her mouth, Orange staggers back to her hooves and rushes Purple, wrapping her limbs around his torso and heaving back. Again and again, denying Purple the chance to suckle, but his grip is too strong her her to pull him off the teat completely.
>"Miwk fo' Best Baybeh! Dummeh! DUMMEH!" Orange squeals angrily, pulling Purple backwards with her greater size and strength, and then she trips, her back-hooves sliding forwards on the grass and dropping her onto her backside, then she's falling back and taking her Brother/Rival with her, the sudden 'jerk' from her tripping finally enough to break his death-grip on the bottle.
>Jesus, it's like watching that Russian from Street Fighter do his flipping move. Purple goes up into the air, milk-formula trailing from his mouth, and then both fall down onto the grass on their back, squeaking loudly and writhing as they try to get back on their hooves.
>Still silent, you walk up to them, grab the milk bottle off the grass and point it teat-down in front of the two Foals.
>Immediately, they both reach their front hooves for it, squeaking "MIIIIIIIWK!"
>And then you squeeze the bottle, hard, and the milk-formula sprays over the grass, the two Foals' eyes going wide with horror. Their legs stop flailing, their tails lie limp, their ears flop ...
>"Bad Fluffies get nothing. You'd better listen to Cowbell and be Good Fluffies, because if you don't ..." You warn them, softly but with as much bass in your voice as you can muster, squashing the soft plastic bottle to the point it crumples beyond repair in your hand in front of the two stunned Foals before dropping it on the milk-covered grass. "She'll send for me. And I will put you in a Sorry Hole so deep nobody will ever be able to get you out. And because you have been such Bad Fluffies, nobody will care."
>And so saying, you walk past the two Bratty Foals towards your garden shed, their eyes moving from the milk-soaked grass to their Herd, playing in the Spaghetti, and you hear them begin to sob. After today, they're Cowbell's responsibility, you just hope that this last act will scare them into behaving, or else ...
>Hell, you're not sure. Can Cowbell condem another Foal to death after all she's been through these past few days, even two self-destructively selfish ones?
>Go to open the Shed Door ... and it swings open at your touch ... and it's dead silent inside.
>Oh come on!

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>Be the Bad Mumma, chortling as you watch your Dummy Smarty Friend get picked up by the No-Face Hoomin and thrown roughly towards another, smaller Hoomin, squealing like a Filly as he flies through the air before being caught by the smaller Hoomin.
>The No-Face Hoomin came in the middle of the night, swearing and cursing, snatched you and the Dummy Smarty Friend up in the middle of you trying to beat the Smarty Friend into submission so he'd understand these are your Babies, and then ... you slammed into the cage wall when he jumped the Angry Hoomin's fence, and you don't remember much after that.
>Where are you? You can hear a lot of Fluffies nearby. Unhappy Fluffies ...
>"A'right, don't fuck this one up. Practice the amputation technique so you know how to do it on the Foals without them dying half-way through, and I don't want to see this one bleeding out on the table again while you have one of your fits! I had to jump some wanker's back fence to find some Fluffies for your training, and there was a dog the size of your motorbike sleeping right next to a bunch of Fluffies!" The No-Face Hoomin snarls, yanking at the black fluff covering his ... holy!
>He does have a face, it was just hidden behind all that fluff! But didn't it hurt  to pull the fluff off his face like that? You don't understand what a Balaclava is!
>"Jeeze boss, he's messed up something fierce ... where's his tail?" The smaller Hoomin replies with a voice that's a touch too eager as your Dummy Smarty Friend squeals in pain at being poked and prodded on his owies. "You took your pills before going out last night, right?"
>"Okay, three things. One, you're the one who needs fucking pills, you animal. Two, Fuck you, in your narrow ass, with a chainsaw. And Three, that's how I found him, with this old Mare, beating the hell outta each other in a cage in the wanker's shed." The Now-has-a-Face Hoomin spits back, slamming your cage down on the floor hard enough to make you squeak in alarm.
>"Nuuu! Nu guud fo' Baybehs! Pwease!" You beg. These might be Baby's Babies, but they are your babies! You'll never let them wander off like your other Babies, but first they have to come out of you!
>"Shut up, bitch." the Now-has-a-Face Hoomin snaps, kicking the cage as he glares down at you. "A mating between a Pink Pegasus that's probably gonna die in the next few days and a White Earth Fluffy that's old as dirt... fuck, it's not like I have a choice, we're short of Foals and Studs after your last 'accident', Junior. A'right, get her the 'vitamins', and we'll see what sort of shit she can pop out in a few weeks time."
>"Right, right. We've got a spare slot where Clara used to be be ... but she's old, boss. You sure it's worth it?" The smaller Hoomin mutters as he puts the bawling Smarty Friend into another cage.
>"Fucked if I know, most of the Mares die anyways after the fifth or sixth batch of Foals. If she doesn't produce a decent batch, she'll be turned into a Milk Feeder. Failing that ... well, Fat Tony's always on the look-out for treats for his 'pets'." The Now-has-a-Face Hoomin grunts, stomping away to another room, and as he opens the door, the faint wailing and crying becomes so very, very loud that it's painful to listen to.
>"Nuuu, pwease, nu moaaaaaaaw!"
>"Gif back weggies! GIF BACK WEGGIES!"
>"Wan' mah Dah-deeeeeeh! Pwease, take Fwuffie back tu Daddy!"
>"Nu wan' be hewe! Pwease, take Fwuffie back tu Fam'wy!"
>"Why baybehs nu hewe? WHEWE MAH BAYBEHS? WHEWE?!"
>"SHADDUP!" The Now-has-a-Face Hoomin roars, and within moments, all the screaming fades away to a chorus of soft whimpering and crying.
