Ammy: Reloaded

Ammy: Reloaded

	You quietly click on the power icon on your brightly lit computer screen, and listen to the gentle whirring of the cooling fan as the PC slowly shuts down. It’s late, you’ve got work at eight in the morning tomorrow, and you really need to stop posting online before you get some eye strain. Oh, shit, it’s already two? Cursing under your breath, you leap under your covers, feeling the warmth of the blankets and sheets encasing you in pure, heavenly bliss, and, as per usual, you begin to feel that familiar sense of falling, causing you to let out a gentle sigh of contentme-

	Thump.

	What the hell? You’re jolted from your near-slumber, and put to full alert mode. Looking around the room reveals nothing except shadows and silhouettes, leading to just more questions. You take a peek under your bed, revealing much of the same: nothing.

	Thump.

	Okay, you’re definitely not imagining things by this point. Using your drowsy logic, you figure that if the noise is coming from below you, but not directly underneath you, it must be on a lower floor. You drag yourself out of the bed and sluggishly tread down the stairs to the main hall.

	Thump.

	The front door. That thumping noise is coming from your front door. But who the fuck is knocking at your door at this hour, with such a methodical pace, instead of just ringing your doorbell?

	You swing the door open, and a young, light purple earth fluffy slams her body into your ankles, as if she didn’t notice that you opened up the door. When she does, however, notice that she bashed herself into your legs, she looks up at you, tears flooding her eyes.

	“F-f-fw-f-fwuffy cowd…”

	You switch your gaze from her to the sky, still as black as ever. But, making shadows in the streetlights are raindrops, and goddamn if this fluffy doesn’t look soaking wet from the storm that’s been going on for a few hours.

	You rub your chin, reflecting on how you need to shave soon. You sigh, and look down at the little fluffy.

	“You’re cold, huh?”

	“Mmm-*hic*-hmmm…”
	“Well, you know, it is pretty warm in here.”

	Oh, stupid Anon. Stupid, stupid Anon. Why the fuck did you go ahead and say that? Now the stupid thing’s gonna think that you’re its “daddy”, its “savior”, and a whole bunch of other buzzwords that try to make people feel good just by being called by them.

	“Weawwy?! Fwuffy go in nice mistah’s sweepie pwace? Pwease?”

	Goddamn it.

	“Uh…actually, I’m not really sure about that.”

	Shit, that only made things worse. The fluffy’s ears droop, her lips become a pout, and she opts to look at the ground instead of at you. A fresh volley of tears rolls down her face – well, tears don’t really ‘roll’ in fluff, but you get the picture – and she begins to walk away, not even attempting to protest.

	“…Otay…”

	“No, wait!”

	Come on, Anon. You’re not actually doing this, are you?

	“Do you, uh…”

	Don’t do it, Anon. Don’t fucking do it.

	“Do you wanna come inside?”

	The fluffy’s expression almost instantly changes from her look of despair to a new, fresh, happy face. Without skipping a beat or saying another word, she bounds right into your house before you can change your mind again.

	What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

	You follow the wet hoofprints into your house, and see that the fluffy is already poking around; she’s pawing (hoofing?) at the furniture, and generally just staring at objects for a few seconds. She’s apprehensive, sure. You don’t blame her. This is a brand-new house, strange, different. You watch her as she toddles off into your kitchen, and wait until she arrives back at the front door about a minute later.

	She sits on her haunches before looking up at you and cocking her head to the side, almost as if she’s expecting you to ask something.

	“What?”
	She just keeps wordlessly staring. What’s wrong with this thing, exactly?

	“Are you hungry or something? You want some food?”

	The mention of a meal seems to break the fluffy out of her trance, causing her eyes to widen and her mouth to gape a slight amount.

	“Nummies?”

	“Uh, sure. Nummies.”

	The fluffy beams, wagging around her tail, chasing it in circles while singing “nummies”. Each step has turned into a bounce, and the tune seems to be non-existent, but she’s so happy that you just decide to ignore it and head over to the kitchen.

	She follows you in, still trotting, and her singing reduced to quiet humming. Poking around your cupboards reveals that, sure enough, you have a bag of discount spaghetti. While you never actually had a fluffy before, you once read about how their favorite food is spaghetti. You tear open the bag, boil that water, and heat up that sauce. Step back, home cooking shows, ‘cause here comes Chef Anon.

	“Okay, fluffy. I’m making some spaghetti. Is that alright with you?”

	The fluffy’s jaw almost hits the floor.

	“Sk-sketties?! Fwuffy wuuuuuuv sketties!”

	Well, that’s good. You continue preparing the pasta when, all of a sudden, you realize that you haven’t even asked the fluffy’s name yet.

	“So, uh, what’s your name?”

