The Fluffy Factory (5/5)

>The evening routine is somehow one of the easier parts of your job.
>It starts with selecting foals to be sent upstairs to replenish stock.
>Foals take about two weeks to start referring to themselves as their gender.
>This is a sure sign that they are ready to be weaned and sold off.
>You pick up foals and ask them what they are.
>Any foal that replies “I cowt!” or “I fiwwy!” is placed into the empty fourth pen.
>Foals that reply “I wittle fwuffy!” need two or three more days, but should be ready.
>Any foal that hasn't learned words besides 'wuv', 'mumma', or 'huggies' after two weeks is thrown into the nearby trash can.
>Foals of certain colors have higher priority.  White, for instance.
>Black, silver, red, pink, and bright colors like orange and yellow are also very popular.
>Blue, purple and green are seasonal colors.  They're not popular right now.
>You have more leeway when sorting priority color foals, and only throw them out if they know no words at all.
>Tomorrow, Sarah will bring her twin unicorns down here.
>They will train the sorted foals to use litter boxes, which is the main complaint owners have about young fluffies.
>Steve comes by and tells you how many foals are needed.
>The store sold seventy foals today.
>That's a lot, but you have a pool of about two hundred and fifty foals to choose from for their replacements.
>Seventy-two foals end up in the fourth pen.
“Crap, we've got two foals too many.”
>A pumpkin-colored pegasus comes over to you when you say that.
>”Too many?  You no wan' fiwwy anymo'?” she sniffles.
“You understood me?”
>She nods rapidly.  “Say too many, no wan' go 'way, good fiwwy!  Pwease no go 'way...”
>Because of the extremely high nutritional intake, foals like this aren't too unusual.
>They're still dumb as bricks, mind you, but they have decent common sense.
>You reach down and pet her gently.
“Don't worry, little one.  We'll find room for you.”
>”Fank you!  Fiwwy wuv big fwiend!”
>You'll tell Sarah about her before you leave.
>Intelligent fluffies bring high prices, but aren't usually sold to regular customers.
>Instead, she'll likely get sold off to a low-volume breeder, where she'll be condemned to the life her mother lives.
>The last thing you need to do with the foals is select future stallions to replace the ones Steve threw out.
>Sometimes, Sarah will go find herds and take stallions from them.
>With large stockpiles of foals like this, however, it's easier to promote colts.
>You pluck out two white colts, one unicorn and one earth fluffy.
>A bright red pegasus and pink unicorn also get selected and all four go upstairs.
>Once you've replaced the four future stallions with other ready-to-wean (or nearly ready-to-wean) foals, it's time for the fluffy shuffle.
>This is the process of moving dams that have foaled back to basement one, and dams that are beginning to visibly swell to basement two.
>Rob, who was helping with the foals at street level, returns to assist you and Steve.
>The reliable, obedient dams get the honor of walking up under their own power.
>The swelling dams coming down are never allowed to do that.  They are all carried.
>Before they go, the dams will go over to the foal pens and try to encourage their babies to come with them.
>The babies hardly ever listen.  Since they were only with their mothers for a few moments, they don't really recognize them.
>”Is mumma!  Miss mumma!”
>But sometimes, that happens.
>There are three unicorn foals in their pen trying to hug their mother through the bars.
>The icy blue dam is starting to cry because she can't make the bars go away.
>”Meanie sticks!  Wan' babehs!  Pwease come wif mumma, babehs!”
“You know better than that, Chilly.  Get up the stairs.”
>”Chiwwy wan' babehs, pwease wet haf babehs,” she pleads.
>You glare at her, and she relents, waddling away.
>”Jus' wan' babehs, gif wuvs...”
>You herd the walking dams up the steps while carrying two more under your arms.
>The red sticker mares are all in the sex pits while they await transfer down below.
>Steve is ready to file the paperwork while you and Rob re-cage the dams.
>He stands at a table with a stack of new manila envelopes and documents.
>You each call out the name of the fluffy as you put it in.
“Jade and Ruby in here.”
>With practiced hands, he rifles through the documents, puts them in an envelope, and writes their names on the front.
>After he attaches the yellow stickers, he hands you the envelope to tape to the cage.
>”Bluebell and Marble are in this one.”
>”Got it, here's the paperwork.”
>This process takes about two hours, after which you turn off the lights in basement two and send the dams to sleep.
>Steve shakes his hand furiously.  “Damn, man.  I hate scribbling on all those envelopes.”
>You watch Sunflower and her new cage mate, Topaz.  The former is totally ignoring the latter.
>”Why no wan' huggies, Sunfwowa?  Topaz fwiend!”
>”Go 'way.  Wan' babehs.  No wan' Topaz.”
>Topaz looks genuinely crestfallen and waddles away to a corner.  “Meanie poni...”
