Maternal instinct

“Wan’ be mumma”
>Here we go again. Your fluffy, Plum, has been repeating she wants to be a mummy since last week, and nothing seems to divert her attention.
>You explain to her you can’t keep more than one fluffy in your house.
>She doesn’t understand.
>Obviously.
>That night, after Plum talked herself to sleep, constantly babbling about being a “good mumma”, you try to devise a plan to make her stop.
>Neutering her is out of question. Costly, and also useless: the point is not that she can have babies, it’s that she wants them.
>Finally, you have an idea.
>Next morning, a Saturday, you go in your backyard before Plum wakes up. You neighbor is tending to the chickens and rooster he’s very proud of. You ask him for a fertile egg.
>He promptly give you one.
“Why do you need one, by the way?”.
>You shrug.
“Heh, just want to teach my fluffy a lesson”.
>He nods. He never liked Plum – or fluffies in general – that much.
>You then enter Plum’s safe room as quietly as possible, and put the chicken egg beside her. You proceed to wake her up.
“Plum! Open your eyes and look! You’re gonna be a mumma soon!”.
>She blinks a couple of times, dumbfounded.
“Pwum no have special huggies. How Pwum be mumma?”.
>You explain to her that some very special and very good fluffies can become mummas even without special huggies, and show her the egg.
“Pwum bahbe in siwwy baww now?”
“Yes, Plum, your baby is in there”.
>She looks at you expectantly.
“Pwum wan gif bahbe miwkies. Wan gif bahbe huggies and wuv. Daddeh open baww?”.
>You laugh.
>“Silly fluffy, the baby is not ready to come out yet! You have to keep the ball warm, or the baby will get cold and never leave it. And you can never, EVER, break the ball, or the baby will go away and you will never see it… And you will become a bad mumma, because only bad mummas let their foals go away. Are you a bad mumma, Plum?”.
>Plum’s eyes widen in terror. If there’s something that a fluffy mare can understand, it’s bad parenting.
>“Nuuuuuu! Pwum be gud mumma, pwomise! Pwum no make baww cowd, no bweak baww! Fwuffy be wawm, fwuffy wuv mumma!”.
>And she keeps her promise. You can’t actually understand how or why Plum don’t manage to break the egg, considering that she’s as stupid and clumsy as any other fluffy.
>She stays in the safe room 24/7 curled around the egg, and leaves it only to poop in her litterbox.
>You actually admire her for that. She really wants to be a mother.
>Nearly three weeks later, after you came back from work, she start calling you worriedly.
>“Daddeh! Pwease come! Bahbe wan out! Hewp bahbe!”.
>You hurriedly run to Plum’s safe room. The egg is quietly chirping.
>“Heaw? Fwuffy caww mumma! Fwuffy wan miwkie!”.
>She’s on the verge of tears.
>You pat her on the head.
>“Remember what I said? The baby needs to come out of the ball by itself! You want the baby to go away?”.
>Plum barely manages to swallow her tears.
>“Otay daddeh. Pwum wait fo’ bahbe to come out”.
>A couple of days after, the egg finally hatches.
>Plum is overjoyed.
>Well, at least until she gives a good look to the “baby”.
“Bahbe funny. Bahbe no wook wike fwuffy”.
>You look at the newborn chick and snicker. Yeah, it doesn’t look like a fluffy at all.
>Heh, who cares.
“That’s because it’s a special baby! It was born from a special baby ball, after all”.
>Plum seems to accept your explanation.
“Mumma fwuffy wuvv special bahbe! Mumma gif hugsies!”
>The chick is, understandably, not amused by the unwanted display of affection.
“Waaaaaaah! Why bahbe huwt mumma? Mumma only wan huggies!”.
>He pecked at her. Obviously.
>In the following days, the chick grows steadily. It eats Plum’s fluffy chow, drinks her water and pecks at Plum whenever she tries to hug it or make it drink her non-existent milk.
>It also shits everywhere it pleases. Plum spends some hours in the sorry box for this.
“A good mumma should teach her foal to make its poopies in the litter box, you know?”
“Nuuu! Pwum be gud mumma, pwomise! Bahbe no wisten! Bahbe huwt mumma! Pwease!”.
>A month later, the chick has become a proud, young rooster. He hates Plum with a passion, and keeps chasing her all around the house, pecking at her.
“Daddeh, hewp fwuffy pwease! Bahbe no bahbe, bahbe biwdie munsta now! Pwum no wan’ bahbe no mowe!”.
>You look at her from the couch. The rooster has cornered her and is pecking furiously at her ears.
“But only bad mummas make their babies go away!”
>You exclaim, pretending to be shocked.
“P-Pwum no cawe! Pwum bad mumma! Pwease daddeh, make bahbe munsta go away!”.
>You sigh. The fun lasted long enough.
“Okay, Plum, the baby will go away”.
>Ten minutes later, you give a very relieved rooster to your neighbor.
“Here, the egg I borrowed from you some time ago”.
>He laughs.
“Did that little shit of yours learn her lesson?”.
“You betcha”.
>Plum never asks you to be a mother again.