The Lake: Part VIII

>Morning of day six.
>You expect a fecal holocaust when you step into the bathroom.
>You're surprised to see a pristine bathtub.
>And four panicking fluffies.
>”Hewp!  Hewp!  We wan' go make poopies!” the unicorn says.
>”But we don' wan' make bad poopies!  No take fwiends!  We wan' make good poopies so hooman no take fwiends anymo'!” the blue earth fluffy adds.
>How cute.
>They scamper around in the tub with their fluffy cheeks clenched, crying.
“I'll help you make good poopies.”
>They blurt out various iterations of 'I wuv you!' and 'fank you'.
>You grab two fluffies under each arm and start walking toward the front door.
>Holy shit, it's pouring rain.
>You set them down in your living room, with very specific instructions to not touch anything.
>This won't be a problem; all their brainpower is currently devoted to fighting the internal tsunami of crap.
>You go into the garage.
>The crate is upside down in there, in a corner.
>This will do.  It'll be a hell of a lot easier to wash the concrete than your carpet.
>You return for the fluffies.
>They mewl for help with fearful eyes, every muscle in their fluffy bodies clenched and trembling.
“Come on, we're going to the poopie place.”
>They waddle after you at top speed, bouncing and babbling.
>Their gait is hilarious, skewed by tight fluffy sphincters.
>They stick very close to you, not noticing the crate.
>You tilt it up and push them under it.
>The second you drop it, they panic.
>”Why dawk!  Wet out!  Wet out!”
“Make poopies first.”
>”But it dawk!  Fwuffy sowwy!  Wet out!”
>You ignore them and wait.  It suddenly gets very quiet.
>And then it gets really, really funky.
>You tilt up the crate again and they all shoot out and huddle in the corner.
>They're clean.
>missionaccomplished.flv
>They're also terrified.
>”Fwuffy make bad poopies!  Fwuffy make bad poopies!” they wail.
>They scream with terror as you approach, their tiny hooves scraping at the drywall in a desperate bid to escape.
“Good fluffies.”
>They become motionless and look up at you with confusion.
“Fluffies make good poopies.  Don't be afraid.”
>God, you're even talking like them now.
>”Good...poopies?” the unicorn blinks.
“Yes.  Good poopies.”
>It's like the weight of the entire world has been lifted from their fluffy shoulders.
>They mill around your feet, babbling 'pway now?' and giggling.
>You head back in, the fluffy herd following closely.
>It's back in the tub while you get ready.
>”Hung'y!  Wan' sgettis!  Pwease foodies?” they cry.
“We're going to spaghetti land today.”
>You wonder just how close they came to pissing themselves with glee.
>They run around and over each other, babbling happily about spaghetti.
>Since there are just four, you feel confident enough to take them in your car.
>You still don't feed them, though.
>You'd like your Panamera to complete the journey clean and shit-free.
>You pluck them from the tub, in pairs so they don't freak out, and walk to the door.
>Once outside, they mill closely around your legs.
>They look like ducklings following their mom.
>Fluffy, dumb-ass ducklings.
>You all pile into the car.
>They decide to hang out in the back with each other, which is fine.
>As you drive, they babble about 'vwoom' and 'pway aiwpwane!' and look out the window.
>The two earth fluffies are constantly hugging.
>Thinking back to yesterday, you wonder if they might be siblings or something.
>After a while, you pull in to the shelter's parking lot and walk in.
>The fluffies follow you, crying nervously about the rain.
>”Hey, it's you!” the woman waves.  She looks down at the herd around your ankles and smiles.
“Got some more strays.”
>”I see that,” she giggles.
>She takes each one to the back separately.
>The ones left at your feet cry as their numbers dwindle.
>Soon, the silver unicorn is the only one.
>”Where fwiends?  Wan' fwiends!” she calls, toddling about on the floor.
>She squeaks when the woman picks her up.
>”I'm taking you to your friends right now,” she reassures.
>She carries the unicorn, using her back to open the door.
>The fluffy waves her forelegs frantically.  “Wha?  Why you no come wif fwuffy!?”
>The door shuts as she yells.
>Sigh...
>You walk back outside and get in your car.
>The back windows have all manner of fluffy face and hoofprints.
>You drive off.
>The four fluffy ponies are now zero.
>You drive home, frowning all the way.

>You had to air out the garage once you got back.
>Then you had to spray the shit off the concrete.
>That took an hour.
>You wonder what to do with that crate.  Probably could use it for storage, or something.
>It's still pouring rain.
>You grab your umbrella and walk out onto the deck.
>You look at the empty island.
>You sigh, but then you smile.
>You walk back inside and look down on the kitchen floor.
>”Why go out in sky wawa?”
>The zero fluffy ponies are not zero after all.
“Just looking at something.”
>The orange earth fluffy looks utterly confused. “Wook fo' wha?”
>You smirk and just pat her on the head.
>You start making lunch, which now includes spaghetti.
>She runs around, chasing a rubber ball and giggling wildly.
>You can't help but smile.
>Suddenly, she stands still and begins to shake.
“Hey, Pumpkin!”
>She looks at you fearfully.
“Don't you dare shit on my carpet.”
>”...sowwy, I be good Pum'kin,” she mewls, toddling over to her litter box.
“Good girl.”
>”I make good poopies?” she asks, once she's done.
“Yes you did, Pumpkin.  You made good poopies.”
>”Yay!” she squeals, toddling over to hug your shin.
“Yay, indeed.”