The Sacrifice 2 - The Runt

>You are a guy with a nice house in the middle of nowhere.
>Okay, you all know the spiel, so I'll skip ahead to the new part.
>Recently, a small herd of fluffy ponies arrived at your house.
>This is hardly newsworthy, you deal with herds fairly often. You chase them off if they don't remove themselves.
>But this herd had an especially smart smarty friend.
>He asked permission to stay, instead of demanding your land in some vain fluffy conquest.
>His herd was starving, winter was coming, and he knew it was either you showing kindness, or him and his herd dying.
>You really weren't keen on having to deal with fluffy ponies, so you tried to turn him away with a catch-22 offer: the herd's pregnant mare would be killed, or they would leave.
>Your plan had been to either let them leave intact, or angrily chase off the smarty friend for trying to let one of his herd be sacrificed for his well being.
>But the smarty friend asked to be taken in the dam's place in exchange for you taking care of his herd.
>Caught off guard, you agree to the deal without thinking about it.
>But you couldn't bring yourself to kill a fluffy that displayed such intelligence and nobility.
>You gave him the choice to either die now, or live inside with you for the rest of his life, unable to rejoin his herd.
>He agreed to stay inside, and now watches his herd through your back sliding glass door that is reflective from the outside.
>He can see out, but his herd can't see in.
>All caught up? Then let's continue.

>It's been a week since the smarty friend moved in with you.
>Wait, that's not the right way to put it.
>It's been a week since you separated the smarty friend from his herd in exchange for not letting the herd starve to death as winter comes.
>Well that version makes you sound like a dick.
>You did kinda give the guy a shitty deal.
>Fair enough, you are kind of a dick.
>But hey, you're not used to company.
>But you gotta admit, it's not too bad.
>It helps that the herd is pretty well behaved, and have managed to not get anyone killed despite losing their smarty friend.
>You told them he was dead so they wouldn't try to find him.
>It broke his mate's heart.
>She's ready to give birth any day now. It could even be this afternoon.
>The prospect of childbirth has lifted her spirits somewhat.
>Most days she'd just lie there like a partially deflated basketball, occasionally munching on some grass and crying quietly.
>The herd has noticed, and has tried their best to cheer her up.
>Tons of hugs, lots of reminders that her babies are coming.
>They miss their smarty friend too, but even fluffies can develop a sense of compassion beyond what has been hardwired.
>Ezekiel just sits there, watching his herd as they eat, play, hug, poop, sleep, and run around.
>That's the name you've given to the smarty friend who is now your pet/roommate.
>You had asked him if he had a name besides smarty friend, since that's the only thing you ever heard his herd call him.
>He looked away from his herd and turned to you.
>”Hooman wan gif smawty fwend name?”
>”I was going to name you Ezekiel if you didn't have a name. Do you have one?”
>The smarty friend looked down at the floor for a few seconds.
>”Smawty fwend haf name, but wike Zekiew betta.”
>Odd. Maybe his old name was something stupid like Huggles or some other inane name a fluffy would give a baby.
>Whatever the case, Ezekiel seems to like or at least tolerate his new name.
>It's hard to tell with the little guy.
>Fluffies tend to be an open book. They wear their thoughts on their sleeve, simplistic and stunted though their thoughts may be.
>But Ezekiel is a cypher. He's the quietest fluffy you've ever come across, and you know he's not just sitting there blankly when he watches his herd.
>He's probably uneasy being around you.
>Not that you blame him, considering you tried to drive away his dying herd, threatened his mate, and condemned him to a life separated from all of the ones he loves by a thin sheet of glass on pain of exile.
>If fluffies weren't so completely physically incompetent, you'd consider getting a lock for your bedroom door.
>Then again, Ezekiel is pretty smart. He could get creative.
>While you work on your laptop, you open a tab to look up prices on door locks.

>You set up a bed, litterbox, and some old Duplo blocks in an empty room for Zeke.
>Not that you've ever seen him play with the blocks.
>Nope, if he's not eating, sleeping, or pooping, he's right there at the window.
>You've asked him to come over and sit with you on the couch a few times, and he always waddles over without a fuss.
>You get the feeling he'd rather be back at the window, even if you are giving him tummy rubs.
>He doesn't complain about anything. He doesn't ask you for food or attention. He eats when you serve it, and he does what you ask him to do, and most of the times he doesn't even speak, except for a very polite “Fank yoo” when you give him his meals.
>You couldn't ask for a more chill pet.
>So why do you feel kind of disappointed?