>The next few minutes pass in a blur of fear and confusion, as you're sat on a nasty, cold, hard seat, something is forced up your poopie place and a soft tube is shoved into your mouth, which is then taped shut so you can't spit the tube out.
>Then all your leggies are put into little cold, hard metal manacles and forced away from your body, so you can't  try to stand, can't move your arms, you're stuck sitting on your behind, staring out of the cage with fear in your eyes as you grunt around your tube, and the smaller Hoomin walks into the room, and then starts to chuckle.
>"On with the show!" He cheers after the Now-has-a-Face Hoomin leaves, and starts to strap down your Dummy Smarty Friend on a table in the middle of the room.
>On three sides of the room, there are cages like yours, full of Mares, many tied up as you are, others cowering over small, terrified Foals, all bawling, crying or shouting that they are scared as the smaller Hoomin starts to take the fluff away from the Dummy Smarty's back legs.
>On the fourth side, there are dozens and dozens of Stallions, all in little harnesses, with tubes just like your heading to their mouths and poopie places. As the smaller Hoomin starts to take the Dummy Smarty's fluff away, the Stallions all start to poop, crying and sobbing around their tubes and wriggling in their ...
>Where did their leggies go? Why do all those pretty Stallions have no leggies?!
>And then comes out the sharpy glinty toy of the smaller Hoomin's pocket. And at first, you're happy the Dummy Smarty is getting owies! He's the reason you're caught like this! You have to sit here with hurty things in your mouth and your poopie place, and too-tight things clamping down on all your legs. So when he screams about how he loves his leggies, how he needs his leggies, you find yourself chortling.
>Good! Dummy Smarty Friend! You hope it hurts like nothing else!
>But he keeps screaming and screaming, no longer words anymore, just thin, agonized wails that make your fluff stand on end as the smaller Hoomin slowly cuts the leggies off, and then dangles them above the Smarty's face, taunting him and telling him his leggies don't need him.
>And then the Hoomin starts to giggle loudly, which causes all the Mares to begin to wail and shriek and moan in fear, whimpering that they don't want to play the 'boo-boo juices game' again!
>There's so much blood. On the Dummy Smarty, on the Hoomin, on the table and floor ... There can't be that much boo-boo juice in a Fluffy, there just can't be ...
>And the Hoomin keeps giggling, like a ... like a Foal who just discovered a wonderful game. Like your Foals used to do, before they ran away, every time ...
>You can't help but poop in fear, and squeak in alarm as the poop hits the thing in your poopie place, and then there's cold water splashing  up your poopie place, then there's a whirr noise, and a cold, tasteless sludge slides into your mouth from the tube there as the water receeds.
>You have to swallow, or else you'll choke ... bleeegh.
>You want to hug your belly and tell your babies everything will be fine, you'll make sure the Giggling Hoomin finds another Fluffy to play the Boo-Boo Juice Game with, but you can't even do that.
>All you can do is sit and wait, and hope your turn never comes.

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>"Right-o, so that's everyone? Everybody has their Foals, their Special Friends are with them?" You ask, clipping on your seat-belt as the Feral Herd goes through the ninteenth head-count in the past ten minutes, and Cowbell finally tells you that every member of her Herd is safe inside your car.
>Thank every God for that, this is the third time you've had to put everyone in the car. The first time, they'd forgotten one of the Stallions who had crawled under your porch-steps to sleep off breakfast, the second time, a Mare was convinced her Foals had been left behind, but they were actually having cuddles with their Father right next to her ...
>God damn your back hurts from all this bending and lifting. Still, it'll all be worth it, for both you and the Feral Herd.
>With their hooves so badly messed up, the Stallions aren't going anywhere under their own power. Yeah, they might be used to pain, given their life-style, but still, letting them totter back to their home on hooves scraped back to raw flesh is probably going to kill them faster than anything.
>So, with Cowbell perched on your car's dashboard and giving directions and her Herd safely ensconed on the back-seat and floor, you're driving them to what you believe is 'their' territory, a nearby nature reserve not fifteen minutes drive from your house.
>The obvious clue was them talking about the 'shiny howwow biwd-fwiend', which had to be the Bronze Statue of a Bald Eagle that the local council had put in place to mark the anniversary of the last mass-shooting in the state.
>Sunday morning, so there's barely any traffic, so you can take the corners slow, but still the Herd peeps in surprise as you turn, looking out the windows and seeing everything going by 'su fast!'
>There's a little pegasus Foal flapping his wings like a champion in the back, being held up in the air by a Stallion, who is cheering on the Foal for 'flying' all on his own.
>God, what do you say if the Cops pull you over? Hey, officer, I'm just dropping these Feral Ponies back into the wild! No, I'm not drinking, or on drugs, why do you ask?
>But for once, Lady Luck is on your side, and you pull up at the boundary of the nature reserve, unbuckle and let the Fluffies out, although truth be told, for the majority you had to pull them out and put them on the grass.
>For once in their lives, Purple and Orange are absolutely quiet as you pluck them off the floor of the car and deposit them on the backs of two Mares, at which point the two Foals grab on tight and hunker down like there's a storm coming, burying into the fluff of the Mares as much as they can, ears laid back flat and eyes squeezed firmly shut.
>Shit, hope you didn't traumatize them too much ... but it was either that, or Cowbell would have had to. Better these two fear and hate you than their Smarty Friend.
>Opening the boot of the car, you pull out the oldest food in your house, bread, some wrinkly pears, some brussel sprouts, and hand them out to the Herd, and then grab the black plastic garbage bag.
>"Hoomin! Come, Cowbeww wan' show Hoomin whewe Safe Pwace is, so if Hoomin nee' Safe Pwace, Hoomin know whewe tu find it!" Cowbell laughs happily, eager to show you the Herd's home as her two babies are placed on her back by an attendant Mare, and the the new Smarty leads her Herd into the reserve.
