Runts Two Weeks of Life

If you have google doccuments, please read the enhanced version of this story at the following long-ass web address.  It contains pictures that make the story more... potent.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HJ8rykkgNISqKE2Tl9bpyv2FwzVHBoXRHINr4p22Xu8/edit

>Be first time fluffy dam owner.
>When you first got her, she was as large as a mellon and could barely walk.
>You were sure she would pop and give birth within the hour after you bought her.
>Much to your surprise, the pregnancy continued for two weeks more, and every day she just got bigger and bigger.
>After quite possibly the most absurd pregnancy you have ever witnessed, your fluffy mare has given birth.
>It's a massive litter, and the infants just seemed to keep coming for a while.
>Four babies, five babies... this might be the stopping point.
>six babies.
>She's exhausted, but positively thrilled. Every baby has been cleaned and is currently either suckling, or pulled in tight to the fluff in a hug.
>still no afterbirth.
PFFFRTTT.
>Oh, there it is... ew.
>Glad I brought a towel.
>And a seventh baby.
>It's a runt.
>Crap, you've heard that fluffies kill runts. Don't want to traumatize the foals this early.
>It starts to chirp
>"Dat babbeh? Fwuffy suu tied, Daddeh, bwing babbeh to fwuffy? Mummeh fwuffy wan' cwean bebbeh."
>You didn't bring a bucket of water with you, and there's no real way you can take this one away without alerting the mother, so you present the runt to your now much thinner fluffy pony.
>She smells it, and starts licking it clean. Barely able to lift her head from the floor.
>"Dis babbeh wunt?" she asks, after a few swipes of the tongue.
"Yes, Fluffy. Do you want me to take it away?"
>"Nuu, Fwuffy wuv babbehs, aww bebbehs."
>After a full cleaning, the runt is still chirping.
>"Wunt wan foodies daddeh, gif wunt mummeh miwk."
>She has been laying on her side feeding her foals for a while, and there's still three of her six regular foals firmly attached to nipples down there, but a fourth one appears to have just had enough, so you gently move it from the belly over to the growing fluff-bundle of it's brothers and sisters higher on the mother's torso.
>The runt obligingly starts to suckle as soon as it's mouth touches the nipple.
>"Wunt gud bebbeh. Dwink wassa miwk. Aww bebbehs gud bebbehs. Sweepy gud bebbehs..."
>Her breathing is deep and even. She has fallen asleep.
>The other three foals from her teets eventually stop feeding.
>You transfer them from her sore nipples over to the growing fluff-knot on the mother, where they too fall asleep.
>The runt continues to nurse.
>And continues.
>And continues.
>Soon, you realize that it's actually just causing milk to leak out around it's mouth as the mother continues to unconsciously feed it.
>with minimal effort and maximal care, you detach the gorged runt and add it to the fluffy pile.
>As a way of thanking you, it vomits up a tiny amount of milk.
>Babbies become self-reliant foals in about two weeks...
>Somehow, you think this is going to be a long two weeks.
---
>Three days later (thank goodness for paid vacation.)
>You think you've come to fully understand the runt.
>It's fluff is thick and luxurous, but it's body is stunted and tiny, so much so that it's legs don't touch the ground.
>It makes noise irregularly... no words just... garbled, kinda creepy noise.
>Only one of it's eyes focuses and tracks movement, most of the time, that eye is watching you. The other eye appears to be permanently derped.
>You have to carefully monitor it's feedings, since it won't stop eating, given the chance.
>So you basically just move him to a nipple, start a timer, and then remove him when it goes off.
>The mother and all the other babies love him. Though the babies are still "learning" to speak. "Wub Mum-meh, Wub Dad-deh" were their first proper words.
>"Wub Wunt" came in the next day.
>Initially you hesitated to leave the Runt in the same pile as it's now mobile siblings, but they mostly just bobble around, giving each other hugs, occasionally bobbling over ot their mother for hugs or milk.
>You make sure that the Runt eats about as often as it's bigger siblings do.