>It's the next day, and you're pretty sure that dam is going to pop today.
>Not literally, you hope.
>You've done some online research to learn how to safely deliver a dam to a normal birth.
>The bits about a special diet and plenty of attention can be skipped.
>It managed to last this long without hardly any food, and her friends have been giving her tons of attention and hugs.
>You put a towel, a damp washcloth, and a soft blanket on the table next to the sliding glass door.
>Zeke watches you set up everything. “Baybehs today?”
>”I think so.”
>”Yuu hewp speshaw fwend?”
>”Yes, I'm going to make sure your babies will be fine.”
>”Fank yoo, hooman.”
>He goes back to watching his herd.
>You go through your mental checklist of everything you'll need to have and do to help the dam.
>You already 'killed' her mate, you're not keen on letting her babies die too.

>You see the dam start wriggling frantically, and it looks like she's shouting loudly.
>All of the herd has rushed to her side.
>Show time.
>You grab all of the birthing stuff and open the sliding glass door.
>Zeke moves to the other side of the door so he isn't seen.
>Closing the door behind you, the herd turns their attention to you.
>The young stallion who has always been quick to treat you as the enemy steps forward and puffs out his cheeks.
>”Yuu no take mumma too! She haf baybehs soon!”
>”I know, dude. She's having them right now. I'm here to help her.”
>He softens his stance a little, but he's no less ready to attack if you show hostility.
>”Yuu no huwt mumma, ow Simon gif biggest owwies!”
>Well, he certainly earns that name. You wonder if he likes digging.
>”Dude, if I mess this up, you can give me all the owies you want.”
>”Name not dude, name Simon!”
>”Whatever.”
>You walk past him and kneel in front of the dam, who's shouting about “big poopies.”
>”Those aren't poopies, those are babies, little lady.”
>She freaks out a bit when she sees you.
>”Hooman! Pwease no take baybehs!”
>”I'm not going to take your babies, honey. I'm going to help you make sure the babies are okay.”
>She probably doesn't want to believe you, but fluffies are hardwired to trust and depend on humans.
>You lay the towel out on the ground and gently lay the dam on it on her back.
>She looks like she swallowed a volleyball.
>Her little legs are wiggling up in the air. You've never been around for a birth, fluffy or otherwise, but it never looks like a fun experience for the mother. Still, she's not screaming like she's in a huge amount of pain, so it can't be too bad.
>You slowly stroke her mane and lightly press on her distended belly to help the birthing process move faster.
>A minute later, you see a little purple head poke out of the dam's backside. You can see a little tuft of lighter purple on its head.
>You grab it very lightly with your thumb and forefinger to help pull it out.
>You didn't shave her back-fluff because she'd freak out from the noise and sensation, and she'd get very cold at night. So now you make sure the baby doesn't get snagged by the fluff.
>It's so tiny, not even six inches long. Its eyes are shut tight, and its itty bitty little hooves are blindly reaching out. Its tiny mouth opens and closes, but makes no sound save for a meek chirp.
>”Baybeh?! Whewe baybeh? Gif baybeh!”
>You put the baby by the mother's head. She's sniffs it a few times, then starts licking the birth fluid off of it.
>Gross. But touching at the same time.
>Once the fluffy has been licked clean, the mother pulls the baby away from you and hugs it close.
>”Wuv baybeh.”
>Awwww.
>She slides the fluffy down to her teats. You pull the fluff back so the baby can latch on.
>Once it finds the teat, it begins suckling, holding on to its mother and tightly as it can.
>You look around for other teats.
>This could get bad if she doesn't have enough for all of her babies.
>You find four.
>Should be plenty.
>The dam starts struggling again, and another baby comes out, easier this time, with dark red fluff and a blue mane.
>She's starting to get smaller.
>The same ritual as before happens again.
>She smells the baby, licks it clean, gives it hugs and tell it that she loves the babies, then slides it down to her teats so it can start nursing.
>Birth. It's pretty fucking disgusting when you're watching it.
>You look at the mother and her babies, a smile on her face for the first time you've seen, cooing and sighing and repeating that she loves her babies, that they're good babies, that they'll be good fluffies, and that she has plenty of milk for them.
>Birth. It's pretty fucking beautiful when you're a part of it.
>Is that some dust in your eye?
>Your adoring reverie is cut off when the mother starts flailing again.
>Guess she's got one more in her.
>Took its sweet time coming out.
>It comes out, you pick it up, you present it to its mother.
>”Baybeh! Wuv baybeh.”
>It has cobalt fluff and a sky blue mane.
>You hold it to her face and she sniffs it.
>Her expression changes from motherly bliss to looking like she just drank vinegar.
>”Dummy baybeh! No wan'.”
>You feared this might happen.
>She gave birth to a runt.
>Runts are instinctively rejected by their mothers. Something about saving milk and hugs for the babies that have a better chance of survival.
>Which is understandable in the wild, albeit callous. It doesn't seem to be a conscious decision on the mother's part, either. Just a nearly irreversible instinct. Domestic dams do it too.
>Still, you have to try.
>”It's your baby, don't you want it?”
>You offer the fluffy again.
>The mother pushes it away roughly. “Nuu! Dummy baby no haf good baybeh miwk!”
>The runt starts chirping and feeling around for its mother.
>That's not good.
>You look at the rest of the herd.
>Simon's still shooting daggers at you.
>You wonder if he'll blame you for this.
>Probably.
>You offer the runt to the mother with her tiny foal. She also pushes it away.
>”Onwy haf miwk fo mah baybehs, no wan' bad baybeh.”
>The runt is chirping nonstop by now. Its eyes are still closed, it's covered in birthing fluid, and if it doesn't get milk soon, it will die, either from starvation or the cold.
>Neither mother want it, and nobody in the herd seems willing to stand up for it.
>It's up to you.
>You place the runt on the washcloth and carry it inside.