>Well, technically it's not illegal to enter the nature reserve, it's just ... trees and bushes that are supposed to provide a haven for the native wildlife. So you trundle after the Fluffies, somewhat bemused that they bypassed a hollow log and several thick evergreen bushes for ...
>Well. Holy shit.
>Okay, admittedly, it looks like a deranged Hobo's camp, but still, for Fluffies, that is a fairly decent effort.
>There's a bunch of abandoned concrete 'pipes' here, probably left-overs from when the local council ran a number of sewage-pipes under the nature preserve to link the new suburbs to the old lines, each pipe big enough for you to crawl into if you were really desperate, half-covered in earth and bushes as the embankment they were left against slowly flooded over them through the efforts of the wind and rain, so they'd be camoflaged if not for the junk the Fluffies have surrounded their homes with.
>Brightly coloured pieces of plastic, water-damaged newspapers, empty fast-food containers, faded and broken toys. If it once held food, or is bright and pretty, they've collected it at some point.
>As the Herd separates into smaller groups and everyone starts shuffling around their 'Safe Pwaces' and cheering about being home again, and without their Meanie Smarty Friend to boot, you kneel down next to Cowbell, opening the black plastic bag and pulling out a handful of Bruce's fur, the stuff that comes loose by the truckload every time you brush him.
>Cowbell knew what was coming, but she said to wait until everybody had found their Safe Place once again, then hand out the 'Doggy-Fwiend Fwuff' so that nobody would fret about leaving bits of their new bedding behind on the walk home.
>The Herd, on the other hand, is estatic to have the shed fur to pad their nests further with. Quietly, you do worry about them beginning to associate the smell of a dog with safety, but Cowbell, at least, has her head screwed on straight, she'll keep the Herd safe and functional at least.
>Within a few minutes, every 'cave' has a layer of the Saint Bernard's fur mixed in with the older shed fluff of the Herd, enough to ensure that the Herd will be able to sleep in thick layers of padding, warm and safe.
>The food's been split up and eaten, and Cowbell insists on showing you the Herd's 'Safe Pwaces', and as you are led along by the Smarty Friend, and the 'families' with the Herd proudly point out all the 'amenities' within their homes, you start to realise that the Ferals aren't showing off their homes, they're offering you a place with them.
>You showed them mercy and kindness, so they are reciprocating. They're offering you the greatest gift they have, their only shelter, whenever you want it.
>Finally, you manage to make your escape, promising you'll see them again soon, and as you wander out, you find yourself thinking about how much safer Cowbell's Herd could be if they had some of those evergreen bushes in front of their home, to obscure their colourful little 'Safe Pwaces' ...
> ...................
>Dammit.

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Six Weeks Later

>"Ready Cotton?" Daddy asks, grabbing the Jingling Toy he says he needs to make the Fast Box work.
>"Nea'wy!" You shout back, as your Mumma, Silk, a red Earth Fluffy like you, and your older Sister, Felt, a pink Unicorn, help pull your Special Fluff into place. Felt can't help that much because she's starting to get really fat, Mumma says Felt has to be careful, she has Babies inside her now.
>Her Special Friend, Thread, is busy carrying an apple that was dropped to the Fast Box for Daddy. Thread used to be called Green, but after he and Felt had accidental Special Huggies last weekend, when Felt went with Silk to visit Cowbell's Herd, Daddy said he would adopt Green so Felt wouldn't have to raise her Foals alone, and gave him that name.
>Daddy was also muttering something about 'tesh-tee-kaaws'. Is that a funny way of saying 'tickles'? You like tickle-games, they're fun!
>Daddy was upset about Felt being a Mumma so soon, but it wasn't anyone's fault ... You'd nearly jumped on top of Felt yourself, you couldn't help yourself, she smelled soooo good! Velvet smells good too now, but not quite as good as Felt. Also, Velvet is bigger than you, and tends to enjoy chasing you rather than the other way around ...
>But you are grateful your Mumma and Sissy are helping you with your Special Fluff. You get a lot of owies if you go outside without it!
>Daddy explained that before you go outside, you have to wear the Special Fluff over your back and on your head to make sure the Bright Ball doesn't burn your skin, or make your eyes hurt.
>He and Mumma said that it was because you were born special, that your skin and fluff and eyes need help dealing with the Bright Ball.
>Well ... the Special Fluff is very pretty, and you don't mind your Mumma and Sisters fussing over you all that much. Thread says you're very lucky, he's never heard of a Fluffy who got to wear two sets of Fluff!
>Plus, Daddy is taking you and Velvet out to play with the Herd today! He's got a lot of newspaper, two whole loaves of fruit-bread and a bag of apples!
>And those bouncy-green-ball-toys too, six of them, no less! Daddy calls them 'Tehn-nes' balls, but he's silly, they're Bouncy-Green-Ball-Toys!
>"Dewe!" Mumma says as she pulls the piece of Special Fluff that supposed to go over your eyes into place. "Yuu gu, an' haf fun wit' Vew'vet. Pwease make shuwe dat Vew'vet nu get scawedies owr haf Meanie Stawwions buwwy hew, pwease Cotton."
>"Pfffft, Vew'vet buwwy Stawwions, Mumma, yuu know dat!" Felt chuckles as she tugs the piece of Special Fluff that goes over your back on last time. "Dewe, Bwudda, aww pwetty now!"
>"Tank yuu!" You say happily, hugging your Mumma, then your Sissy, and charging out onto the grass to follow after Daddy, waving goodbye to Thread as he toddles back to Mumma and Felt. It's a beautiful Bright Time, the sun is warm overhead, but the grass is cool and yielding under your hooves and the sky is a perfect shade of blue.