	She gives you another long, blank stare. It’s already really creepy how she just keeps doing it.

	“Your name?”

	“Fwuffy?”

	You chuckle and shake your head. “Yes, you.”

	“Fwuffy am fwuffy!”

	A sigh escapes your lips, which you quickly purse. You bring a hand up to your chin and drag your thumb back and forth in a line. It looks like it’s time to think up a decent name. What could qualify as a “good name”? Or, at the very least, a good name for a pet? Most people tend to name pets after their color schemes. Synonyms for purple? Well, there’s lavender, violet, amethyst-

	Amethyst. Amethyst. Ammy.

	Not bad.

	“How’s the name “Ammy” sound to you?”

	“Dat fwuffy name? Fwuffy am Ammy? Ammy wuv name!”

	“Yeah, you seem to love a lot of things, huh?”

	As Ammy frantically nods her head, you notice that the water’s finally come to a boil. You toss in the noodles, and lower the heat on the sauce. There’s almost a spring ion your step as you rummage through the spice rack. You’re in the zone when you’re cooking, and tonight’s no different. Having a second eater in your home just cranks up your natural desire to impress, although you doubt there’ll be complaints in the first place. Soon enough, the spaghetti is boiled just past al dente, and you drain the steaming water into your sink.

	You grab two bowls, one for yourself, and one for Ammy. Filling the bowls up to the brim, you take a ladle-full of the tomato sauce, and put it on top of the spaghetti. You do the same to Ammy’s. You carry the bowls over to the table, and place your bowl on the table. Ammy doesn’t exactly seem like she’s be able to reach the food if you put her in a chair, and you don’t want her on the table, so you put her bowl on the floor. She runs over to your chair, comes to a skidding stop, and prepares to launch her entire head into the bowl.

	“Careful, now. It’s hot.”

	Ammy looks up at you, nods, and slowly, carefully sticks her tongue into the bowl.

	“Mouf hewties,” She mutters.

	“Told ya. Just try blowing on it, that’ll cool it down.”

	You demonstrate by twirling a large amount of pasta onto your fork, bringing it up to your mouth, and letting out a long, slow breath. Quickly, you snap the spaghetti into your mouth, chewing slowly. Goddamn, you really outdid yourself tonight. Could’ve used a bit of parmasean, though.

	“See?”

	Ammy nods yet again, and lowers her head until its level with her bowl. She assumes a defensive position, puffs out her cheeks, and performs the ever-hilarious raspberry for a good five seconds before looking up at you for approval.

	“…I guess that works too.”

	“Hooway! Sketties ti’e!”

	This time, she shoves her entire face into the noodles. At this point, you’re not even sure if she’s eating it or just playing with it, but the two of you are at least enjoying the meal, albeit in slightly different ways. You really haven’t talked to her much. You decide to start up a conversation.

	“You like it here?”

	She flings her head up at you, and a few of the noodles go soaring to the other side of the room. You’ll pick those up later.

	“Wuv new housie! Ammy nu cowd, haf sketties, an’ Ammy haf Ammy nao, and haf bestest daddeh evah!”

	Oh, fuck. Did she just call you her “daddeh”? Son of a bitch, you knew this was coming eventually. Should you go ahead and tell her you’re not actually her daddy? Well, she doesn’t have a reason to think you’re not. You took her in, you named her, and you fed her. It’s not hard to see where the logic comes into play here.

	Regardless, the two of you finish eating in silence. You honestly can’t think of anything to say, but Ammy decides to bridge the gap.

	“Daddeh…Ammy feew tiwehed.”

	“Oh, no, no, no, no. We have to get you a bath first.”

	“Ammy nu wike wawas.”

	“And Anon no like fluffies that haven’t taken their baths.”

	“Daddeh nu wuv Ammy?!”

	“No, that’s not what I mean at all. What I really mean is that you’ll be a much prettier fluffy once you’re all cleaned up.”

	Boom, did that ever make up for your slip up earlier on. Ammy giggles, and beams up at you.

	“Ammy wan’ be pwetty fwuffy.”
	“Well, if that’s the case, I need to get you in the tub.”

	You pick up the fluffy pony and tuck her under your arm, nuzzling her head with your other hand. She’s still damp and cold from the rain, and the water is quickly spreading to your shirt. You’d better hurry; this is starting to get uncomfortable.

	Grabbing a towel from your linen closet, you run the bathtub until it’s good and steaming. You pluck Ammy from the crook of your elbow, a dip one of her hooves in.

	“How’s that?”

	“Buwny.”

	You run a bit of cool water, and stick your hand in. Feels alright. Just to be safe, you dip Ammy’s hoof in again.

	“Cowd.”

	Oooookey doke, a bit more hot water, then. In goes the hoof.