>Ezekiel runs to your side as soon as you close the door.
>”Wha happen?!”
>He's pretty upset. I guess if one of your kids got rejected by its mother, you would be too.
>”The last baby was a runt. The momma doesn't want it.”
>You place the runt down on the floor in the washcloth. Zeke looks down at it mournfully.
>”Hooman, pwease no wet baybeh die!”
>”I'm working on it, Zeke. You're the father, tell me what I need to do.”
>”Baybeh need miwk, need dry fwuff.”
>You stand up. “I'll get some milk and warm it up. You stay there and make sure it stays on the cloth.”
>Zeke looks confused. “Hooman haf fwuffy miwk?”
>Oh yeah, he's probably never lived in a house before.
>”No, it's cow milk. I drink it.”
>”Wha cow?”
>”Not now, Zeke. I need to get some warm milk and figure out how to feed it to the runt without it drowning.”
>”Hooman...”
>”What?!”
>Zeke flinches a bit from your raised voice. “Hooman say Zekiew no can wet hewd see Zekiew...”
>”Don't worry about it, Zeke. Its eyes are closed, it's probably not going to remember this anyway. Now let me try to save your baby already!”
>You power walk over to the kitchen and get out the milk.
>Zeke looks over his baby, moving its little hooves in every which way and chirping.
>He slowly raises his front hoof over the baby's head...
>The baby gurgles, coughs, and mewls softly.
>Zeke shakes his head, as if coming out of a trance, and puts his hoof down next to the baby.

>You don't know how much fat, if any, is in fluffy milk, so you hope 1% will suffice.
>You're already taking enough risks as it is.
>There isn't a lot of information online about how to save a runt. Plenty of info on why they get rejected, but most owners either let the runt starve, or abandon/kill the mother out of anger at her behavior. Either way, the runt dies.
>Fluffy formula is sold in some pet stores, but you don't have any here, and the nearest town is a half hour's drive.
>Could you make it back in time?
>You don't know how long the runt will last, so you can't risk it.
>It's the 1% or nothing.
>You pour about a quarter of a cup into a glass and put it in the microwave.
>While that's warming up, you have to figure out how to get the milk into the baby.
>A spoon? No, too wide. And the baby could hurt its toothless gums accidentally biting down on it.
>A turkey baster? Could work, but you don't have one.
>A baby bottle? Don't have one either, obviously.
>A saline bottle? Not a bad idea, but yours isn't the kind you can open.
>Fuck. Maybe Ezekiel has an idea.
>You exit the kitchen and walk over to where you left Zeke and his baby.
>”Zeke, I need some way to feed it the milk, do you have any idea how-...”
>...Well, you didn't expect that....