>Next to Daddy and his Fast Box, there's your sister, Velvet, the same colour as Mumma but with wingies, which makes her a Pegasus, and there's also Bruce, your biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig brother, already sitting in Daddy's Fast Box, grinning at you.
>"Alright, you two, ready to go and see Cowbell and her Herd?" Daddy asks, kneeling down to help you into the Fast Box with your sister.
>"Yaaaaay! Wuv Cowbeww!" Velvet cheers as Daddy puts her in the padded insides of the Fast Box.
>"Gon' pway wit' Leaf an' Pebbwe an' Moss an' ..." You babble excitedly, waving your legs in the air as Daddy turns to put you in the car too.
>"Hooo, it's going to be a long Sunday." Daddy murmurs softly as you keep telling him and Velvet and Bruce about all the Fluffies you're going to be playing with today as he pulls out the Jingle-Toy to wake up the Fast Box.


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>"Tony, what part of 'I'm down to three Stallions and two-dozen Mares' don't you understand? Why? I'll tell you why! Your damn psychopathic queer-as-a-seven-dollar-bill nephew, that's why!" The Shouts-a-lot Hoomin roars into a small, black toy he holds close to his ear, turning a dangerous shade of purple. "The little fucker has another episode, right in front of the Animal Welfare Officer, and starts to throw the Mare's cages around the room and stab every Stallion he can get to before we were able to knock the box-cutter out of his hand and pin him to the ground. Yes, Tony, two adult men could barely restrain him, and he nearly cut up me and a Public Officer. He's lucky to be ..."
>The Shouts-a-lot Hoomin stomps away to scream into his toy some more, but you can't pay attention ...
>Your ba-babies ... no, not yours, these munsta babies the Hoomin forced on you are drinking your milk again. You can't kick them away, you can't yell at them, you can't do anything to stop them.
>The other Mares don't get restrained like you do. They say they know better than to hurt a Baby, even if it is a Munsta, because the Hoomins get so mad, because the Babies have to be happy and love to give hugs, or they will never leave and will be put through the grindy-machine and be turned into mush!
>Stuuuuuuupid Fluffies! Stupid, stupid, stupid!
>The Stallions are even more useless, those that are left just hang on their wall, staring at the Munsta Baby with sad eyes as they breath raggedly around the nummies-tubes that are forced into their mouths.
>Well, the Blue Pegasus and the Red Unicorn do. Your Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend just stares at you, without blinking, day after day after day.
>You'd swear he never even sleeps.
>Yesterday, the Giggling Hoomin decided he wanted to play his Boo-Boo Juice game with everyone. There's a lot of empty cages now, many of them badly dented and still blood-stained, and another Hoomin took all the Dead Fluffies away, as well as the Giggling Hoomin too.
>It's just not fa-aaaaagh!
>Stupid Munsta Baby! That milk is for your Babies, not a Bad Ugly Unloveable Munsta Baby!
>The Baby tore up your naughty place badly when it came out, the Shouts-a-lot Hoomin said you'd probably never have Babies again. That alone made you furious, but then you saw the Baby ...
>On one side, the baby has pale pink Fluff, like the Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend, yet on the other side, it has white Fluff, like you.
>And it has five leggies, two at the back, three at the front .... two tails ... and two heads. It's a Munsta, a Munsta, but the Hoomin says it's your baby! That's impossible, you only have good babies, you only ever have the bestest babies, even if they do wander off or get stolen by Mares who are jealous of how good your babies are!
>When you demanded the Hoomin give you your bestest babies and take the Munsta back to whatever Dummy Mare it had crawled out of, he went silent, then slapped you across the muzzle so hard your teeth rattled and laughed so loud that the remaining Mares all pooped and cowered in the far corners of their cages.
>"Jeez, the other Mares weren't kidding when they said you were stupid as shit and twice as nasty, were they? You're a real piece of work, you saggy old bitch, eating my food, and then giving me a mutant Foal for all my time and money." The Shouts-a-lot Hoomin chuckled evily, reaching in to pin you against the back of your cage with one hand while he shackled your legs again. "Normally, I let the Mares have some freedom so they can raise the Foals the way I tell them to, but for you, 'Bad Mumma', I think it's best for the Foals for you to go back into the shackles."
>You're not 'Bad Mumma'! You're the Best Mumma! You're the best Mumma in the whole Fluffing world! It's your babies who keep running away, it's the other Mares who keep stealing them, it's not your fault, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT, IT'S NOT YOUR FA-AAAAAGH!
>"Wuv ... Mumma." The Pink head murmurs before going back to suckling on one teat, while the White head smiles up at you, tugging on your other teat so that the nipples are both facing inwards, so that both heads can drink at the same time.
>They're pulling your teats closer together so both heads can drink at the same time, and spread-eagled as you are, it makes the skin between your back legs and your teats pull and hurt! Stuupid Munsta Baby!
>"Yeah, you're gonna call in my debt to you, huh? Well, how about this Tony? I provide a legitmate cover for your second hand side-business, you dig? I don't get a decent turn-over on the Fluffies, the rest of the stock I hold onto from your boys can't be moved, or the cops figure out there's no way I can be trading all these 'second-hand' TV's and appliances for a handful of Fluffy Foals! They put the hard word on me and the boys you send round to offload the goods, and how long before one of those greenhorn basement-virgins squeals, and we both end up sharing a cell with Bubba the Butt-Breaker for the next decade or two?" The Shouts-a-lot Hoomin roars as he stomps back into the room, an even darker and angrier shade of purple now. "How about you tell me how owing you 50 grand means I've gotta sleep with a shotgun under my pillow incase your nephew decides to being a pussy and go after a Human being, hey? I don't care if he's your family, you either get that little bastard to take his damn pills, or you get him outta my mill, because I can't keep up the charade if I've got no damn fluffies to sell, dammit! Two days ago, I had twenty Stallions and sixty Mares, plus close to twice that number in Foals, after that little Jack the Ripper wannabe, I'm down to three Stallions, two dozen Mares and perhaps five or six Foals, including one mutant fucking spawn of the devil itself, and all of them are traumatized to fucking hell and back!"
