artist:fiddwe author:anonymousfluffery canada good_fluffy montreal oie outdoor_fluffy outdoors outside outside_fluffy pregnancy quebec sadbox safe



by AnonymousFluffery


You're an adorable fluffy pony, and your name is Oie!

And you're sure that's your name. Your hooman mummah told it to you. She's very pretty and has a curly brown mane. Sometimes you have trouble understanding her because she uses silly words, but you try your best. You love Mummah!

"Je m'appelle Marie," she says. "That means 'My name is Marie.' And you are 'Oie.' That means 'goose,' because you are gray like one. Now, for the hundredth time, quel est ton nom? What's your name?"

You waggle your tail. It's fun to play the name game with Mummah! You know your name, so you win every time! "Fwuffy am Oowah! Oowah wuv name!"

Mummah Marie sighs, but smiles at you. "Franchement? Well, I suppose I shouldn't keep hoping you'll catch a Québécois accent, little fluffy."

You don't know what that means, although you don't think you're a little fluffy. You only just became a big fluffy, now that you've lived with Mummah a few weeks. But the word 'catch' is familiar from your days playing huggie tag with the other foals in the shelter.

"Oowah gun catch Mummah!" you tell her. "Catch... an' gif huggies!" To demonstrate you toddle at top speed up to her shin and throw your forelegs around it in a loving hug. Mummah giggles and pets you, and you are the happiest fluffy in the world!

You love Mummah.


Mummah's special friend is Mister Hank. Mister Hank has a sandy-red mane and long, gangly limbs, and whenever he sees you, he smiles. You like Mister Hank a lot. Whenever he visits, even though you know he's there to see Mummah, he takes a little time to play with you.

"Wanna fly, little guy?" he asks, picking you up under your belly. "Wheee! This time I'll be the navigator, Goose! Do you feel the need for speed?!"

"Nu am wingie, nu can fwy!" you say through your laughter. But you enjoy going for a ride in Mister Hank's hands.

"Man, you've gotten to be such a big fluffy! I can barely hold you up!" Mister Hank puts you down in the kitchen after the ride and gives a theatrical huff, as though he's all tired out. You know he's just playing pretend and he can lift you easily, but it's still funny! Mister Hank makes a lot more jokes than Mummah, or at least a lot more that you can understand. He never uses the funny-talk words Mummah does.

Mummah says that's because he's from 'America.' You don't know where that is, but if Mister Hank is from there it must be a nice place!

"You think I should try to convince your Mummah to let me stay over tonight?" Mister Hank whispers conspiratorially. "I mean I'm just supposed to be here dropping off some groceries. But I'd really like to stick around and use that pancake mix in the morning, you know?"

Your hoofsies jump up and down, they're so excited! You love Mister Hank's pancakes. He always makes them when he stays over and sleeps in Mummah's room. It even makes up for you not being able to spend all your time with Mummah while he's there. "Yay! Oowah am gun ask Mummah fow Mistah Hank stay! Wuv Mistah Hank!"

It's true. You love Mister Hank!

You're just about to go look for Mummah when she enters the kitchen herself. You mean to shout your happy request, but something in Mummah's face stops you. She looks like she's got scardies!

"Hon?" Mister Hank asks. "You okay?"

All she says is, "Hank... amour... I'm late."

Huh? What is Mummah late for?


"Hank and I finally decided. What do you think of the name 'Jenette?'" Mummah asks you, adjusting her see-place thingies she wears to read.

You're on the couch snuggled up to her big pregnant belly. Mummah has been a soon-mummah for a long, long time! She has carefully explained to you that she's sure she's only going to have one baby, and that it will be a girl-baby. You don't know how she knows, but you believe her. Mummah's smart.

"Jenet gud name fow babbeh!" you tell her as you give her tummy a hug.

"That's not how you pronounce--" Mummah smiles and rolls her eyes. "En tout cas, I hope Hank gets back soon. I've got cravings like you wouldn't believe."

"Oowah bewieve mummah!" you assure her. You know she wouldn't tell a lie. "An' daddeh am gun bwing bestest nummies fow make bestest miwkies fow babbeh!" You've started calling Uncle Hank 'daddy' because he lives with you now, right in your house! He and Mummah don't mind. Having both a mummah and a daddeh is a dream come true!

