Special Delivery

>”C’mon, push! Push!”
>your now-two-month pregnant fluffy mare, Eva, is currently in labor
>as with all fluffy dams, she’s swelled like a balloon
>however, she’s at least twice the size of the average pregnant mare
>using your incredible deductive reasoning skills, you guessed that this probably just meant a larger litter than normal
>”Daddeh! Babbeh! Babbeh!”
>you look a bit closer and see a foal’s head poking out
>”Okay, that’s good. That’s good. Keep going.”
>”Daddeh! Babbeh hew-AHHHHHH!”
>she’s in a lot of pain
>you wish you had something to give her, but an aspirin doesn’t look like it would help right now
>the foal slides out onto a clean linoleum tile
>it’s not the most comfortable thing, but you didn’t want your towels covered in afterbirth
>”Whewe babbe-“
>she lets loose another shriek
>this causes the foal to start chirping, but at least it’s quiet
>”Eva! Shush! You’re scaring your kid!”
>”B-babbeh?”
>”Yeah, babby. Uh, baby. Baby. Right here.”
>”Wuv babbeh-“
>she’s cut off by the sounds of more foals and blood slopping against a tile you now need to melt and douse in rubbing alcohol
>”Eva! Look! More babies!”
>”Moh…babbehs…”
>you slide the foals over to her
>she seems tired from the whole ordeal
>can’t blame her though
>you’d want to pass out if you just had quintuplets without any anesthetic
>”Mummah…wuv…”
>she shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath
>you sit down for a few minutes, watching the foals
>all earths, all of varying color
>pink, red, blue, orange, and green
>the pink one is a girl, the rest are boys
>they’re snuggled up in her fluff
>you realize that the foals still need to be cleaned off
>”Eva. Eva, come on. Wake up.”
>you poke her in the side
>nothing
>”Eva?”
>you push two fingers under her throat
>no pulse
>”Oh, shit…”
>you look for any signs of life
>none
>no breathing, no pulse, and she’s getting steadily colder
>”Oh, no, no, no. Goddamn it.”
>you shake her, waking up the foals
>”Come on, get up! Fuck, just get up!”
>you know it’s futile
>you slump into your chair
>you should’ve been more prepared for this
>fluffy births are likely to end in death normally
>quite a few complications based around their genetics or something along those lines
>and Eva had a litter twice as big as the average fluffy
>what were the odds that she would survive it?
>you scoop up the five foals
>they begin chirping for their mother
>you set them down in the sink, and go dispose of Eva’s corpse
>you dig a small hole in the backyard and set her down in the unmarked grave
>you rush back into the kitchen
>the foals are blindly stumbling about, chirping
>you grab a bottle of liquid soap from beneath the cupboard and turn on the water
>you don’t want it to be too hot, but it needs to wash off the caked-on blood
>after filling up the sink and stirring in the soap, you wash each fluffy one by one
>they don’t seem to like the water very much, but it needs to be done
>following the brief washing, you dry them off with a soft little hand towel
>you rack your mind for the rest of the details
>they’ve been cleaned
>foals don’t usually eat until later, but it’s already the middle of the night, so that can wait for tomorrow
>names
>you look down at the lot, huddled up in the towel
>”Alright, let’s see here…Pink, you’re Pinky. Blue, Inky. Red, Blinky. Orange, Clyde. And Green, you can be…Dr. Ignacious, the Fourth.”
>oh god, that was stupid
>”Actually, on second thought, you can be Todd. Hope you like it.”