>The Munsta Baby squeals from both heads, trying to hug you for comfort at the shouting of the Hoomin, but you're able to shake your body from side to side, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pains in your poopie-place as you furiously try to shake it off you, the Meanie Toy that takes your poopies away shoved in too far, because the Shouts-a-lot Hoomin was angry with you.
>"Yeah, yeah, whatever Tony, just do something about your damn nephew. Assuming he makes Bail, tell him to not bother coming back, I'm changing the locks on all the doors and windows so he can't finish his little stabbing spree. I'll see about grabbing some more Ferals to replenish the stock." Shouts-a-lot Hoomin grumbles as he walks past the cage, slamming his fist into the few occupied cages and making the Mares squeal and hug thei ... no, your babies to their bellies. "Fucking hell ... no, I can't go back to that suburb, some bastard reported a break in their shed, and the cops almost traced it to me before they decided it was some mexican working with one of the garden maintenance crews instead. I'll have to head into the garbage dumps on the other side of .... oh, yeah, real smart, Tony, steal people's pets? In this day and age? Everybody who'se got a decent Fluffy knows to get the damn things microchipped, and I get so much as one complaint about a stolen Fluffy in my mill, I'll have the pigs crawling all over this place."
>"Mumma! MUMMA!" The Pink and White heads wail as the Munsta tries to hug you again, but you keep throwing your body around as much as the restraints will allow, squealing in rage past your feeding tube as you feel something hot and sticky start to come out of your poopie place, and the pain grows and grows inside your belly.
>No! NO! Munsta Baby! This milk is for my Babies, not you! Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't toooooouch meeeeeeeeeeeeee!
>"Oh for the love of ... I'll call you back, one of my last Mares is ... Jesus!" Shouts-a-lot Hoomin groans, folding his black toy in half and staring at the cage under yours, then you, his face turning pale. "What the hell, you stupid fucking thing? Stop that, you're killing yourself!"
>"Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyygh!" You squeal around your feeding tube and the tearing pain in your Poopie-Place, rocking back and forth, side to side, until the Munsta baby, squealing from both heads, falls onto it's back and wails loudly for 'Wuv'.
>Your Poopie place hurts, and that warm, sticky feeling is spreading all over your legs too, but at last, it's off you! Now you just need to free your leggies, and then ...
>The Shouts-a-lot Hoomin opens the door to your cage, gently picks up the crying, sobbing Munsta Baby and takes it over to another Mare, who lost your Babies during the Boo-Boo Juices Game, and loudly tells her to take care of the 'Special Babies', then he comes over to you and scowls.
>"Man, you're fucking stupid." He grunts, then reaches in starts to free your leggies, but when you can finally move again, you look down ... so much Boo-Boo Juice around your bum and back leggies!
>"You, you old, saggy bitch, are the most stubborn fucking rat I've ever had the misfortune to meet. I don't care if you do have a popular colouration, you're not worth the fucking stress to the breeders I already have." The Shouts-a-lot Hoomin snarls as he pulls you off the Poopie-Pie roughly, and you cry as you feel the biggest ripping-pain of all, and the hot, sticky feeling gets stronger. "So you know what, fuck you. I've got to get new Fluffies anyways, so I'll take out the garbage and start fresh."
>And then he walks over to the far wall, where the few remaining Stallions hang, the Unicorn and Earthy cringing at his approach, but your Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend staring at you mutely without so much as blinking as the Shouts-a-lot Hoomin unhooks him from the wall and walks to the back of the Mill.
>Oh, daylight! Blessed daylight, not that horrible yellow flickery light that gives you headaches, true Bright-Ball light! So warm, so go-oooooooh poopies!
>You're flying! FLYING! But you're not a pegasus!
>That Meanie Bastard Poopies-Head Extra-Small-Pokey-Thing Hoomin threw you and the Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend into the air, and now you're falling into a Metal Nummies Bin, but it's much, much bigger than the sort the Herd used to raid for nummies so long ago!
>"Five points." You hear the Hoomin shout, and then there's the slam of a door, before you fall into the confines of the skip-bin.
>Ooof! hitting the black plastic bags hurts, but whatever's in them cushions your fall, at least until the Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend lands on top of you, and you feel your back-leggies shatter under his weight!
>There's not enough breath left in your body to scream at him that he's a Dummy as he rolls away towards the bottom of the skip-bin, his two remaining leggies flailing for something to hold onto, before the pain from your shattered hind-legs, and the agonizing throbbing in your poopie place, makes you black out.
>When you wake up, you're very, very cold, and the sky has gone from bright blue to a faded red ... No!
>All that time, wasted asleep! You have to get out of here, get back inside and get all your babies back from those Stuuuuupid Mares!
>"Nggh! NNNGHH! Prrrrufffff!" You hear a Fluffy grunting ... oh, it's the Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend, dragging himself up with his front leggies and his mouth, grabbing hold of a piece of the black plastic bags with his mouth and then dragging himself upwards with his front leggies, grunting around his mouthful of dirty black plastic with every effort.
>He's covered in blood and dirt, and stinks! Phew! Worse than even the Sorry Poopies! But he's the only one who can help you now ...
>"Stuuupid! Hewp Mumma get hew baybehs! Huwwy!" You demand, shivering from this cold feeling that seems to be coming from inside you, as the Dummy drags himself up to your side, staring at your belly ....
