Title:           Eric & Snowdrift & False Alarms
Author:          AnonymousFluffery
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/JDmpry8Z
First Edit:      Friday 22nd of June 2012 04:35:44 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Friday 22nd of June 2012 04:35:44 AM CDT

>Like many fluffy ponies, yours are rather good at getting into traumatizing situations.
>For Eric and Snowdrift, it seems to be a key pastime.
>Their pregnant "fwiend" Bell doesn't make things easier while she's staying with you.
>It's always been your dictum that fluffy ponies need simple circumstances to stay happy.
>The coming of babies and an extra pet adjusting to your home hasn't helped.
>Bell has stopped swelling up, with her color she's looking a bit like a basketball.
>You figure the pregnancy should end any time now.
>You've always got your towels and rubber gloves at the ready.
>Also, a bucket with some water in it you can use to hide any stillbirths without the fluffies smelling them.
>According to the internet - which is always right! - the mother will give certain indications when she goes into labor.
>It'll be fast, and she won't have contractions so much as a few minutes to complain about how she's about to make "big poopies!"
>You're just thoughtfully rereading this article when you hear, from the other room, "Beww gonna make big poopies! Big poopies comin'! DADDA!"
>Ah, hell.
>By the time you get there, Bell has had Eric and Snowdrift roll her spherical body over to the litterbox.
>She can't normally get in there under her own power, but your two guys have devotedly helped her.
>She's now on her back, looking panicky because she can't really tell that she's made it.
>"Beww in wittabox? No wan' make bad poopies!"
>Eric twitches his wings weakly. "Beww in wittabox. Beww in wittabox..."
>He and Snowdrift have served as the fluffy mamma's attendants in lieu of other help.
>She's demanding, but he never complains, just looks more and more exhausted.
>Snowdrift, however, is tireless.
>He paces back and forth outside the box, watching intently. "Make poopies? Pee-pee? Nee' huggies for hewp?"
>In another incarnation he might have been some kind of pre-natal councilor.
>His methods of help are, of course, limited to helping her move, hugging, and bringing food clenched in his teeth.
>Nevertheless, you put your hand on his bright white back to pat him encouragingly. "I think the babies are coming now, guys."
>Eric's eyes go ultra-wide. "B-babbehs hewe? Pway soon?"
>"Remember, you have to be very careful with the babies. They're going to be small. But when they grow up they'll be friends with you, like Bell."
>Eric is so rambunctious you worry he'll hurt the little things, but hopefully paternal instincts for caring will stay his hooves.
>Well, either him or Snowdrift could be the father - not that they understand the concept, they just know mama fluffies need lots of help.
>Hopefully they'll just continue the streak of usefulness they've had throughout the pregnancy.
>Bell is wriggling on her back, breathing heavily between every sound she makes. "Babbehs... pwease... nuu... huwt... mummah...!"
>You put a towel under her butt and don your dishwashing gloves. "It's okay, Bell, just keep breathing like we talked about."
>Bell clearly can't remember that, or much of anything. "Babbehs... babbehs big! Big owwies! BIG OWWIES! HEWP, DADDEH!"
>You ease off, letting Snowdrift and Eric crowd in, encouraging her with things like "Beww good mummah, Beww wuv babbehs!" and "Come ou', babbehs! Come be fwiends!"
>Well, she pushes something out.
>It's big, solid and warm, but it's not a foal.
>It's shit.
>It's quickly joined by a second hefty lump of poop.
>'Twins.'
>"Um," you say, thinking about how you're going to have to throw out the towel. "False alarm, everybody..."
>Eric and Snowdrift are too excited to hear you.
>"Wan... t-too... too babbehs!" Snowdrift announces, showing off his counting skills.
>Oh god, you acted like she was going to have her foals, and they've never seen it done before.
>They think the pieces of shit are her babies.
>"New fwiends!" Eric squeals, excitedly climbing towards them but not quite able to hop into the litterbox, he's so overexcited.
>"Babbehs oh-key?" Bell is asking, clearly relieved after taking the big poopies she meant to, but eager to get about the business of mothering and cleaning them.
>"Guys," you repeat, reaching out to hold Snowdrift back as he tries to nuzzle a turd to get a response from it. "They're poop. I mean, that IS poop."
>"Babbehs poopie?" Snowdrift wonders.
>"Nuu! Poopies bad fow babbehs! Nee' cwean fwuff!" Bell starts trying to turn herself around to get at her creations, but she's still pregnant.
>The maneuver is impossible.
>Eric, so eager to help the babies grow and get himself new playmates, gently nudges one with his foot once he's snuck close enough.
>His snout wrinkles. "Babbehs no smeww pwetty."
>Bell begins to panic. "Nuu! Nuu haf dummy babbehs! Gif babbehs, Beww cwean! Mummah gif kissies! Mummah haf good babbehs!"
>Snowdrift is blinking, clearly confused about something. "Poopies... be bebbeh fwuffies soon?"
>"Guys, it's not--" you begin, but then have to recalibrate your answer based on the idiotic assumption you just heard. "They're never GOING to be--"
>Snowdrift interrupts, like something's just clicked in his mind. "Babbehs nuu movin'!"
>Bell's scream is indistinct.
>She knows they're supposed to move.
>Upon hearing his friend shriek, Eric decides that he needs to take action. "Nuu make fwiend cwy! Move, bad babbehs!"
>He nudges one of the pieces of crap with a hoof - not hard.
>It splits in two.
>Snowdrift reels back in terror. "EWIC BWEAK BABBEH!"
>"NUUUUU!" Bell howls.
>Eric wobbles back, stumbling out of the litterbox onto his ass.
>He's stuttering and stammering in protest, but his eyes are full of tears.
>He thinks he's killed a foal.
>Snowdrift has his head bent over the stinky doodoo, trying to nuzzle it back into life.
>"HEY!" you yell.
>All eyes turn towards you.
>"Those aren't babies! Bell didn't have the babies, those were just big pieces of poop. They aren't foals, they're never going to be foals, they're. Just. Poop. Not babies."
>A long pause comes as each fluffy considers it, but Bell arrives at a realization first. "Beww... nuu haf babbehs?"
>"Right," you say with a sigh, happy one of them understands. "You got it, 'Bell no have babies.'"
>Bell immediately shakes her head in a screeching tantrum, so hard that she's banging her horn on the edge of the litterbox.
>The other two quiver in fear at her yelling. "BEWW WAN' BE MUMMAH! WHY NUU BABBEHS? BEWW WAN' WUV BABBEHS! NOW NUU HAF NUU BEBBEHS!"
>Fluffy ponies don't speak with past, present or future tenses very well.
>She thinks you said she's not going to be a mother at all.
>Snowdrift looks up at you as though his reason for being has been taken away. "Daddeh teww fwuffies Beww be mummah... why teww fwuffies wie...?"
>Eric begins to piss himself in fear, despairing. "Ewic make Beww nuu haf babbehs! Bweak poopies, bweak fwiend! Sowwy, fwiend!"
>Ahh, shit.
>Fucking fluffy pony way of speaking...