>You glance down at your watch.
“All right, anyone that hasn't eaten yet and wants to better do it now.  We're taking the bowls in a few minutes.”
>You take this time to walk the cages once again.  A few fluffies are eating, but most just waddle around in their cages.
>Steve and Rob are having a conversation behind you about having to write all the breeding info by hand.
>Most of the fluffies say hello to you or try to hug you, but some are already asleep.
>Everything seems normal until you get to a cage with two unshaved stallions.
>What is that noise?
“Hey, quiet for a second.”
>Steve and Rob fall silent and watch you as you approach the cage.
>The two pegasus fluffies within, one forest green and the other burgundy, are snuggled very close and lying on their sides.
>They pay you no attention as you look in their cage.
>It's quiet, but audible.  ”Eenf...eenf!  Eenf...”
>You've gotta be kidding.
>You'd heard stories about gay fluffies when you worked for another breeder, but this is the first time you've actually seen any.
>Rob and Steve walk over, unable to believe what they're hearing.
>The burgundy pegasus, which is the one being mounted, finally notices he's being watched.
>”Hewwo!  Gundy get speciaw hugs fwom boyfwiend!”
>The other pegasus stops humping and looks at you, but says nothing.
>Soon, he goes back to humping, squeaking out little 'eenf' noises.
>You retrieve their papers from the envelope and check where they came from.
>They were bought, dirt-cheap, from a garage breeder outfit that went under.
>You look at the stallions again as they hump each other tenderly.
>”Dude, what are we supposed to do?” Steve asks.  “Should we tell Sarah?”
>You think for a moment, the silence broken only by gentle 'eenf' sounds.
“Not necessary.  I have an idea.”
>You grab the burgundy pegasus from the cage.  The green one begins bawling immediately.
>”Gif back boyfwiend!  Gif!  Fowest wan' huggies!”
>You look around for unshaven stallions while the wriggling pegasus in your hand tries to buck you.
>You point over to a dark grey earth fluffy.
“Check his origin for me, Rob.”
>He does.  “Feral, came from a herd near the reservoir.”
“Grab him.  Steve, get two new envelopes and write this down.  Granite is being switched with Gundy.”
>”Gundy wan' boyfwiend!  Gundy no wike dis!  Wet Gundy down!”
>The two fluffies are swapped out.
>Forest tries to give a regular hug to Granite, but gets snapped at.
>”Owwies!  Gwanite meanie fwuffy!  No wike!”
“Granite, don't make me beat your ass.  You don't have to like him, but don't hurt him.”
>”Gwanite sowwy...”
>”Gundy wan' boyfwiend!  Gif back!  Gif Fowest!  Wan' huggies!  Wan' huggies!”
>The lavender pegasus that is Gundy's new cage mate is confused.
>”Why cwyin'?  Wan' huggies?  Hyacinf gif new fwiend huggies!”
“Let him be, Hyacinth.”
>”Wha?  New fwiend need huggies!  New fwiend cwy...”
>Gundy pounds lightly on the cage bars.  Forest calls back, but is hiding in the corner to get away from Granite.
“We'll check them in the morning to see if they tried to fuck the new fluffies we put them with.”
>”What if they have?” Rob asks.
“We'll get the stun guns and reset them.  If that doesn't work...”
>You don't need to finish that sentence; everyone already knows what will happen.
>With the situation addressed, the hour for fluffy bedtime has arrived.
>The three of you remove the food bowls.  Most are empty, but some haven't been touched.
>Those come from stallions and mares that are still new.  They'll learn.
>Or starve, which isn't unheard of.
>As Rob and Steve carry the bowls back to storage, you make a final sweep of the basement.
>Gundy and Forest continue to cry out for each other, but they'll get tired soon.
>You're done here.  You flip off the lights and head up.
>Shouts of “Why dawk?!”, “Gif back eyes!  No see!” and “Sweepy time?” ring out in the dark.
>You change out of the jumpsuit and back into street clothes before heading through the offices.
>There are still some customers out in the shop area.
>Sarah, along with some of the topside staff, take out foals to show buyers.
>The suckers fall for it every single time.  Those foals start hugging people, and it's over.
>”They just look so healthy and happy!  The price premium is totally worth it,” you hear some yuppie say.
>Instead of interrupting, you just leave a note for Sarah in her office about the orange pegasus foal.
>You clock out, waving at everyone as you leave, and head out to the street.
>Sarah's black Porsche is parked in front of your car...a blue BMW M3 coupe.
>Those fluffies may be miserable, but your bank account is very, very happy.

Author's note:  And thus our look at a day in the life of the fluffy factory ends.  This won't be the last time I write about it, though.  Probably going to do a bunch of one shots from the humans' perspective, like deathproofpony's Martini series, and some more fluffy-view stories too.