>Zeke is holding the baby close and licking the birth fluid off.
>He's softly whispering to the baby, too. You lean in to hear.
>”...nice baybeh, good baybeh, daddy wuvs baybeh...”
>He alternates between licking the baby and whispering to it, all while holding it close.
>The baby is still chirping, nuzzling into its father's fluff looking for a teat.
>”Sowwy baybeh, daddy no haf miwk. Baybeh be stwong, be bwave. Hooman get miwk fo baybeh, jus be bwave...”
>You are going to save this baby or die trying.
>Come on, think!
>Okay, it's cow milk. Baby cows drink straight from the udders. Maybe the baby fluffy could do the same.
>But you don't have udders, or anything that could substitute for it.
>...
>Wait a second, maybe you do!
>You head towards the closet.
>Grabbing the first aid kid, you set it down on the table and open it up.
>Gauze, Neosporin, band aids, alcoholic wipes, tape, aha!
>Latex gloves.
>You grab one and take it back into the kitchen.
>You run it under the sink to wash off that powder they put inside of gloves to absorb sweat.
>You knot up all the fingers except for the pinkie.
>The microwave beeps and you take out the glass.
>Way too hot, that shit would scald the little thing's mouth.
>You stir it a bit with an ice cube. That'll help water it down, too.
>You've never seen fluffy milk, but if it's anything like human breast milk, it's not as thick as cow milk.
>Once the ice cube has melted, it's just warm enough to serve.
>You carefully pour the milk into the glove.
>You tie off the top, take a safety pin out of a drawer and return to the father and child.

>By now, Zeke has licked the baby clean, and its fluff is starting to stick out.
>It's still mewling, and its eyes are closed.
>”Zeke, scoot over a bit, I think I got it.”
>Zeke slowly obliges, positioning the runt with his hooves so that it's facing up.
>You poke a small hole in the glove with the pin, and lower the tip of the pinkie finger into the baby's mouth.
>The chirping stops for a moment.
>Both you and Zeke wait nervously for any sign of movement.
>After a few seconds, you see the baby's mouth make suckling motions and little bubbles rise to the top of the glove.
>A collective sigh of relief is had by you and the father.
>The baby keeps suckling, and Zeke goes back to cuddling the baby.
>”Good baybeh. Dwink wots of miwk, be stwong baby, gwow up, be stwong fwuffy.”
>It amazes you that he hasn't shown any signs of rejection that the rest of his herd has.
>Is it because he's the father?
>Well, his mother sure wasn't this accepting.
>You can worry about that later, though.
>Right now, it's important that the baby gets enough milk to survive.

>After ten minutes of suckling, and almost emptying the glove, the baby lets go.
>Making sure it won't start up again, you wait a minute, holding the glove up.
>The baby gurgles a bit, makes baby noises (you know what I mean), then curls up into its daddy's fluff and falls asleep.
>There's that dust in your eye again.
>You get up and let Zeke spend time with his baby.
>Even if you can keep a runt alive for the first few hours after birth, they rarely survive without their mother's care.
>Something about the bond between a mother and her foals helps them develop properly.
>You need to figure out how to get the mother to accept her runt.
>You know from online research that physical coercion isn't going to work.
>Mothers will always reject their babies no matter what you threaten them with.
>Even if you kill their other babies, the mother will still reject a runt.
>Besides, you promised to keep the herd safe.
>Brutalizing a mother just for following instinct would be awful.
>Think back to the birth.
>When the baby first came out, she was just as excited as before.
>She didn't turn the baby away until...
>Click.
>The smell!