>He's not going to try and fight you again, is he? No, he can't possibly do that, he's using both his leggies to hold himself upright!
>You're so .... tired and cold. Stuuupid Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend! Hurry up and help, so you can go back inside and take your real babies back off those evil, meanie Mares!
>He crawls up to your side, places his head down on your belly ...
>"Mu-mumma ... wuv mumma, gif huggies!" He whispers, then smiles, cuddling up to your side, his eyes looking up at you without any ... Smarty in them.
>You sit there, shivering with this cold spreading through you, and boo-boo juice dribbling from your broken legs and poopie-place, and the Dummy Ex-Smarty Friend just lies there, pretending to be one of your Good Babies, cheeping like a newborn Foal.
>"Stuuupid ... baybeh ..." You mutter, lying back on your garbage bag in defeat. Your back leggies don't work, so you can't kick him off, and trying to sit upright on your back hurts like nothing, not even Baby-Coming-Owies, ever has.
>Soon, the Bad Mumma stops shivering ... her injuries, the self-inflicted tears in her bowels from the waste-pipe, her broken legs and the stresses of old age and bearing foals constantly having done their work, and within minutes, she goes silent and still.
>The Ex-Smarty Friend, mentally broken after weeks of torture, of being the 'practice dummy' for Fat Tony's nephew and the nightmarish fever-dreams caused by the infections he recieved during that time from his poorly-dressed injuries, has regressed to his happiest moment in life to escape, and spends the night cuddled up against his mother's cooling corpse, reduced to peeping and cheeping, his past nothing more than bad dreams, as he nurses on and off again from her still-full teats, passing away in the night from the chill, the infections and a broken heart because his 'beloved' Mumma does not hug him back.

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>Be Cotton again, the white-fluffed Colt, chasing around one of the bouncy-green-ball-toys with the other Colts and Fillies of Cowbell's Herd, while Daddy and Cowbell talk as they distribute the nummies to the adult Fluffies.
>Slices of bread, slices of apple, the Herd is all so grateful to have it! And you're happy they are happy, they're your only friends other than Daddy and Mumma and your Sisters and your Biggest Brother and Thread!
>Eventually, everyone gets called over to the Herd's Safe Places for their mid-morning hugs, and to let the Foals have a much-needed rest. Bruce is with Daddy and Cowbell, so Daddy can take Bruce's spare Fluff and give it to the Herd.
>Also so Bruce can snuggle with the Fluffy Mummas and Mummas who have Foals not old enough to play with you and the other Colts and Fillies. You can hear the thud thud thud of his tail even from here.
>As you're walking back to where the Herd is clustering around Cowbell and your Daddy, there's a Mare standing just a little bit away from the Herd itself, staring at you intently, nibbling on her bottom lip as you approach, before she waddles infront of you, her belly just starting to swell up, like Felt's did right after ... oh, she's a Mumma!
>"Yuu ... is Speshaw Guud-Guud Baybeh. Cobbwe wem'embah yuu, nevah fowgot yuu, pwomise!" The Mumma says softly, reaching out to gently nuzzle your face. "Am Mumma."
>"Yaaah, can see! Yuu vewy pwetty Mumma! Yuu baybehs gon' be suuu wucky!" You giggle, nuzzling her back before trying to walk around her, but she shuffles in front of you again, looking pained.
>"Nuuu, yuu nu unna'stand! Am Mumma. Wem'embah?" The Mumma says loudly, reaching for you with a front hoof. "Cobbwe wem'embah wittwe Speshaw Baybeh, do yuu wem'embah how Mumma sang tu yuu?
>You close your eyes and try to think ... Daddy and Mumma said that Cowbell's Herd had come into Daddy's garden one time, and that was where Bruce found you all alone on the grass, abandoned by your Meanie Momma ... and that was when Cowbell and Mumma became friends.
>Maybe she means she looked after you for a while, while Cowbell and Mumma played?
>"Yuu hewp Mumma wook afta Cotton?" You ask, smiling warmly. Such a nice, friendly Mare, to help with another Mare's babies! "Yuu sing tu Cotton su Cotton gu' haf Sweepies so Mumma can pway wit' Cowbeww?"
>"Nuuuuuu ... am MUMMA!" This 'Cobble' sobs in distress, shifting back and forth on her hooves. "Why yuu nu unna'stand? AM MUMMA!"
>Now you're confused. You know she's a Mumma, you can see her belly all swollen! She's not fat, her belly is going out, forwards and back, as well as down, so it's obvious that she's a Mumma!
>"Ah ... Cotton! Come over here, quick, Cowbell needs to talk to you." Daddy yelled loudly, giving you the opportunity to beat  hasty retreat  from the scary, confused Mumma as she lunged forwards to give you a hug, before a pair of Cowbell's Toughies shuffled up to hold her in place and try to soothe her.
>That was a very silly Fluffy ... maybe Cowbell can explain why she was trying to tell you repeatedly that she was a Mumma?
>Pushing your way through the Herd that has clustered around Daddy and Cowbell, you are nuzzled and greeted by everyone, although some of the Mares look sad.
>Those ones always look sad when they see you. You don't know why, they won't talk to you, and when you ask, Daddy, Mumma and Cowbell all change the subject!
>Cowbell's waiting for you, looking rather tired, but she's also smiling.
>"Cotton, Cowbeww wan' ask yuu, is Thwead doin' oh'tay? He vewy young tu be a Fatha, an' yuu Hoomin is nu home aww time tu hewp him be Guud Fwuffy." Cowbell asks after you greet each other with a hug. "He hewpin' Siwk an' Vew'vet an' Fewt? Nu bein' meanie owr naughty?"
