You’ve never had a fluffy pony before, but, honestly, when you saw her in the pound, you figured you had to rescue her. She looked so sad there without any legs.
…Well, actually, she herself looked pretty happy, babbling quietly to herself. Just the sight of a limbless fluffy did you in, though. Apparently some people did this to them so they couldn’t hurt themselves. But, really, what kind of life is that? Sure, they can’t do anything bad… but they can’t do anything at all, period. They just sit there on the floor, in a bowl, on a table, in the litterbox, wherever you put them down. It’s pathetic. You can’t give her her legs back, but you can at least do your best to make her life decent. You’ve always said that you couldn’t just buy a pet — you’d always have to go to the shelter and save a life. And it looks like this is the life you’re gonna save. The card by her cage says her name is “Sue”. Fine enough. “Sue, how are you doing?”
“Hewwo! Sue guuud! Nyu daddeh?”
“Yes, I think so — would you like me to be your daddy?”
“Sue wuv nyu daddeh! Sue suuu happeh!” Well, that settles it. You call an attendant over and ask her to open the cage for you. You pick Sue up, and she cuddles herself into your arms for a hug. You happily oblige. “Sue wuv huggies!” Yep, this is the fluffy for you. You take her out, sign the paperwork and lay her on a blanket on the front seat. She’s too small to buckle up, so you’ll just drive extra-super-duper safe. Not that you’re a speed demon by any means.
Forty-five minutes and many angry honks later, you make it home. Sue’s smile hasn’t dropped once. She wasn’t even scared by the honking or swearing from the neighboring cars. She just rocks back and forth babbling. You carry her into your room and put her on the couch to pet her and watch TV. “Sue wuv teebee! Wuv daddeh! Daddeh bes daddeh!” You rub her fluff while she watches, and you notice something — not only does she not have any stumps, she’s actually perfectly smooth where her limbs would be. She was either born without them, or the amputation was very well done. (If, of course, such a job can be said to be well-done.)
“Sue, I have to say, you’re the happiest fluffy I’ve seen!”
“Sue wuv ebweting!”
“Why are you so happy?”
“Sue gon’ hab babbeh!”
“…oh. One minute please.”
You… hadn’t counted on this. You thought they’d mention a pregnancy on the card or on the paperwork or SOMEWHERE. You can’t really afford more fluffy ponies, but you’d feel awful about taking her back to the shelter. Maybe you can see if you can at least get your money back or something, so you hop over to the other room where Sue can’t hear you and call the shelter. “My fluffy says that she’s pregnant! … Your records say she’s a virgin? … You checked her out when she came in and wasn’t pregnant… no stallions in that wing… repeating everything you say?” How… odd. They hung up on you. But they swore up and down she wasn’t pregnant.
You run back into the room. “Yes, Sue?”
“Daddeh! Sue cowd! Need bwankie!”
Oh, poor dear! You swaddle her in a blanket. So cute — she looks like a little burrito! Awww! And she’s back to happily chattering. You listen a bit closely and it’s just a tuneless song “gon’ hab babbeh, gon’ hab babbeh”. You keep her in her burrito, and the two of you continue watching TV. It’s a marathon of Night Court. Man, you love these classic shows from the beginning of television. Too bad that Harry Anderson has been dead for years. He was hilarious.
Several hours later, you hear Sue get louder in her cooing! “
Gon hab babbeh! Gon hab babbeh!” Strange — you thought fluffies shouted “Big Poopies” when they were about to foal.
“Gon’ hab babbeh! Gon hab babbeh! GON HAB BAB—” You hear a crack. …wait, a crack? Oh god, she didn’t hurt her bones somehow did she? You rapidly unwrap the blanket burrito, and see… …. …Sue…. …in…. two… pieces. And… in the middle…. …surprisingly little gore. And…a chicken.