>After you detach it, it allways makes a noise... "Kthxmsrnssmn" "Qlurthrxxsnqux"
>Creepy.
>But as long as the mother loves it, you're okay with it.
---
>By the sixth day, the babbies have all reached a size where they can amble along at high speed.
>High speed for a fluffy pony.
>Their vocabularies are almost complete, and they cheer when you tell them that they will have spaghetti tonight because everyone has been good.
>They haven't taken to litterbox training quite yet, but everyone is big enough to go on the newspaper you laid out for them, and there weren't any accidents or needs for extra baths today.
>They work together and push the runt over to the saucer of soft-boiled noodles and sauce you laid out.
>They wait.
>He manages to get one noodle in his mouth, and then suckles. Within a few tense seconds, he has completely eaten one strand of spaghetti.
>"Dsrxblquast"
>His six siblings cheer, and dive face first into their own food. Happily gobbling down the spaghetti.
>You look to the mother.
>"Are you and the foals all getting along alright?"
>"Mummeh wuv babbehs! Babehs gud babbehs!"
>Alright, that's good.
>"- An' Mummeh an' Babbies wuv wunt!"
>Ah, still separating him from the rest.
>"Wunt suu siwwy! Say siwwy things 'bout daddeh an' mummeh!"
>Wait, what?
>You're tempted to press for answers, but the mother is happily eating now, and you don't want to cause any strife, here or now.
>Looking at the runt, it's one good eye is looking straight at you.
>It's mouth is moving, trying to get another strand of spaghetti, while it's useless legs wheel about in the air, unable to find traction.
>You reach down and, gently, push it a little closer to it's plate.
"Eat up, we'll play together, later."
>It slurps up another strand.
---
>Did I mention how much I love paid vacation?
>It's almost the two week mark, and, since day seven, you've supplemented watching the fluffies with a little engineering project.
>After some good research into disabled access computing, you ordered a very special (and expensive) computer peripheral.
>It's a tongue-operated analogue stick / facial scanning sensor, designed originally for Stephen Hawking, later manufactured for people with disabilities that left them paralyzed or with limited mobility from the neck down.
>You've had to do considerable modifications on it but now, you think it's ready for the final test.
"Alright everyone! since you've been such good fluffies, today, you'll all get to go play in the yard!"
>Cheers, followed by chorus of tiny "Wat yawd?" from the self-mobile foals.
>You take The mother and her foals all outside to a small fenced-in enclosure situated near your back porch.
>"Whew Wunt?"
"Runt's not big enough to play outside yet He and daddy will be inside playing."
>Back inside, you find yourself staring down the Runt's one good eye.
>You acknowledge each other.
>"Dokgfhjokwj."
"Runt."
>Leaning down, you pick him up. Strangely, he neither squirms or struggles. He just stares at you, levelly.
"What have you been saying to your mother, little one?"
>"Xscivhjok"
"That's what I thought."
>Carry him, gently, over to the little cushioned "runt seat" you made for him.
"I'm going to put something in your mouth. It will not hurt you. I will not hurt you. I just want to make this clear. Do you understand?"
>"Nforqulex."
"Good."
>You gently slide the smooth plastic tongue-depressor into the Runt's mouth, then you double check your wiring, and make the final necessary connection on the eye-tracking software, which, helpfully, has an option for only following one eye.
>You slide the flat screen monitor in front of Runt, and open the "paint" application.
"Do you like pictures runt? Here, make me some pictures."
>Now, you just sit back and watch.
>After Runt comes to understand the controls, he makes one, simple image, Then stops, and stares at you.

(Image: A right Triangle.  along the left vertical side: three lines.  Along the bottom, horizontal side: four lines.  Along the Top diagonal side, Five lines).

>In shock, you disconnect him from the machine.
>Then you take him outside to be with his family.
>He is thirteen days old.
>And he already understands so much.