>Oh ... oh! Is she worried about that?
>"Nuuu, Thwead is bestest Fwuffie! He aw'ways suuu nice, wuv pwayin' wit' fam'wy, nevah yeww owr puww fwuff owr make bad poopies!" You exclaim loudly, flailing your arms in a panic. "Thwead an' Fewt nu mean tu haf Speshaw Huggies, buh Fewt su happeh to haf Thwead as hew Speshaw Fwiend, an' Thwead wuv Fewt suuuu much!"
>Cowbell shoots a look at Daddy, who nods, and then the Smarty Friend turns back to you.
>"So Thwead is bein' guud. An' he happeh, dat guud tuu." Cowbell murmurs, looking very relieved. "Was wowwied dat Thwead fow'get wha' Cowbeww teww him, dat he haf be extwa-speshaw-guud, afta gifin' tuu-soon Speshaw Huggies."
>"Well, I had to know. I'm sorry Cowbell, I just worry because I can't be there all the time, and little Cotton's ... well, too nice. And Felt's just too excited about her Babies to make sense." Daddy says, rubbing Cowbell's mane gently. "Uhm, if Cobble's going to get upset, I think we should go."
>A chorus of "Awwwwww!" and "Nuuuuu, stay, pway wit' Fwuffies!" greets that annoucement. Silly Daddy!
>"Nu, Cobbwe jus' nee' tu wem'embah dat she onwy haf one baybeh." Cowbell replies firmly, glaring at the Sad Mares in the Herd. "If Fwuffies wouwd stawp twyin' tu teww Cobbwe dat she haf twu baybehs, den Cobbwe wouwd fow'get an' be happeh 'gain!"
>So that means Cobble, the strange Mumma you just met had only one baby, but she thinks she had two? Huh ... did Thread have a Brother? You'll have to ask when you get back home.
>"Speaking of trouble ..." Daddy says, but he's grinning, and the Herd groans as one as two angry voices start to make themselves heard as the bushes that shield the Herd's Safe Place from prying eyes rustle.
>"Stuuupid bwudda! Huwwy! Dewicious Hoomin Nummies gon' be aww gon' 'GAIN!" A huuuuuuge Fluffy Mumma snaps as she's pushed none-too-gently through the dead branches on the underside of the bush. "Stuuupid! Why yuu nu woww Owange fasta?"
>"If Owange nu su wazy bish, den couwd haf! Buh yuu suuuuu fat, an' suuuuuu wazy! Puw'puwe haf tu du aww wowwin', an' Hewd nu wan' hewp wazy bish Sissy!" A slightly smaller Purple Stallion complains loudly, only just visible behind his ... Sissy-Speshaw-Fwiend?
>Eeeeewwwwwww .... but then, you nearly jumped your own Sissy .... hmmm. Something else to ask later.
>Back and forth the Special Friends bicker and squabble about whose fault it is they're later, who is the bigger dummy, and it gets worse and worse, you feel your cheeks going red with embarrasment, but Cowbell's Herd just laughs and laughs, which only makes the Orange and Purple duo angrier with each other.
>"YUU POKEY TING SU SMAWW, OWANGE NU KNOW WAT YUU DOIN' TIWW YUU HAF GUUD FEEWS!" Orange screams, flailing her legs at Purple as he gives her a final shove forwards, her tirade failing for precious seconds as her head rolls under her body and silencing her until her rotation completes. "YUU DID DAT ON PUW'POSE! YUU BAW'STAWD! HATE YUU!"
>"Oh fo' de wuv of Fwuff ... shut UP, yuu ugwy, stuuuupid bish! Yuu make Speshaw Smeww, wub yuu No-No's in mah face when Puw'puwe haf sweepies! Yuu know wat gon' happen, Cowbeww teww yuu 'bout Speshaw Smeww, buh yuu bwame Puw'puwe? If Smawty Fwiend nu make Puw'puwe be yuu Speshaw Fwiend tiww baybehs nu nee' dere stuuuuuuuupid Mumma no mowe, wouwd haf nevah touched yuu 'gain!" Purple shouts back, puffing his cheeks and stamping a hoof for emphasis. "Yuu such a bish! Nu wunna dat yuu nu fin' Speshaw Fwiend, haf tu twick Bwudda, make Bwudda wook wike a Siwwy, Naughty Fwuffie!"
>"YUU is Fwuffie who haf scawedy dweam, an' make Cowbeww wet yuu sweep in Hug-Piwe next tu Owange! Nu Owange fauwt, scawedy Puw'puwe's fauwt, 'cause Puw'pu-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Orange spits back, before Purple, pushed beyond control, charges her and gives her too-tight huggies,  the Fluffy Mumma's bloating body rolling with his tackle, so the two roll towards the herd, grappling and cursing each other!
> As Orange rolls towards the Herd, Purple is still grappling her belly, shouting that the Babies will be good like him, his shouts muffled as Orange's bloated body rolls over the top of him, squashing Purple under Orange's belly before she rolls on again, with an even dirtier Purple squeaking furiously rising to the top as Orange rolls on, but even as furious as he is, Purple won't break the tabboo of Cowbell's Herd and make a Fluffy Mumma have boo-boo juices, while Orange is too fat to be able to do more than grab one of Purple's legs with her own and flail impotently with her others, shouting for her Babies to come out and give her dummy Brother the biggest owies.
>Small No-No's, loose No-No's, small heads full of sorry poopies, ugly, dirty fluff, wow, you're learning a lot of new ways to tell another Fluffy they're dummies today!
>"Looks like every species has their Trailer-Park moments." Daddy sighs as Cowbell and her Toughies charge the two furiously spitting Special Friends and drag them apart.