	“Bestest!”

	You place her into the water, and splash some of it onto her. She smiles and thanks you for “giving her the best warm”, whatever that means. You grab some strawberry scented shampoo (oh, shut up, it smells good) and lather it into her fluff. The water is starting to turn an unsightly shade of brown from all the dirt and muck that was stuck in there. It takes a while, but you eventually manage to wash everything out. You wrap her up in the towel, and she almost coos.

	“Fankies faw makin’ Ammy pwetty, daddeh.”

	“You were already pretty.”

	Oooh, shit. You’re on a roll tonight, Anon. Ammy gives you a huge smile –not the usual happy smile you can see from a person when you tell them a joke or something- but a really genuine, thankful smile. She even seems to be tearing up, if only a little.

	“Ammy haf nappies now?”

	“Yes, yes, you can have your nappies. Let dadd- uh, me just find something for you to sleep in.”

	Fuck, there’s no way you almost just called yourself “daddy”. Are you actually starting to think that you’re its dad? You know, for as much as you’re being nice to this fluffy, you can’t really take her in. You don’t have time for a pet, and they cost tons of money for shots and food and whatnot, plus there’s the whole issue of time devotion, and a laundry list of other issues. Ammy doesn’t seem too bad, though. Maybe you could at least try to make an exception.

	In any case, you push the thought out of your mind and rummage through the linen closet again, eventually coming across an old sleeping bag and some extra blankets and sheets. You call over Ammy, and she trots up to you happily, despite her being sleepy. So, where can you let her sleep? Certainly not the basement, or even the main floor. She’d be horrified, and there’d be shit everywhere, it just wouldn’t be a good idea. Somewhere on the upper floor would be just perfect, like your old office. Hey, your old office! You moved a whole bunch of stuff from there into your room, recently. Ammy should be able to sleep in there without issues.

	You carry her to the office, still babbling about being warm, and get the sleeping bag and sheets set up to resemble a pet bed with a fleece roof. Ammy clambers inside, and you bring the covers up to her neck. As soon as you start to walk out, you hear Ammy’s voice.

	“Daddeh?”

	You stop. Ooh boy, here we fucking go.

	“Nu cwose doah, pwease? Ammy nu wike dawk.”

	You smile, almost relieved. “Of course. Good night.”

	“Daddeh?”

	Oh no.

	“Ammy wuv ‘oo.”

	Son of a fucking bitch.

	“Yeah, I, uh…I love you too.”

	“Nii’nii’, daddeh.”

	“Yeah. ‘Night.”

	You leave the office, and decide to take a seat on the stairs. Goddamn, did your heart nearly just explode right there. The little mangy fluff ball is actually starting to grow on you a bit. Maybe you might actually just have to make an exception on your pet rule. Maybe you need a drink. Nah, scratch that. You definitely need a drink.

	You grab a glass, and your trusty bottle of scotch. Taking a peek at the clock reveals that it’s already 6 AM. Guess you’re gonna have to call in to tell them you can’t be in. You dial the number, and tell your boss that you found some animal last night, opting not to mention that it’s a fluffy, and you were up all night taking care of it. He doesn’t exactly sound happy about it, but he’s willing to give you the day off. You thank him, and hang up, heading up to your bed.

	You’re practically out before your head hits the pillow.

	------------------------------------------------------------------

	You wake up, at around noon. You didn’t get as much sleep as you could have, but you’re up for good, now. As soon as you start to heave yourself out of bed, you hear Ammy, mumbling, from further down on the bed. How in the hell did she get into your bed? Did you sleepwalk? Ah, it doesn’t matter now. You flop back down onto the bed, and Ammy stops stirring long enough to let out a little sigh.

	Staring up at the ceiling, you mind begins to swim, logic conflicting with emotions. If you let her stay any longer, you’re going to get attached to her.

	You give Ammy a scratch behind the ear, and she smiles a little bit.

	Come to think of it, maybe being attached isn’t so bad. You lay there for a long time, hours, it seems, just petting Ammy.

	Yeah. This isn’t too bad at all.

	------------------------------------------------------------------

	From that day onwards, your time together just flies right on by. Each and every day, you make sure to play a game with her, snuggle on the couch, whatever. The only thing that really matters isn’t what you do, but the fact that you’re together. Huh. That sounded kinda creepy.

	Anyways, by the time she’s about four, –from what you can guess, anyways- Ammy has some foals of her own. She got knocked up by some feral in the backyard when you weren’t looking, and you decided to let her keep them. The birth itself was uneventful but horrifying, so you won’t really go into much detail on that. The foals, two males and a female, are deemed Green, Sketty, and Wingie by Ammy. You probably should have stepped in and changed that, but oh well. They seem to not mind their names.