Mummah's phone rings. It's the song it makes when Daddy calls! You wobble from side to side to dance to it while still hugging Mummah's belly. You want to give her tummy-baby the best huggies all the time, even before it stops hiding in her!

"Oui, allo? Hank, I was just thinking about calling you... yeah, yeah, but can you bring me home some lunch? A steamé? And some cookies? And sweet potato fries? And maybe some pickled eggs? Oh, and I think I ate all the canned Beefaroni, I can't get enough for some reason. Can you buy some more?"

You like the sound of that. Whenever Mummah eats her Beefaroni-nummies, you get to lick the bowl. It tastes just like sketties! You always have so much energy after sketties. You can't wait for your little sissy to come out of mummah and play!

"Babbeh Jenet!" you tell Mummah's big tummy, "Oowah wuv yu!"

It's true. You love your sissy Jenette!


Daddy keep saying Mummah Marie's 'doodayt' is coming up. You don't know what that means, but you're pretty sure she's not gonna be a soon-mummah for much longer. She has a really big tummy and doesn't want to move around much, but she still goes to work and leaves you in the saferoom during the day. Well, mostly in the saferoom. Daddy does his work on his desktop, so you get to spend a lot of time by him!

One evening when it's time for what Mummah normally calls 'faydessamain,' Daddy is doing a lot of strange things! He's getting out extra plates and cups and bowls for nummies. You ask if he is hungry or needs help, but he says, "No, no. Just getting ready for the baby shower."

That's confusing. Wawa is bad for fluffies, but not hoomans, so you know it's okay when they take a shower. But should a baby take a shower? And what does that have to do with putting out nummies on all the tables and counters?

Then people start to arrive. So many people, like you might see at the park! But you also recognize some of them. There's Mummah's sissy, Beatrice! And her good friend who feeds you when Mummah and Daddy are away, Charlotte! And there are other people you don't know, but they all must be Mummah's friends she makes when you're not around. You're happy to finally meet them, and they're happy to meet you! They call you cute and well-behaved.

But there's one lady who doesn't look happy with you. She has a curly dark mane and her cheeks are kind of wrinkled. It almost makes them look like they're puffing out, like a meanie fluffy might do! You decide to avoid her.

When Mummah gets home, boy is she surprised! And then all her friends are hugging her and sharing nummies and music is playing from Mommy's toy-friend Alexa who lives on the dining room table!

You love the baby shower!


After being petted and making friends with Mummah and Daddy's guests for hours, you're so tired you need to take a nap in your saferoom. You dream a nice dream about Mummah having her baby. Although you were told she will be "in hospitaw" when it's time, not at home, your sleepy-time pictures are of her lying on her big tummy in the living room. She's crying and has scaredies, but you're excited, because you know she's having her baby!

"Ooo, flonchy-wonchy la-la-lee!" she says, then switches from her funny-talk so that you can understand her. "Oowah, Mummah haf bigges' huwties!"

"Is otay, Mummah!" you assure her bravely. "Babbeh comin' soon!" You give Mummah huggies and she immediately feels better. With no effort at all, her baby slides out of her special place and her not-fluff dress, and you effortlessly pick up the foal-sized human by the nape of its neck, carrying it to her face for lickie-cleanies. "Ohh, Mummah wuv babbeh," she says. "Tank 'ou Oowah. Ou' am bestest bwudda fow Mummah's nyu wittow babbeh."

When you wake up, you're disappointed to realize it was just a dream. But soon it will be true! You look around. It's dark, you'd better go find Mummah and give her huggies before she goes to bed, so she also has good sleepy-time pictures.

You amble down a hallway past some discarded wrapping paper and a dropped napkin. That party sure was fun! Finally you find Mummah talking to the lady with wrinkles on her cheeks near the door to the porch. You decide to be a good fluffy and not interrupt their talk, but it looks like they're mostly just looking at each other instead of speaking. So you say "Mummah! Oowah haf gud sweepie-time piccha 'bout sissy Jenet! Wan teww Mummah!"