>You'd ask Daddy what he meant, but Velvet jumped in front of you to protect you from the Meanie Fluffies, and as she puffs out her fluff and flicks her tail around to look more imposing, you can't help but smell something sweet and ... warm in the air.
>Maybe if you just got closer, you could see how she's doing that ....

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>Be Silk, rolling a soft ball back and forth between your front hooves, watching your daughter Felt, and her Special Friend Thread, hug and cuddle with each other.
>You remember when Thread was called Green, a sad little baby who thought his Mumma hated him and that he had to fight for nummies. You're glad to see he's so much happier now, and most importantly, that he's nice, like Cowbell promised he would be.
>Felt's not much older than you were when ... when the Pink Bastard gave you Special Huggies, but at least she has you to help her, as well as Velvet, Cotton, Thread, Daddy and Bruce.
>Well, Daddy's never really home, except during the Dark Time, and Bruce isn't very good at being anything other than something warm to snuggle up to and place chase with. In fact, he's so big now you don't think the chase-game is much fun for Bruce anymore, because your leggies are still so short, while his are so so so long now, but he does love playing it with you anyways.
>"Owr baybehs know dere Mumma song yet?" Thread asks softly, breaking the hug so he can crouch down and poke Felt's slowly-expanding body with his muzzle, making your pink-fluffed daughter giggle. "Thwead wan' Baybehs tu know dey haf Guud Mumma, dat dey haf wuv'wiest Mumma in whowe gawden!"
>"Siwwy! Baybehs tuu smaww tu know dere Mumma's Song! Wook at Fewt's bewwy, dey stiww haffin' sweepies, nu can heaw Mumma Song tiww dey biggah!" Felt says, then bursts into giggles again as Thread's muzzle drifts up and down her belly, the earnest Colt trying to hum a ... Fatha Song? A Fatha Song to their babies.
>Your babies aren't your babies anymore. They're ... Fluffies now, and while it does make you sad that they no longer cling to you for security and guidance, you are very proud they all grew up to be big, happy, healthy Fluffies.
>Well, Cotton's not quite as big as he should be, but he's a Special Fluffy, and he's always willing to give hugs and help you and your daughters.
>Ooop, you can hear the Fast Box coming into the driveway. Looks like Daddy, Bruce, Cotton and Felt are back.
>"Seriously, you and Thread are both going to the vet. I can't handle any more Fluffies." You hear Daddy groaning loudly, before Bruce jumps the gate to come bounding over to you, barking happily.
>"Hu'way! Bwuce, yuu bawk!" You cheer, sitting on your rear on a piece of newspaper and reaching your front hooves for Bruce as he rushes over to you, planting his cold nose in your chest and nuzzling you.
>Nuzzles you so hard you end up scooting across the porch with Bruce wiggling after you on his belly, but that's okay, Bruce is just so happy to see you again.
>When you can finally get away from Bruce and his cold nose and super-sticky tongue-baths, you see Daddy is talking quietly with Thread and Felt, while Velvet is hugging Cotton to her side, smiling broadly.
>"Weww, how was He-*" You begin to ask, when Velvet proudly shouts over the top of you, still grinning from ear to ear.
>"Vew'vet gon' be Mumma tuu! Cotton gif Speshaw Huggies, gon' haf pwetty white baybehs!" She bellows, while Cotton gives you a lopsided grin before Velvet squeezes him to her side firmly, making his legs slide out from under him as his body is pulled towards Velvet too quickly, and the two young Fluffies go down in a tangle of legs and tails and giggling.
>Oh. Oh dear.
>Daddy comes over, still sighing, and explains that Velvet was trying to protect Cotton when Cotton sniffed her rear, then went crazy and jumped her.
>Not that Velvet fought too hard ...
>Both you and Daddy put your hooves into your faces and sigh. So many Babies ...
>Bruce, however, is estatic, you can hear his tail going thumpa-thumpa-thumpa on the porch floor, the Saint Bernard giving you a big, loose canine grin as Thread, Cotton, Felt and Velvet all start to chase each other on the grass, shouting eagerly about their Babies and how much love they are going to give them.
>Daddy goes inside and comes back out with a bottle of his brown-owies wa-wa, and starts to drink right out of the bottle.
>You had some once when Daddy gave you some after you begged and begged him, but the meany brown-owies wa-wa burned the whole way down ... and you don't remember much after that. Daddy says it's for the best, the Post-Man was traumatized enough as-is.
>Once he starts drinking that, Daddy generally goes to sleep shortly afterwards, so you turn to Bruce, shuffle over to his head and hug his neck, then begin to long, long process of grooming him and making him pretty again.
>"Bwuce, tink it aw'wite fo' bof Fiwwies tu haf Baybehs togetha?" You ask softly, brushing his thick, soft fur with your hooves as you hear your children start to discuss where would be the best place for the Mares to have their Foals.
>"Aur-ruurr-rurrrr....hurr-rrrruuuurrrrr." Bruce mumbles, eyes slowly closing as you work on his coat.
>"Dat wat Siwk tink tuu." You smile, shuffling back up to Bruce's head to cuddle him, but he's already asleep.
>Poor, silly Bruce, he must have played so much with Cowbell's Herd that he's too tired now.
>Your children have disappeared into the garden to find their future 'Safe Pwaces', leaving you alone with your Giant Fluffy.
>It's a sad, bitter-sweet feeling, but still, your heart fills to bursting with love and pride, and though you dearly want to go and show them where the best places are, you want them to have the fun of discovery without you leading the way.
>So you settle down against Bruce's warm side, sigh happily, and close your eyes to wait for sleep to claim you.
>Tomorrow, you'll let your children show you 'their' Safe Places, and you know you'll be ... so ... proud of ... them.
>"Zzzzzzzzz..."