>you check your watch
>12:36 AM
>it’s pretty much time for bed, even though they were just born and all
>they’re probably tired, anyways
>you head upstairs and grab Eva’s old bed from the closet
>when she was just a foal, she slept in this massive, oversized, plush bed
>oversized for a fluffy pony, that is
>you went all out, back then
>it’ll have to do for tonight
>you bring the bed to the foals, and they instinctively crawl in
>it must still have Eva’s scent on it or something
>regardless, most of them fall asleep right away
>you very carefully carry the bed back upstairs, into your room
>you set it down on the floor, near the foot of the bed
>you turn out the lights and flop down on the mattress
>today’s been a long day, and you’re tired
>you fall asleep within minutes

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>you’re awakened by a combination of mewling and chirping
>once again, your amazing deductive skills tell you that this means the foals are hungry
>you heave yourself out of bed and grab the foals
>you really need to start getting a little bucket or something for all this carrying
>you head down to the kitchen, and set them on the floor
>you would put them on the table, but you don’t want them to, you know, fall off and brutally die
>Inky waddles over and grabs at your foot
>he chirps and tries to get milk from your ankles
>Hnnnnngh.
>you pat him on the head and gently shove him away
>so, what do fluffies drink
>well, milk, obviously
>but you don’t exactly have any fresh mare’s milk on hand
>and Eva isn’t exactly here to provide
>you hop on the Internet and look it up
>”fluffy milk”, “substitute fluffy pony milk”, “how to make fluffy pony milk” yields mostly results for smoothies made from fluffy ponies
>you look and look, but can’t seem to find anything
>until you find a single, lone webpage
>it’s a little forum dedicated to all things fluffy pony
>a helpful anon tells you that fluffy milk is easily replaced
>you just use milk from any other animal and mix it a bit of sugar
>simple enough, you suppose
>you grab a cup and pour in some 2%
>you find some sugar packets behind the toaster and add in one of those
>after about ten minutes of mixing to make sure it’s completely stirred in, you realize that you don’t have anything by way of a baby bottle
>it’s Sunday too, so almost everything is closed
>after some digging around, you find a turkey baster in your bottom drawer
>it’s not much by way of a medicine dropper or bottle, but it’ll have to do
>you suck up some of the milk and point the end at Clyde
>you push it against his mouth
>he very slowly opens his mouth and wraps his mouth around the end
>he starts suckling
>you squeeze the tiniest amount of milk out
>he instantly pulls back and spits it out, coughing
>Clyde runs over to the other foals, crying
>”What? What’s wrong?”
>and then it hits you
>”Oh, shit. Sorry. I forgot to heat it up.”
>you stick the baster and cup in the microwave
>after a brief forty seconds, you’re ready to go
>the milk seems just warm enough to not cause any burns
>you offer it to Clyde again, but he’s not willing to try it out a second time
>”Alright, that’s fine. Todd?”
>he latches onto the end right away
>he must’ve been pretty damned hungry
>THERE GO YOUR OBSERVATIONAL SKILLS AGAIN
>the rest of the foals see him drink, and they seem to decide that it’s safe to drink
>you make the round, and everyone has their fill
>Clyde’s a bit hesitant, but he gives in
>you make yourself a drink and sit back in your chair
>you notice that the foals have all opened up their eyes, and seem to be communicating through chirps and mewls, somehow
>you take a swig of your morning coffee
>foals mature pretty quickly
>fortunately, this just means that they eat solids after just a few days
>maybe you’ll make spaghetti

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>two days have passed since the foals first ate
>since then, they’ve been eating solid foods
>they had spaghetti the first night, but they’ve been regressed to kibble
>they complained, but you explained that spaghetti was for special occasions
>oh yeah, and they learned to speak on their own
>you’re not quite sure how, you just woke them up one day and got greeted by an almost collective cry of “Daddeh!”
>that was pretty adorable, you have to admit
>you got Eva when she was about a month old, so you didn’t exactly do this before
>regardless, you’re busy preparing lunch when you hear Blinky’s voice behind you
>”Whewe mummeh?”
>you freeze
>you turn around to see the other four fluffies staring at him, confused
>”Mummeh?” they repeat back
>they start getting worried, as if the very word triggered some kind of genetic response
>”Mummeh? Mummeh! Whewe mummeh?!”
