The Fluffy Factory (3/5)

>It's a good thing fluffy pony stomachs are small, because there's a lot to keep track of when it comes to feeding them.
>For instance, the pregnant dams require food pellets with sodium hydroxide in them to prevent explosive birth.
>The mares that just foaled need a special cocktail of nutrients and hormones to force their bodies back into fertility more quickly.
>The feeder mares don't get pellets.  Instead, they get a moist paste packed full of their special hormone requirement, antibiotics, and tremendously high concentrations of vitamins.
>The stallions and unbred mares get the plainest food.  It's still extremely nutritious fare regardless.
>All of this may be a little more expensive than regular chow, especially with the added chemicals, but the return is worth it.
>The fluffy food dishes are kept in storage, otherwise the fluffies would probably shit in them as they slept.
>The dishes and food bags are color coded.  Blue is for stallions and new mares, while the other mares' meals follow the codes on their cage papers: red, yellow, and green.
>Steve travels back and forth between floors, taking bowls as you fill them.
>You decide to take the last few stallions' bowls yourself, since you have to wait for the feeders' special mixture to soak in hot water and get mushy.
>Rob is down here cleaning out the cages, while Steve sets their bowls in after he finishes.
>Fluffies whose cages are being cleaned run and play in the sex pits, though the males and females are in separate pens this time.
>Surprisingly, Sarah is there too, next to the pen with the males.
>She's holding a mahogany-colored, unshaven unicorn by the scruff just in front of her face.
>And she's smiling.  That's a bad sign.
>”What did you just say?”
>”Smawty fwiend no wan' dese giwl fwuffies!  Smawty fwiend wan' giwl fwuffies fwom home pwace!”
>Oh boy, this won't end well.  You help Steve put in the remaining food bowls and start returning fluffies to their cages.
>Sarah takes the puffy-cheeked, wiggling unicorn to one of the metal tables.  She lowers him enough so he can see the cabinets.
>”They're in there.”
>”Gif, den!  Smawty fwiend make speciaw huggies onwy wif dem!”
>She lowers him further.
>Just as his waving front hooves touch the cabinet doors, she pushes his neck against the edge of the tabletop.
>”Owwies!  No gif owwies to smawty fwiend!”
>She tilts his head forward, lifts her right arm, then slams her open palm down on the base of his skull.
>There is a squelching noise as his trachea and esophagus are crushed.  Blood spurts from his mouth in a cone across the tabletop.
>He gurgles in pain as she hurls him across the room, where he lands with a sharp smack against the inside of the large trash can Rob is using.
>The fluffies still playing in the pens have stopped, backing themselves into the corners.
>Only the fuck pillows don't react.  They don't even complain when other fluffies step on them.
>When Sarah walks past, cries for mercy rise up from the terrified herds.
>She ignores them and looks into the trash can.  The smarty friend spits up blood as he sinks into a fetid sea of soiled cage carpeting.
>”I am in no mood to take orders from the merchandise,” she says.
>Since it's much easier to catch the scared fluffies, you and Steve hurry to return them to their cages.
>Sarah heads back up, but stops halfway up the stairs and points at the trembling fuzzballs.
>“And if any of the rest of you give these guys trouble, I'll use your fucking eyes as fuzzy dice for my Porsche.”
>The fluffies all cry quietly, begging her not to take their eyes.  A few ask what a Porsche is.
>She departs, and the three of you get back to work.
>The fuck pillows are the last to be re-caged, since they're not going anywhere.  They listlessly drift over to eat their food.
>Besides using their litter boxes, this is the only time they move around under their own power.
>The feeder paste should be done by now, so you head back up to retrieve it.
>After stuffing it into pastry bags, you make your way down to basement two.
>Dealing with these mares is by far the most depressing part of your day.
>The dams have already been fed, so the feeder mares are the only ones that haven't eaten.
>Their pens are clean, as are the mares themselves.
>Most of the young fluffies are kept in the fourth pen until after the mares eat, but the weaker foals are left in so they can suckle unhindered and gain strength.
>You do the earth feeders first.  You take a pastry bag, open the first one's mouth, and start squeezing the paste in.
>She has no choice but to swallow or suffocate.  You hear little gulping noises as tears stream down her face.
>When she's done, you wipe her face off.  She uses this time to talk to you.
>”Why babehs no come out?  Fwuffy be big so wong...babehs no wan' see mumma?  No wuv mumma?”
>You move on to the next earth feeder.  Two foals are suckling her red, irritated teats.
>”Pwease make dese babehs stop nummies, dese nummies fo' mah babehs!  Bad babehs take nummies fwom mah babehs...”
>You move to the third earth feeder.
>”Fwuffy so big...fwuffy gon' haf so many good babehs!  Come on, babehs!  Mumma weady wuv you!  No hafta hide in bewwy!”
>You'd tell her otherwise, but her eyes are glassy and she sings to herself constantly.
>She's lost her fluffy mind.
>All the fourth earth feeder says to you is “Wan' die...pwease kiww?”  She eats anyway.
>The unicorns are next.
>”Miss daddy, miss sgettis,” the white one sniffles.  “Why take fwom happy pwace?  No be bad fwuffy, wan' go home...”
>Unfortunately, one of the side effects of such healthy eating is improved memory.  This unicorn has been crying about her home since she arrived.
>Sarah never did say how she got her hands on that particular mare.
>”No smeww pwetty,” the indigo feeder whines as she shits herself, then panics as she fears for her non-existent children.
>“Sowwy make bad poopies, pwease no sowwy-stick fo' fwuffy!  No huwt babehs!  Pwease!”
>The third unicorn feeder, who used to be a gorgeous purple dam until she incurred the wrath of your short-fused boss, is in a state of stupor.
>She is also missing all of her legs.  You have to manually pee and poop her into a bucket after you finish feeding her.
>The final unicorn is also quiet, although she does start to cry when you walk out of the pen.
>”No weave!  Wha fwuffy do bad?  Fwuffy sowwy!  Pwease huggies!”
>The pegasus feeders are last.
>”Wan' fwy!  Fwuffy wuz coow at fwy!  Wan' fwy...” the cyan pegasus moans, wiggling her atrophied wings.
>You walk past the empty corner that used to be Melon's and approach the green pegasus feeder with two foals latched onto her teats.
>”Dese...dese mah babehs?  Why stiww big?  Fwuffy no unnastan why aways big...”
>She's asked that question every single day of the five months she's been a feeder.
>The final, magenta pegasus is the most troublesome of all the feeder mares.
>”Go 'way!  Fwuffy hate you!  Fwuffy hate bad babehs!  Fwuffy hate babehs dat no come out!”
>She jerks her head away from the pastry bag, so you finally grab the fluff on her forehead and hold it still.
>You pump her mouth full of the paste.  It swells up her cheeks as she refuses to swallow.
>Damn it, she's trying to commit suicide again.
>You use your free hand to rub her throat and induce the swallowing reflex.
>She finally relents with a large gulp.  “Hate foodies!  Hate you!  Hate evewyfin'!
>Rob arrives to help you sort the foals and return them to their pens.
>When you're done, you look down at your watch.
>Half past one.  You need some lunch.
>And some air.