“Sowwy fo’ wun ‘way, mummah! Too scawed of munstas! Huu huu huuu, munstas num mummah! Mummah nu am nummies! Babbeh nee’ mummah fo’ wub an’ miwkies!”
These are the laments of a foal that successfully fled the whims of the food chain. While its more substantial relatives distracted the animals, the tiny creature was able to slink away and slip through the gaps of a fence. In the relative safety of someone’s backyard – safe from ground threats, that is – the foal wept for its steep loss.
Inside the house was a man that had lost a dear family member as well. His little corgi. It was recent enough that the dog’s bed was still in its corner by the plastic flap in the backdoor, with its velvet blanket.
The fluffy inevitably pushed through the doggy door, which was a nigh Herculean feat for its small size. While babbling about its needs, the foal laid eyes upon the shiny fabric on the cushioned hed. The foal sniffled a couple of times and said to itself,
“Pwetty bedsie! Mummah desewb pwetty bedsie, nu wowstest munsta nummies!”
Teardrops fell from the fluffy’s eyes as it walked over to the bed and crawled into it. It was not that long ago that it was nestled in its mother’s warmth. The dog bed allowed the foal, for a time, to pretend that everything was still fine.
Until the man entered his kitchen and saw the audacious interloper in his best friend’s bed. The man stared at the foal, which was fast asleep at the time, with a neutral countenance.
“Ey,” he barked, momentarily forgetting what fluffies were most infamous for as memories of the dopey, butter-colored canine came back to him. It was a most unfortunate moment. The fluffy’s eyes shot open and with a shrill cry, it voided itself onto the bed.
“Scawedy poopies! Scawedy pee-pees! Huu huu huu huu, pwetty bedsie! Sowwy pwetty bedsie! Sowwy mummah!” The foal began to bawl pitifully, too absorbed by grief to take note of the man who was positively fuming now.
But he did not do what was typical of the highly emotional in this situation. Rather, he crouched down before the sorrowful fluffy, and asked,
“What’s wrong, little fella?”
The foal gasped. To its perception, the man had materialized out of nothingness.
“Nicey mistow! Mummah hab wowstest nummies eba, buh mummuh aways talkie about hoomie majik ad ved! Nee’ ved fo’ ged mummah backsies! Hewp babbeh?”
“Your mother’s fucking dead,” the man responded curtly. “Now get the hell out of my house so that I can clean your mess.”
The foal’s lips quivered. Its chest ached with yearning and the searing separation from affection. “Huu. Huu huu. Huuuuu…”
“Get out, or I’ll hurt you, and make you wish you left on your own.”
The foal closed its eyes and sobbed. “Mummah! Hoomie nu do majik an’ sabe mummah fwom bein’ nummies! Wai so meanies!? Wai!?”
Sensing that this would go on for some time, the man grumbled to himself and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. He started again after his dog passed as a means to soothe the loss.
The man was still waiting for it to work.
He lit up one of the cigarettes and took a drag while the fluffy cried and screamed out at its perceived slight. “Bwing backsie mummah! Mummah am gud mummah! Aways wub babbeh! Hoomie majik sabe mummah!”
The man replied sarcastically, “I could spend three dollars, seventy-five cents and whatever fluffy tax the 'mart charges for a surrogate for you. Hell, I could cut out the middle-man and let the Fluffymart take you.”
He took another drag of the cigarette. The foal was still screaming about wanting its mother back.
“You know, I was going to force you to inhale some of this cancerous shit,” he started to say, “then burn the fuck out of you with it, until you ran away. I was going to shove it up your ass and laugh at you.”
The foal was too distracted by grieving for its mother to balk at or fear this torturous fate.
“Maybe it’s the nicotine fix talking, but I am going to take you to that Fluffymart after I clean Buddy’s bed. Maybe someone better than me will buy you and a new mother. Who knows,” he decided.
And so, he did.