>they start running around, looking for her
>Todd and Pinky start to cry, and by the looks of it, the rest are about to burst into tears as well
>you need to talk with them about this
>”Alright, everyone. Come with me.”
>you lead them to the living room and plop down on the couch
>they all sit down right in front of you
>with the exception of Inky, who’s trying to get up on your lap
>you help him up and begin to speak
>”Your mom…isn’t here, anymore. She’s gone.”
>all of the foals start tearing up
>Inky looks up at you
>”B-buh…whewe gone?”
>”She’s someplace else now. I don’t know where.”
>everyone except Blinky bursts into tears at the news
>”But it’s okay. Because I’m your dad, now.”
>Pinky looks up at you through tears
>”Y-yuu Daddeh?”
>”Um, yeah. ‘Daddeh’.”
>she sniffles and hugs your leg
>you lift her up too
>you all sit there for a few moments before you speak up
>”I…I think this calls for spaghetti for lunch.”
>their tears turn to smiles
>Todd looks up at you
>”Yuu good daddeh. Wuv daddeh.”
>you pet him and stand up
>”Alright, then! Spaghetti time!”
>”SKETTIES TIII!”

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>as of today, the fluffies have been alive for one week
>you figure that today you’ll teach them how to use a litter box
>”Okay, everyone. You see this? This is the litter box. Alright? Repeat after me…”
>”Widduh bock…”, comes the reply
>”Close enough. Now, you know when your tummy feels funny after you eat too much spaghetti?”
>they all nod
>”And then you make the stuff that ‘doesn’t smell pretty’?”
>they nod again
>”That’s called poop. And a few other things. But when you need to poop, make sure you do it in there. Clyde, repeat that.”
>he looks around for a few seconds, nervously
>”Fwuffy nee’ poopies…in widduh bock!”
>”Alright, close enough. Again. At least you understand it.”
>Todd rushes past the other fluffy and gets in the litter box
>he takes a shit and hops out
>”Yeah, like that! Excellent. Wow, I didn’t expect you to catch on so fast.”
>Pinky nudges Eva’s old ball over to you with her nose
>”Good fwuffys pway baww?”
>”Good fluffies play ball…what?”
>”Pway baww…wuv…daddeh?”
>”Oh, fine, that’ll do. Let’s go outside!”
>”OWSIIE!”
>the group follows you into the backyard
>you throw the ball about three feet above the fluffies
>”Hurry! Catch the ball!”
>”Wan’ baww!”
>”Fwuffy geh baww!”
>”Wheee!”
>they all slam into one another, and go sprawling in different directions
>Inky starts giggling
>this sets of a chain reaction of giggles, until even you end up laughing, too
>you all play with the ball for a few more hours, throwing it up in the air, catching it, rolling it around, falling, laughing, the works
>as soon as it gets dark out, you all pile into the house
>you lie down on the couch and stare at the ceiling
>you begin drifting off, when you feel a slight tug on your pant leg
>”Huh? What is it?”
>you look down and see Pinky on her hind hooves, holding her arms out to you
>you pick her up and set her on the couch with you
>she hugs your neck, mutters “wuv daddeh”, and slowly falls asleep
>again, just as you start to fall asleep yourself, you hear a hushed whisper of  “daddeh?”
>this time, it’s the other four fluffies asking to come up with you
>oh, what the hell, why not
>you carefully lift them up, so you don’t wake up Pinky
>it doesn’t matter, though
>they all lie in a big pile of fluff on your gut
>”Wuv ‘oo, daddeh…” Clyde whispers
>the other three fluffies echo him
>”Love you too, fluffies. Good night.”
>”Nii…”
>Blinky can’t even finish his sentence before he falls asleep
>you don’t blame him
>they certainly look pretty comfortable
>and so are you
>you sleep soundly that night
>with a ball of fluffy ponies on your stomach