>You come back into the room. The baby is still napping, and Zeke is smiling and nuzzling at the baby's mane.
>”Zeke...” You whisper as softly as you can.
>”Zeke, I think I figured out how we can get your special friend to take care of the baby.”
>Zeke looks skeptical, but hopeful. “...how do dat?”
>”Give the baby a good whiff.”
>”Wha wiff?”
>Right. Smart as Zeke is, he's still not going to have that big of a vocabulary.
>”Smell it. What does it smell like?”
>Zeke obliges. “Smeww wike...baybeh.”
>”But you can tell by the smell that it's a runt, right?”
>Zeke smells it again. “Yes...”
>”I have an idea, but I'm going to need to take the baby away for a little bit. Is that alright?”
>Zeke looks apprehensive. “Wha do wif baybeh?”
>”I'm going to try to make it so it doesn't smell like a runt. The baby is...definitely not going to like it, but if it works, the mother will accept it.”
>”No am sure. No wan baybeh get owwies...”
>”I know that, Zeke, and neither do I. But if we don't do something, it'll die. I need you to trust me here. Can you do that?”
>Zeke looks you in the eyes. It almost feels like he's looking past you, trying to detect any sort of falsehood.
>After a few moments, Zeke lets go of the baby. “Zekiew twust hooman. Pwease, no wet baybeh die.”
>You carefully pick up the baby, who keeps sleeping, curled up in a tiny fluffy ball, its chest slowly rising and falling.
>”I promise.”

>You carry the baby into the bathroom and set it on a towel. It wiggles it hooves a bit, but keeps on napping.
>You can't resist recording it for a few minutes on your phone.
>It's just so cute. You'd never guess it was in danger of dying naught but fifteen minutes ago.
>Back to the task at hand.
>You rifle through your cabinets for various odor blockers and sprays.
>You put back any that warn about direct skin contact.
>If it's dangerous for human skin, it'd probably eat right through fluffy skin.
>You settle on an old spray bottle of Jumpin' Jene Odor Eater.
>No warnings about skin or hair. Perfect.
>You open up the bottle and take a whiff.
>Smells like slightly off ocean mist. Probably why you've never used it.
>You pour it into a larger spray bottle, and add an equal amount of water.
>You grab a small comb and start bushing up the baby's fluff so the spray can reach all the way to the skin.
>As you comb, you see a barely visible penis.
>Ah, so it's a boy.
>It was getting annoying just calling him an 'it.'
>The little guy wakes up from your combing, and starts chirping again.
>Must be hungry again. Babies need lots of nourishment.
>”Sit tight, kiddo. If this goes as planned, you'll be feeding off your momma in no time.
>He just chirps some more, reaching around for something to grab.
>To placate him while you finish combing, you let him hold your finger.
>It's like being grabbed by a soft hair clip. You feel his little tongue licking you.
>Your heart is about to melt from the sheer adorableness of it all.
>Too bad he's about to hate you.
>You pick up the bottle and start spraying him all over, making sure that the spray reaches under the fluff.
>Understandably, the baby doesn't like this, and tries to squirm away as best as he can, whining as loud as his tiny lungs allow.
>You ignore it, and flip him over to get to the other side.
>You're glad his eyes still aren't open, because this would sting.
>You hold his head still and his mouth shut with your free hand.
>Being extra careful to avoid his nose, you spray all over his face.
>When you're done, the baby is flailing around on the towel, soaked from the spray and smelling like ocean mist that's slightly off.
>Old Spice Guy he isn't, but it should get the job done.
>You get out your old hair dryer and set it to the lowest warm setting it can.
>You gently blow dry the baby until its fluff is back to sticking out.
>Time to test your idea out.

>You walk out of the bathroom, and Ezekiel is sitting right outside the door, looking up at you nervously.
>”Heawd baybeh cwy. Baybeh okay?”
>”I sure hope so. Smell him again, Zeke.”
>You bring the baby down to Zeke's level and he takes a sniff. He furrows his eyebrows, then sniffs again.
>”Smeww funny.”
>”Yeah, I don't like it either. It's like if ocean mist could go bad.”
>”Wha osshin mist?”
>”Not important. Does he smell like a runt anymore?”
>Zeke sniffs one more time and his eyebrows perk up. “No smeww wike bad baybeh!”
>Then his eyebrows just even higher when he realizes what you just said. “Baybeh is boy baybeh?!”
>”Yep. It's a boy. And now that he doesn't smell like a runt anymore, his mother should accept him, right?”
>Zeke looks at his son. “No know, nevah twy befo'...”
>”Only one way to find out.”
>You carry the baby to the glass door and walk outside.
>Zeke watches from behind the glass door nervously.

