abuse author:nabbtab farm feral_fluffies foal_dies foals nature questionable


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Noxious Weeds
by nabbtab

A cattle farmer and her teenage grandson were walking in a notably expansive field that belonged to the farm. No cows were being held there at the moment, which was a good thing, because it was that time of year where each field had to be scoured for noxious weeds, and that was much easier without cattle roaming around because you could leave gates open as you walked. For some reason, the family farm, across all pastures including this one, was disproportionately affected by the fast-spreading noxious weed known scientifically as Carduus nutans, known commonly as musk thistle or nodding thistle, and known to the farmers and their grandson as "the purple ones". The state of Kansas can and will charge you a maximum fine of $1,500 for each weed they find, and since they spread by the dozens, the cattle farmer and her grandson, armed with a one gallon chemical sprayer full of diesel and a shovel respectively, were pacing up and down every inch of the field, digging up the weeds and spraying the holes and the roots with diesel.

After they had walked through about half of the 70 acre field, the grandson stepped into a hole in the ground. For the fourth time.

“Shiet!” he exclaimed. “What is makin’ these holes?”

“Prob’ly coyotes,” dismissed the grandmother. She walked on further while her grandson freed himself. He noticed multiple large holes and nodded.

“That makes sense for some of these, but what about those?” he pointed with his shovel to a smaller hole in the side of a rock. “There’s no way a full coyote would fit in there! Granted, I ain’t never seen a coyote in person, but I assume they couldn’t!”

His grandmother walked on, not even looking. “They probably store their cubs in there.”

The grandson shoved his shovel inside the hole and was met with a muffled cry of pain. He threw his shovel and sprinted to his grandmother’s side “FUCK!”

“What is it now?”


“Aw, shiet.” They both started to back away quickly, never taking their eyes off the hole, just in case. After a moment, though, the grandmother stopped. “Wait.”

“What?” The grandson followed suit and slowed to a halt.

“You hear that?”
The grandson was borderline-deaf, as he never bothered to protect his ears when working with equipment, so he did not hear that. “Yeah, I think,” he responded anyway.

“That ain’t no coyote,” the grandmother said as she walked back towards the hole. She reached in and grabbed a pink ball of fur by the leg and hoisted it over her head. At that point, the grating and constant ‘huuuuuuuuuuuu’ became loud enough that the grandson could now actually hear it.

“Ah, sheit! That’s one of them fluffy thingamajiggers.”

“And you done injured it!” The grandmother motioned to the gash on the fluffy’s other hind leg. “You screw up! It’ll never survive like this.”

The grandson walked over and met eyes with the bawling fluffy. “Aw, jeez, poor thing. I guess we gotta put it out of its misery, then.”

The grandmother reached back into the hole. “Aw, this thing’s got kids, too! Look what you done. Here,” the grandmother dropped the fluffy from the air and it landed on a rock and broke one of its front legs. The “huuuu” turned into more of a “huuUUUUUUU” at that point. “Grab yer shovel and try to put this thing down as quickly as possible. I’ll deal with the youngins.”

“Nu huwt fwuffy,” begged the fluffy on the ground. The grandson shrugged.

“Sorry, thing.” He raised his shovel over his and swung. He missed the fluffy’s head and hit the broken leg again.

“SCREEEEE” screamed the injured fluffy.

“Oh, shiet! I’m sorry!” the grandson primed himself to swing again.


“I’m tryna make this as painless as possible!” He swung again, this time landing a blow on the fluffy’s head with the flat part of the shovel. The fluffy just gurgled as its breathing became strained. The grandson shrugged and joined his grandmother, assuming it would be dead soon.

The grandmother stuck the nozzle of her sprayer into the hole and spritzed diesel into the fluffy babies’ faces. They collectively shrieked. “Man, this is a waste of diesel,” she noted, as she continued to spray more and more into the eyes, mouths, and noses of the young fluffies.

“I don’t think that’s doing anything,” said the grandson as he reached his hand in and grabbed one of the four babies. The grandmother spritzed one more time. “Got dang ass diesel on my hand now, thanks.”
The grandson set the screaming and squirming baby down on a flat rock next to the fluffy mother’s head. He let go to grab the shovel and it sprinted away. The fluffy mother tried to reach out and call, but only got out a “bbbb… grglll…” The grandson didn’t hear her.

“Aw, damnit, one got away,” observed the grandson.

“It’ll die anyway,” said the grandmother as she handed her grandson another fluffy baby.

This time, the grandson kept the baby steady by placing his foot on its hind leg. He pushed down far too hard and shattered the leg. The increase in crying from the young fluffy went unnoticed as the grandson lined the tip of his shovel with the back of the baby’s neck and, with his other foot, he pushed down and ripped off its head. The fluffy mother could do nothing but look on in despair.

The grandson did this another two times with each other fluffy baby, in direct line of sight of the dying fluffy mother. With the last cut-off shriek of her final young, she herself closed her eyes and let the sweet darkness take her. For safe measure, the grandson picked up the gallon sprayer of diesel and sprayed a little on each corpse. “To keep them from growing back!” he explained, and he and his grandmother shared a laugh. They went on their way, and walked the rest of the field incident-free.
Uploader nabbtab,
Tags abuse author:nabbtab farm feral_fluffies foal_dies foals nature
Rating questionable
Source Unknown
Locked No


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nabbtab: The fluffy baby that got away was still walking by nightfall. It would die soon without any milk, and some morbid part of the young fluff knew that. At the very least, it wanted a nice hole to pass away in, maybe even the one it was staying in before. It had walked in a straight line, and yet somehow it had found a hole that was remarkably similar to

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nabbtab: its old one. It walked in, hopefully, wanting at least to find its brothers and sister. "Hewwo?" it offered to the darkness. It was promptly eaten by coyotes.

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nabbtab: it's been almost two full years since my last post but ya girl is back y'all!!!!!!!
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GewawtofWivia: Welcome back to the booru; remember, youre here for eternity!

Nice piece, i especially like how the mother was still alive to watch.

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Manchurro: dope.

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IGotIdeas: This was pretty fucking kickass. Welcome to the booru and if you try and leave, I'll hunt you down and force you to watch me force another man to fuck a random corpse.

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IGotIdeas: @IGotIdeas: nvm you arent new here.

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Deathcap: I've never liked the idea of fluffies seeing death as a sweet embrace.

Humans, as frantic as we may be about it, understand death by instinct. We know what it entails and it's in our genes to have at least a degree of recognition of it.

Other animals, r-selections that focus on quantity over quality, have evolved to simply not notice it. It works best for them. A rat will gladly take a piece of cheese that one of its potentially hundred of children was just killed for in a trap.

Fluffies, on the other hand, don't have a sense of death despite how common it needs to be for them to continue as a species. When they die, their bodies begin to fade and lose all control. They can't understand the process. They're born knowing everything that they NEED to know to be an innocent little toy and understanding death is not one of them. With that comes the expectation that their lives will be safe and full of nurture for them and their precious little babies- not living in a box and dying from being kicked around by gods that they love but hate them.

We may say that killing them is mercy compared to the suffering of life, but life is all the undeserving bastards get. They have a short chance to exist and that's it. No matter how bad it gets, it's still better than the uncomprehending nothingness they get in place of an afterlife.

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Veej: @Deathcap: I like what you wrote, and I agree with most of it. Fluffyies do seem to have an idea of death as "foweba Sweepies" - which to them seems terrible.

Still, what do you make of the idea that some fluffies have, possibly from fluff TV, of a sort of Shangri-La/heaven that is 'sketti land'? Is Sketti Land the afterlife in their minds, or just a place where the fluffies think they will always be safe?
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