The day after finding out that Pineapple and Grapefruit were pregnant, Steve woke up before 5am. Fuck. I even set my alarm later than usual this morning. He lay in bed for a few minutes trying to get back to sleep, when an unsettling noise brought him to his feet. The baby monitor, not his alarm, would get him out of bed this morning.
“SCREEEEEEE!!! BIGGEST POOPIES!!!”
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, SHIT! Katie told Steve that all first-time “mummahs” (and most “mummahs” in general) thought they were just taking a massive shit when they went into labor. Not wanting to waste any time, Steve put on yesterday’s pants, and didn’t bother changing out of the t-shirt he slept in. He ran downstairs and out the back door, and was halfway to the barn before he realized he hadn’t put shoes on. A little late for that now, Steve thought. Steve was excited, but also nervous because he had never helped a fluffy give birth before, and he knew all of the things that could go wrong.
The cacophony of high-pitched voices when Steve entered the barn was unbelievable. Still, Steve immediately turned his attention to the bloated pegasus mare in the first pen on the left. Shit, blood, and fluids had splattered all over Candy’s pen—it covered her bed, the walls and floor, and the side of her litter box (very little had made it in). The poor beast had tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Daddeh, Candee su sowwy fo bad poopies. Candee su sweepy, nu haf time tu wun tu da wittahbawks! Candy su SOWWY!” The pink pegasus broke down, sobbing in a puddle of her own waste.
“Shhh…Candy, it’s not your fault. Your babies are coming.”
Candy’s mood changed instantly. “Babbehs? Babbehs come nao? Candee am mummah soon?”
“That’s right, Candy. Just calm down. Daddy is going to get some soft towels out of the closet, and daddy’s going to help your babies come.”
Candy nodded, and then grunted. “Pwease, babbehs, nu huwt mummah! Mummah haf tummeh-owies!”
Steve prepared the birthing nest, and Candy’s first foal crowned just minutes later. Steve gently eased it out, and then it hit home that he was holding his first fluffy foal: a red pegasus colt with a pink mane—the reverse of Candy’s colors. The foal let out a weak “chirp, chirp”, and Candy gasped.
“Babbeh! Daddeh, pwease wet mummah see babbeh!”
Steve placed the tiny foal between Candy’s front hooves. She picked it up and started licking it clean, but not without complaining that the foal “nu taste pwetty”. Just then, Candy grunted again, nearly dropping the colt. Fortunately, Steve was there to catch it. He quickly placed it on one of Candy’s engorged teats.
“Daddeh, nuva babbeh comin’!” Surely enough, Candy gave birth again—this time the foal was a white earthie filly with a pink mane.
Candy had three more foals—a red earthie filly with a green mane, a brown earthie colt with a pale green mane (well, that’s unfortunate), and a white pegasus filly with a red mane. Steve couldn’t believe his luck! Five healthy foals, and four of them had good colors—hell, the two white fillies would fetch a solid price unless he decided to keep and breed them.
Candy was still breathing heavily—both from exhaustion and excitement—while she gave the remaining foals “lickie-cleanies”. Each time she finished cleaning a foal, she proclaimed it a “gud babbeh”, although she did comment of the brown colt that he was a “poopie-babbeh, bu mummah wuvs aww babbehs”. Steve left the pen to get cleaning supplies out of the utility closet when he heard a sound come from Candy’s pen like she had gagged. Steve rushed back over to the pen to see Candy—her eyes wide in bewilderment—holding the white pegasus filly.
“M-M-MUNSTAH!!! DIS AM MUNSTAH-BABBEH!!! NUUUUUUU!”
Holy shit. That last one wasn’t a pegasus. It’s an alicorn.
The barn went completely ape shit. The herd, which had been listening intently to the goings-on in Candy’s pen, all went insane at the heralding of a “monster baby”. Every forum Steve had read online warned about keeping alicorns with other fluffies, and said that mothers would reject even their own alicorn babies. Apparently, Hasbio programmed three “normal” fluffy races—earthies, unicorns, and pegasi. The trouble was, fluffies could not comprehend a fluffy that was both “pointy” and “wingie”.
“Nu wowwy, babbehs. Nu wiww wet munstah-babbeh num gud babbehs!”
Candy, who was nearly back to a normal size, lifted her front hoof to crush the alicorn foal.
“Dammit, Candy! NO!” Candy shat herself in fear when Steve yelled at her, but it had the desired effect—Candy slouched back on her rump.
“Bu-bu-bu daddeh, dis babbeh am MUNSTAH babbeh. Wiww num aww gud babbehs, den num mummah! Nu wan aww gud babbehs be nummies an take foweva sweepies!”
Steve scooped up the foal. Half of the barn had made “scaredy-poopies” when Steve yelled, and all of the fluffies went silent.
“Nu, daddeh! Candee wuv ‘oo. Nu wan daddeh be munstah-babbeh nummies!”
“Candy, this baby isn’t going to ‘num’ anyone. It’s a good baby. This baby makes daddy very happy.”
“Candy. You have wings, right?”
“Yus, daddeh! Candee haf pwetty wingies.” She fluttered them as if to demonstrate.
Steve shifted the chirping foal to his left hand. He reached down into the next pen and picked up Wizard. “Look, Candy! Doesn’t Wizard have a horn?”
“Yus, daddeh. Wizawd am gud howny pointy-fwend!”
Steve set Wizard back down. Wizard quickly scurried back over next to Pineapple to reform their two-fluff fluffpile. “So, Candy. You have pointy-friends. You have wingie-friends. And now, your baby can be your brand-new pointy-wingie friend.
Candy sat still for so long that Steve thought her brain had blue-screened. Finally, she broke the barn’s silence and spoke.
“Otay, daddeh. Daddeh nu wan huwt fwuffies. Daddeh nu wet nuffin huwt fwuffies. If daddeh say babbeh nu am munstah, an dat babbeh am pointy-wingie fwend, den babbeh am pointy-wingie fwend.”
Oh, thank God, Steve thought. That foal is worth a small fortune.
Steve turned away from Candy, who had placed the alicorn foal on one of her teats. “Do you hear that, fluffies? There are no ‘monster fluffies’. Only ‘pointy-wingie fluffies’.”
Steve got all of the fluffies to repeat what he said. God forbid any of his fluffies stomp a foal that could pay his grocery bill for six months. As he scooped out food for the rest of the herd, he could hear Candy singing:
“Mummah wuv babbehs,
babbehs wuv mummah,
babbehs get miwkies,
gwow up big an stwong!”