"Désolé, Oie. Puis-je parler à Aunt Maggie?" Mummah says. "Go see if your Daddy can give you some dinner. I need to have this talk with my Auntie without being interrupted."

Wow, whatever Mummah is talking about must really be important. "Otay, Mummah!" you say, and go look for Daddy. As you go, you hear Auntie say, "You let it call your baby 'sissy?'"

Silly Auntie. Your Mummah and Daddy are having a baby. Of course that's your sissy!

As it turns out, Daddy Hank is sleeping on the couch. He's clearly very tired from making the party happen and then participating himself. He is surrounded by things you can infer are for the baby, as mostly they are things like like human not-fluff, but very small. It's sad that Jenet won't have fluff of her own to keep her warm, but that will be okay. You will help keep her warm with huggies.

You decide that actually, you are pretty hungry, so you'll go back and ask Mummah for dinner. It wouldn't be very nice to wake up Daddy when he worked so hard to make a fun party. But you'll wait until she's done talking to Auntie, too, because she told you not to interrupt and you want to behave.

Hm, they're not where you left them... oh! They're sitting on the porch. You're not allowed to go outside without permission, so you settle in next to the sliding door to wait until they're done and come back in. You're a good fluffy and you don't bother Mummah when she's told you not to.

The unfamiliar voice of Auntie is talking, and it's quite audible from where you are. "Marie, what I mean is that if he thinks of himself as the baby's brother, you won't be able to make him think of himself as a pet anymore. Which is about to become very important."

"Quoi? You don't know that! He always follows instructions."

"Look, I've got to talk to you about what you're doing to get ready for motherhood. I can see a few big problems already."

"Auntie, do we have to do this now? J’ai la langue à terre, et..."

"Please speak English, honey. I need us to understand each other."

"Fine. I think you're looking for problems here because you don't like Hank."

"Oh, please. I do like Hank. The ginger sweetheart's too nice to you. But I'm also aware he only got serious with you and moved in after he knocked you up. Do you know how often that sort of thing works out happily...? Don't give me that look. I want you to succeed. If you're not doing everything you can to be ready to take care of a baby, it'll be harder on you both. And one of you might leave. Maybe not even him. Let's try to stop that from happening."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You have to get the fluffy out of the house."

Despite the warm spring air coming in from outside, you suddenly feel very cold. You want to rush outside and beg Mummah to keep you safe in her arms while you stare at the distant lights of "Mon-ree-all " from her big rocking chair. That's what you normally do on the porch, none of this business of talking about sending fluffies away! But you also know that interrupting right now would make you a bad fluffy. So you don't.

You should leave and stop listening, since this is giving you heart-hurties already. But you can't bring yourself to.

"You don't like Oie, that one I'm sure of."

"Marie, I'm a Pregnancy Options Counselor, okay? I don't just say this shit for fun. I didn't know you'd adopted a fluffy pony. You might think it not matter, but he was born a feral, so it does. He's a vector for all kinds of diseases that can seriously affect an infant. Cat scratch disease, toxoplasmosis, the whole nine. And that's without going into the behavioral problems."

"My doctor didn't say anything about this."

"You probably didn't tell him you had adopted a fluffy, did you?"


"Honestly, you should get rid of it."

"I'm not giving Oie away! He's part of the family. I--"

"It's a bad sign that you're putting a biotoy before your child, but fine. At the very least, it needs to stay out of the house."

"I can't make him an outside fluffy! He's had a saferoom his whole life."

"And what, kid, you're going to put a crib in your own bedroom instead of turning that saferoom into a nursery? You don't see how wrong that is? What about when your kid's even older? Feral fluffies live outside year round. You think this one needs it so much better?"

"Oie's... that's not--"

"Marie. Doll. I drove all the way from St. Thomas to celebrate you becoming a mother. I believe you can do a great job. But you knew it was going to be hard. This... this is part of it."


You don't understand how this is related to what Auntie told Mummah that night while neither of them knew you were listening. You couldn't really get the meaning of what they were saying, even though they didn't use funny-talk words. But you know it is connected.

Daddy drove a peg into the dirt next to the fence in the back yard. He hit it with his hammer, which looked like a fun game, but he didn't look like he was having fun. Then he tied your walkies-leash to it, and attached the leash to you.