	A couple more years flash by, and Ammy’s seventh birthday was only a few weeks ago. You’ve never heard of a fluffy pony living anywhere near this long, since so many of them end up dying early due to abuse, accidents, and just general misfortune. But, from the looks of things, Ammy’s starting to near the end. She’s old, brittle, and frail, but she’s got the same spirit when she was a lot younger. Although she can’t play as well as she used to, she sure as hell tries. Just as enthusiastic as she used to be, even if she is a bit slower.

	But when it comes to the question of how long she has left, the answer turns out to be “not long”. Within a few more weeks, she begins to slow down more and more, it’s hurting for her to eat solid foods, and she’s complaining about being sore all the time. She’s nearing the end. You take her to the vet, just to see what they can do, but, deep down, you think you know the answer.

	Sure enough, there’s not much to be done. She’s just old. The doctor, however, says you have two options.

	“Anon, you can take her home. Her body will slowly shut down, and it might be painful, to say the least. The most time you have left is about a week at best. But, and forgive me for saying this, you can always just…put her down. It’ll end her suffering right here and now before it has to start.”

	It’s heavy news, but it’s not really anything you didn’t expect. Still, you have to take a bit of a ragged breath before you make your choice.

	“Okay, doc. I guess we’re-.”

	Your voice falters a bit, but you have to regain your composure, both for your and Ammy’s sake.

	“We’re gonna go with the euthanasia.”

	You gently lay Ammy out on the table. She looks cold. You wish you’d brought her a blanket, but it’s too late for that now.

	“D-daddeh?”

	“Yeah, Ammy?”

	“W-why doctah gif b-big owwies ta Ammy?”

	“It’s not big owwies, Ammy. He’s just going to put you to sleep, okay? That’s all. That’s all. They’re just gonna…gonna put you to sleep.”

	You can’t hold back any longer. You let a few tears flow freely down your face.

	“Pwease nu cwy, daddeh…”

	You sniff, feeling like an idiot that your fluffy pony has to console you.

	“Okay. Okay, alright. I won’t cry. No more tears, from either of us.”

	You pet Ammy’s head quietly for a few minutes. The complete silence is deafening, as the saying goes. There’s no need for words at this point.

	“Daddeh.”

	You turn to Ammy, and see that’s she crying a fresh volley of tears.

	“Ammy wuv ‘oo.”

	Sure enough, a few more tears escape your eyes, but you try to smile.

	“Yeah. Yeah, I love you too, Ammy. I guess we broke our ‘no crying’ promise, huh?”

	Ammy smiles a sad smile, and you continue to pet her until the doctor walks back into the room.

	“Is there anything you two would like to say before we do this?”

	You take a final look at Ammy, who shakes her head.

	“No. No, we’re good.”

	The doctor puts a hand on your shoulder, and a hand on Ammy’s front hoof. “You both made the right choice.”

	You want to tell him that it’s hardly the right choice, and it’s not even much of a choice to begin with. You want to be angry. But he’s right.

	You just nod your head, and take hold of Ammy’s hoof.

	As the doctor injects her, she looks up at you through bleary eyes and it feels like she’s trying to tighten her grip.

	“Goo’bye, daddeh…Ammy…wuv..’oo…”

	And, just like that, she’s gone.

	You sit there for a while, feeling empty. Alone. Your legs have fallen asleep, and your hands just won’t stop shaking. You gently pick up the corpse, and drive back home in your completely dull state.

	Grabbing a shovel from your garage, you dig a makeshift grave in the backyard, and lower Ammy’s body into it, slowly shoveling the dirt back on top. She seems almost peaceful. You pluck a dandelion from a nearby grass patch, and stick it into the loose soil.

“Goodbye, Ammy.”

You walk back inside your house, and the foals, now full-grown fluffies, are playing a game involving blocks. You don’t know what it is they’re doing, but they’re having a good time. Happy. They eventually notice you, and all run up to your legs.

“Daddeh! Whewe mummeh?”

You just stare down at them for a good few seconds, feeling like you just wrapped your mouth around a cement mixer’s spigot and drank a couple gallons of the stuff, feeling it harden in your gut.

“She’s…she’s gone.”

You break the ‘no crying’ rule yet again, and let the tears flow down your cheeks.

“She was very, very old, and now she’s…she’s gone to a much better place.”

The fluffies seem to look exactly as sad as you feel, and Wingie is beginning to tear up.

“Wingie evah see mummeh again?”

“Yes. Yes, you’ll see her again some day. All of you. I don’t know when, but you all will.”

You kneel down, scooping up the three fluffies into your arms, hugging them tightly. Goddamn it all, you’re going to raise them to be just like their mother.

The greatest fluffy pony in the world.