One Job

Tartan_Fluffy, June 5, 2013; 04:10 / FB 11407
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One Job

As a homeowner, you know the risks Fluffies present. You know the odds that some day, you'll look out into the back garden and see a handful of brightly-coloured, loud, stupid, greedy, and suicidally aggressive fluffies. Probably led by an obnoxious smarty.

They'll wander in, eat your grass... the grass you mow carefully every week. They'd eat your flowers, if you had any. They'll shit everywhere.

But like any responsible homeowner, you're prepared for the worst. If they come, and if your fence somehow doesn't stop them, you know what to do...

***

You awake to hearing the noise you knew was coming.

"Smawty fwiend find gwassies! Nummies fow hewd..."

...It's time.

Slippers on, bathrobe on, your plan is now in action. You observe from the window before you go in. Always a good idea to recon.

The herd is of a decent size. Two round ones, pregnant mares. A couple of others around them, attendant mares rolling the round ones along. A few more mares carrying two to three foals on their backs with a few stallions mixed in. Leading the group, about a meter away from them all, the smarty and four of the biggest toughies. Looks like one of those smarties, keeps himself well covered and damn the rest.

They're the typical feral herd. Bright colours muted by dirt and grime, mixed bag of unicorns and pegasi amongst earthies. The smarty, no surprise, is a unicorn. You can just hear their babbling.

Sometimes, you're bewildered how these things live this long. You study the area, your back garden. Shed, fence, small table, grass, fluffies. Not much there. You're not a gardener, but you have standards.

And standards have this day been broken by this unauthorised entry to your land. Out you go.

You stride forth with all the rage and fury you can muster. The fluffies squeal on seeing you. They don't call you daddy. These ferals were born as ferals. But they are still fluffies...

"GOD DAMN IT!" You shout as you march to the shed. You grab a rope, a hammer, and nails. They go on the table.

Meanwhile, the smarty and his toughies all form ranks, cheeks puffed. The herd is well aware you're there.

"Go 'way, munsta! Dis fwuffy wand now!"

The rest of the herd is puffing their cheeks and cheering him on, but you see in his eyes he really is smart. He knows you can kill him. Why else was he surrounded by the toughies? Some smarties lead by example and generally die for the herd. Herds rarely are smart enough to realise the loss.

This herd, their smarty is a mixed bag. They'd probably not lose much when he goes, but he is smarter than them.

You're still advancing. Some of the foals are starting to make that weird chirping noise as you step over the line of smarty and toughie. You see the smarty flinch for a second, and then you know he's realised the horrible truth. You don't want him.

He guesses what you do want. And suddenly he's not such a bad smarty at all.

"WUN MAWES! MUNSTA AFTA YUU!"

The toughies are horrified at this clear breach of the Geneighva convention. The toughies and smarties are meant to be trapped or incapacitated before mares are fair game! Okay, that's bullshit, but they're still surprised you just ignored them...

They're even more shocked when you walk past the now screaming mares.

"Nuu! Mumma be mummah soon! Nuu huwt babehs!"

"Nu kiww!"

"Nu huwt babbeh, babbeh guud fwuffy!"

"*chirp*!"

"YOU HAD ONE F_CKING JOB!" You shout.

The fluffies stop screeching, and stare.

"ONE F_CKING JOB, FENCE! KEEP THE FLUFFIES OUT, BUT NO. YOU F_CKED THAT UP!"

You hit the fence with the rope.

"STUPID. F_CKING. FENCE! I SHOULD TEAR YOU DOWN IF YOU CAN'T DO YOUR JOB!"

"Nuuu! Nu huwt fency fwiend!" A fluffy screams.

"Fency nu meanie! Fency nu mean wet fwuffies in!"

"Oh? So you guys just IGNORED the fence when it told you to stop?!"

The fluffies process this.

"The fence was a bad fence! While there are fluffies here it's a bad fence! Bad fences get the sorry rope!" You hit it again.

"Nuu! Stahp! Fwuffies weave! Fwuffies go 'way! Nu huwt fency!"

The herd begins to retreat even as you keep hitting the fence, the slap of the rope on the wood causing yelps of fear from the herd. They head for the corner, and you see how they got in.

The neighbour's dog has been digging at that side over his fence. It's loosened a slat in your fence somehow. Shouldn't be too hard to fix.

"BAD FENCE BAD FENCE!" You shout as the last fluffy vanishes onto the other side.

You put the rope back down, and grab the hammer and nails. Won't take more than a minute to put it back in place....

Dumb fluffies.