"Daddeh," you say, "Wif weash on peggie... Oowah nu can wun an' pway!" Doesn't he know that? This has to be some kind of mistake.

"I know, man. I--" Daddy Hank's voice seems to break for a moment. "It's just that some of the plants in the garden are bad for fluffs to eat. We have to get approval to pull them out so you can walk around, but that will take a while. You'll have to be out here for... a long time."

What? "Oowah nu wan' num bushies! Pwomise be gud fwuffy! Pwomise wun an' pway safe!"

"I can't-- I can't risk it. Not with Marie like she is, worried all the time now. She wouldn't be able to take losing you." Daddy covers his face with his hand. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be. Look, I can make it all right." Daddy goes to the trunk of his vroom-vroom box metal mustah and takes out something. It looks like a part of a big plastic bowl with a hole in one side. A new toy?

"See? This can be your fluffy house out here. It used to belong to my friend's puppy before she outgrew it. But should be big enough for you." Daddy puts it on the grassies next to the peg you're stuck to. The opening doesn't look big enough for you at all, and there definitely won't be room to turn around inside. "Oh. I guess it's kinda small. I keep remembering when you could fit in one of my hands..."

"Daddeh," you plead, "Pwease wet Oowah wiv in big housie! Oowah pwomise be gud bwuddah to sissy Jenet! Nu gif huwties ow saddies! Huuhuu..."

Daddy is stuffing your favorite softy-blanket into the undersized barky-mustah house. It is nice of him to try to make it comfortable, but now there will be even less space inside. "It's not that you want to, boy, I know that. You're a good floof. But maybe... she might get sick from you. You won't be able to help it."

You don't understand. "Oowah gif huggies! Make sickies bettah!"

"I'm afraid... that's just not how it works. Aunt Maggie says you can be allowed back into the house when the baby is one. That... that'll probably feel like a long time to you." Daddy looks like he's going to cry. You're already crying, but you hug his knee, hoping it will make him feel better. That's what you want more than anything; for you to make Daddy and Mummah happy like they've made you happy. Why isn't it working? "I'll come out and see you, and make sure you're well-fed. Okay? And maybe we can fix you up a bigger house when the budget looks a little better. We'll have to think of something for when it gets cold..."

You say, through a sob, "Oowah wuv Daddeh. Wiww... wiww wive in bawkie-munstah house ousside. Fow Mummah and Daddeh an' sissy."

"Good fluffy. But... you're not supposed to call her your sister." Daddy's voice has gotten very hoarse again. He pats your back, but you barely feel it. It's like he doesn't want to touch you. "Just... just think of her as your friend, okay? When she's old enough, you can meet her, and be around your mama again. Everything will be just like it's supposed to be. Someday."

It feels like your whole life is going away. You sniffle, but you say, "Otay, daddeh."

You wish you knew how to stop being a bad, give-babies-hurties fluffy, but you will stay in the yard for Baby Jennette. To keep her safe, so she can grow up big and strong.

You love Baby Jennette.


Daddy is as good as his word. He makes sure your nummies and wawa dishies are filled up every mealtime. He gives you a daily walk, visits your fluffy house, and rolls the ball around. And he reads you story books – a lot were gifts at the baby shower. You are sure Jennette will love to hear them.

He doesn't touch you very much, though. Not for petting or for huggies.

"We'll try to get the vet to give you a clean bill of health in a couple weeks when he's available," he tells you. "Then I can pet you again, at least."

You don't complain. You can tell Daddy is having a hard enough time as it is. You miss sitting by him while he was working. He would listen to pretty "klassi-cal" music and sometimes let you sit next to him. It's strange, how you used to often think that you wished you could sit on his lap instead, because you weren't as comfortable on the floor.

Now you're never ever comfortable at all. The fuzzy blanket helps keep your belly off of the cold ground, but it's lumped up and you can't flatten it out with your stubby hooves. Your collar doesn't hurt by itself, but it's always pulled to one side by the leash, and you don't know how to get comfy in the little housie with that going on. In addition, you usually have to back out of the housie to leave it, so if you step on it the leash in the process you'll trip, over and over.