>The mother is resting happily with her babies on her belly, nursing again.
>You can hear her mumbling “Nice baybehs, good baybehs, mumma wuv mah baybehs.”
>The herd is watching with adoring eyes, the other mother's foal sitting on her back so she can see her new friends.
>It's do or die time. Literally.
>You walk over and the herd notices you.
>Simon once again steps up between you and the mother.
>”What are you, the bouncer?”
>”Wha bounca?”
>”Nevermind. Step off, slugger.”
>”Mah name no swugga! Is Simon!”
>New way to annoy the little jerk: unlocked.
>You step over him and kneel down next to the mother, who looks up at you hesitantly, hugging her babies close.
>”You forgot one of your babies.”
>”No wan baybeh! Is bad baybeh, dummy baybeh! Steaw miwk fwom good baybehs!”
>”I think you made a mistake. You should check again. I don't think this baby is a bad baby at all.”
>The mother shakes her head.
>”No make mistake. No gif bad baybeh miwk, no gif huggies!”
>”But what if you did make a mistake? You wouldn't want a good baby to die because you were wrong, do you?”
>The mother's obstinate attitude pauses, and the little gears in her head are turning.
>”He's been crying for his momma the whole time. Don't you love your good babies?”
>The guilt trip worked.
>”Mumma twy one mo' time.”
>You gladly hold the baby up one more time to her face. She takes a sniff, then another, then another.
>”Baybeh smeww funny.”
>”I know. But does he smell like a bad baby?”
>The mother sniffs him a few more times. “...no...smeww wike baybeh.”
>”Then is it a good baby?”
>The mother takes the baby and places it down by her teats. The baby feels around blindly until it finally finds a teat and starts suckling.
>The mother bursts into tears.
>”Mumma sowwy, baybeh! Mumma wong, no am bad baybeh, am good baybeh. Mumma gif wots of miwk, wots of huggies! Pwease no hate mumma!”
>The baby seems content to let the transgression slide as he continues suckling hungrily. His siblings slowly crawl over and likewise resume suckling.
>The momma smiles and tries to control her crying, hugging her babies as best as she can.
>”Wuv aww mah baybehs...”
>You pick up the mother and place her down on the soft blanket, big enough for her and her babies to sleep comfortably.
>Your work done, you stand back up.
>Walking past Simon, you say “No owwies for me today, Salmon.”
>”Name not Sammon! Mah name-”
>You shut the door, a smirk on your face. It's the little things.

>A few hours later, you look outside to check on the herd before it gets dark.
>Looks like the runt is fine. He's hugging his siblings, and his eyes have finally opened.
>The babies and the mother are nuzzling on the blanket, and the herd has settled down around the blanket, forming a little fluffy ring to keep the babies from accidentally wandering off.
>You wonder if Ezekiel taught them that trick.
>You learned a lot about fluffies today. You uploaded your video of the napping baby, along with what you did to make the mother accept the runt. Maybe other owners can use it to avoid tragedy.
>Satisfied that the herd and the babies are fine, you sit down on your sofa to watch some television.
>Halfway through a show, Ezekiel walks over and hops up on the couch.
>Strange, he's never done that before. He usually will watch his herd until they're all asleep, then walk to his bed.
>”Can I help you, Zeke?”
>Zeke looks you in the eyes again, then reaches over and hugs you.
>”Fank yoo, hooman. You save baybeh, get mumma to wuv baybeh.”
>You're surprised at first by this sudden affection, but you smile and stroke his fur.
>”I'm just happy nobody had to die today.”
>Zeke rubs his head against your arm.
>”You nice hooman. No huwt fwuffies, hewp hewd, wike pwomise.”
>You pick up Ezekiel and place him in your lap and scratch behind his ears.
>You notice his tail slowly wagging.
>You never knew fluffies did that.
>All in all, today was a rewarding day.
>You smell something that is definitely worse than expired ocean mist.
>You hold up Zeke and smell his side.
>”Jesus, Zeke, you smell like birthing fluid. Probably from all that baby cuddling. You need a bath.”
>”Wha baff?”
>You chuckle.
>It's Zeke's turn to learn something now.