You endure it. You learn to play games with yourself. They're not very fun, but you play "count the fencie-sticks," even though you can never get past hoofsies-many-and-one. You watch the clouds, except for the days when there are no clouds. Often, you sleep, and you dream. Even when you have not-nice sleepy-time pictures, it's better than being awake and alone so much.

Then comes the bad day. The really bad day.

Daddy must have come and filled your food bowl for the afternoon while you were napping. You wish he'd woken you up. But you hear rustling noises outside of your housie, and you back up to leave it in a hurry. Once your head is free, you see the problem. Right next to your housie, a half-dozen little brown birdies are pecking at your kibble.

"Biwdies, nu! Pwease nu num Oowah kibbows! Oowah nee' nummies!"

The sparrows hop away at the sound of your voice and take wing. You almost want them to stay, for the company, if only you had enough to share. Just so you wouldn't be alone.

A lot of your food is gone from the bowl. There are just crumbs and half pecked-away bits left, not enough to even take the edge off of your hunger. You ruefully lick them up anyway, trying not to remember how you used to lick Mummah's Beefaroni bowls, the next best thing to sketties.

Before you can even finish your poor replacement for a meal, it starts to rain.

It's barely a drizzle, really, but it's sustained. It gets in your fluff, and you try to cover yourself in your housie, but your butt sticks out and your tail gets soaked, chilling your poopie place. If you try to get in the other way, your face gets wet, which is worse.

Before too long the rain has presented a new problem. Without realizing it, daddy put your housie on a very slight downward slope, so the rainwater tends to flow through your part of the yard. It's not deep or standing, but you're afraid of it! "Wawa bad fow fwuffies! Pwease nu gif Oowah fowevah-sweepies!" you say over and over, but the wawa keeps coming right through your housie. You curl up on top of your blanket, trying to keep the rainwater from touching you, but the blanket becomes suffused with it and you're colder than ever.

Night begins to fall. At least, you think, Daddy will come soon. He'll bring you food for your aching tummy. You can tell him, politely, that you need a new blankie, or maybe one of those "umboowewwa" toys that hoomans use to keep water off of themselves. Daddy is always understanding, and fixes these things. You can see him sometimes, passing behind the sliding door to the porch. He's cooking a meal, you think. Making one of his hot, yummy dinners – sometimes he makes pancakes for them, even at night.

Maybe, if you're very good, he will think to give you some? You know good fluffies don't ask for things they don't need, but you're just so hungry...

Except instead of coming out to give you food, you see Daddy begin to run around the house. Is something wrong? He's grabbing things from the kitchen, throwing them into a big bag... and then he's dashing out the backdoor into the driveway, not even stopping to turn the lights off in the house or anything.

"Daddeh!" you call. "Wat wong? Oowah hewp Daddeh?!"

But he's lept into the vroom-vroom box already, and it leaves so fast that it roars and then squeals with excitement.

The rain stops, eventually. Your belly is still wet, though, and you're starving. Without having had walkies, you have to make your poopies near the housie... they don't smell pretty. Not at all. You miss your litter box.

When it comes to finding food, you are aware that you can eat grassies thanks to Fluff-TV. You've never done it before, though. There was always enough kibble and scraps and treats. You didn't have to make do with it, like you were a no-Mummah no-Daddy fluffy.

Now you do. It's surprisingly easy to pull out of the ground with your teeth, but only because the rain has turned the dirt soft and muddy. It's hard to get a mouthful of grass without mud sticking to it, so in addition to the unpleasantly-flavored turf, you're getting soil stuck in your teeth. "Nu taste pwetty," you instinctively say between bites. At least the rain-wawa in your bowl isn't disgusting... until the mud staining your face gets in it. Then it becomes hard to drink.

Activity startles you. You hear the side door to the house open and shut. Is Mummah home? Daddy? Even Mummah's friend Charlotte, come to give you food while they're not here?

You don't know. You don't see anybody pass by the porch door or the windows. For all you know it was just the mailman-friend dropping off a package.

Nobody is coming tonight, you realize. Nobody is thinking about you anymore.

The darkness has settled in. It's late. There is no bright moon, there are no pretty stars. The gray clouds cover them, threatening further rain.

You take the opportunity to remain outside of the too-small housie while you can, and look at the lights of your former home. Your former life. The place where you were part of a family.

Things have changed so much that now you're not really sure if Mummah and Daddy will ever come back. Daddy left in such a hurry. Maybe they'll live somewhere else, to keep Baby Jennette far away from you, so that you don't accidentally give her sickies. If that's true, you know you will never stop missing them. You just wish you could have been a better fluffy so that this didn't happen.

You're also not mad at baby Jennette, your not-sissy. You still love her, and can't wait for her to come out of Mummah and enjoy the world. That's true even if you won't get to see her or give her huggies and love.

You just don't understand why Mummah and Daddy think you'll give her hurties. Why you need to be an outside fluffy. You believe they wouldn't make that up or be wrong, but your tiny mind means you still can't understand why they cast you out. Why they don't love you anymore.

And you never will.


- Reply
AnonymousFluffery: First Fluffy Pony story after a three-year absence. I wonder if that's a record? Not that anybody's keeping records.

By the way, in real life, we've all heard the widely-held belief that cats or other household pets should be kept away from expecting mothers. That's not true! You just have to keep away from their feces. Maybe I'll do a sequel regarding that if there's any interest...

So, what do we think?
- Reply
Fogfactor: pls give the conclusion to this story

- Reply
AnonymousFluffery: @Fogfactor: If there's enough response for it, sure.
- Reply
Anonymous1: dope.
more plz

- Reply
AnonymousFluffery: @Manchurro: Thank you.
- Reply
Jibboom: Holy shit, dude. I’m about to cry. Excellent stuff!

- Reply
SmawtySpewmatozoon: Poor fella. He literally did nothing wrong and STILL got screwed over.
Personally no one could ever convince me to treat my pets like that. Then again I have no plans on ever having a child, either..

- Reply
Veej: Aunt Maggie is clearly a closet abuser. Well done - like the francophone elements as well. I'm wondering if Oie is going to figure out how to pull that peg out of the ground once the earth gets wet & muddy enough.
- Reply
Arazur: Very good I like it
- Reply
Anonymous2: Never trust French-speakers.
- Reply
Anonymous3: I actually want this little guy to have a happy ending, well done.

- Reply
FluffyPuncher: Will this have an ending?
- Reply
CwinicawDepwession: Hope ya do part 2

- Reply
kill_da_fluffys: Very well written.
- Reply
Outcast: @AnonymousFluffery: do it
- Reply
Anonymous4: je mappelle huu huu poo poo oui oui mademoseille

- Reply
AnonymousFluffery: @Jibboom: Ehh he doesn't have it as bad as some fluffs.

- Reply
AnonymousFluffery: @SmawtySpewmatozoon: It's a good lesson to actually do research about these things. You encounter a lot of people who believe stories like "Cats will sleep on your baby's face and suffocate them!" or whatever. (That is believed to have happened once, but it might just have been SIDS.) If you're a responsible person you can have both a pet and a baby. I mean as long as it's not a chimp or a tiger or something.

@Veej: We'll see. Unfortunately for him he seems to be one of the few fluffies who's actually really good about following orders, so he might not want to do that.
- Reply
NottooFluf2: Man, how I hate those know it all person, just ask your doctor and vet, also healthier children are rise with pets around.

Oie clearly is one of the few good fluffies, please give him a happy ending.
- Reply
Anonymous5: @AnonymousFluffery: to be fair, "cat scratch fever" is apparently actually a thing, but even cats are cleaner than fluffies
- Reply
GayNiggerFromOuterSpace: Je suis laz um fie
- Reply
Sorrowkandy: Need to dial up the sadness tho.
- Reply
Anonymous6: @NottooFluf2: that aunt also has “i’m going to psychologically abuse and gaslight your daughter the moment she’s old enough to speak” written all over her.

- Reply
fiddwe: Love it

- Reply
AnonymousFluffery: @fiddwe: Appreciate it, dude. Glad you checked it out, it's here thanks to you.
- Reply
Anonymous7: Excellent story! And welcome back.
- Reply
SeasonsInTheAbyss: C'est tres bien, monsieur, bravo XD