Now That's Italian!: Part 2 of Vocabulary Building

>The experiment with Thumb went better than expected.

>The babies are healthy and taking to the conditioning well.

>They've weaned and started running around on their own, squeaking "Pway?"

>Super cute.

>But it's starting to bug you how often they ask for 'sketties' now that they're off milk.

>The designer who programmed fluffies to love spaghetti to exclusion might have been an idiot.

>It's neither nutritionally balanced nor practical as a fixation for pets or herd populations.

>You think it must have been intended as a reward lever for training, which is why he set it as something only humans can make.

>It still bugs you, so you decide that word will be your next project.

>FOR NUTRITION SCIENCE!

>You're curious how much conditioning a fluffy brain can hold.

>You decide to use the trained foals themselves in the next stage, since Thumb already has a strong positive association built around 'sketties'.

>You get out the storage tub 'safe room' you used for the stud unicorn and transfer the foals to it.

>The foals whine "Whewe mumma? Wan mumma!" for the first few nights.

>Thumb whines too.

>"Whewe behbies? Fum wan behbies, need wuv behbies!"

>You make sure to keep them isolated from each other except during playtime, for the integrity of the experiment.

>After a couple days they give up asking, seemingly satisfied at seeing each other during playtime.

 

>Trauma applied to one of the foals seemed to impart the message to all the foals who saw it in the 'hug' experiment.

>You figure it's worth trying to train them all at once in the next stage.

>You feed and clean Thumb first, play with her a bit, and then put her away in the safe room again.

>After her complaining dies down, you crack the door and take a look at her.

>She's asleep, perfect.

>You close the door and bring the foals into the kitchen.

>You carry them into the living room and set them down next to Thumb's toys.

>They chirp excitedly as they explore their new surroundings.

>Two are quite rambunctious, a pink unicorn filly and a green earth colt.

>You decide to call them Thing One and Thing Two to yourself, after the literary reference.

>The other brown earth colt is the slow learner that Thumb had to squeeze to keep him from asking for hugs.

>You privately name him Bonehead.

>Eventually, one foal's stomach starts to growl.

>It squeaks, "Fwuffy hung'y! Tummy owchie!"

>Ever the social creatures, the other foals start complaining sympathetically.

>"Fwuffy hung'y too!" "Wan foodies! Wan sketties!"

>Soon they're all loudly demanding 'sketties'.

>herewego.wav

 

>Time to taste the first spaghetti of their little lives.

>You put some noodles on the boil and get out the sauce.

>Then you hunt around your kitchen for negative reinforcement.

>Something red and thick like marinara, but unpalatable.

>On top of the microwave you find a plastic takeout container packed with a neglected stockpile of fast food condiments.

>One kind stands out.

>Taco Bell Fire sauce.

>Perfect.

>You carry the container over to the stove and empty the packets into a pot sitting on a back burner, then lid it quickly.

>Then pour some marinara into another and leave the lid off to mask the smell.

>The fluffies are bouncing around and pawing at your pant legs, chirping "When sketties?" and "Wan sketties! Hung'y!"

>You look down at them.

>"Soon."

 

>When the noodles are finished cooking you drain them through the colander.

>Then mash them up so the foals won't choke and add them to the simmering marinara.

>You walk over and pick up the pony food bowls.

>The ponies are practically vibrating with excitement at this point.

>You serve a portion into each bowl.

>Then mix a healthy spoonful of Fire sauce into each portion.

>Like, a REAL healthy spoonful.

>You stick your finger into one and taste the sauce you've concocted.

>It takes your entire composure not to retch in front of the ponies.

>They've crowded around your feet, so you gently nudge them aside and set the bowls down on the newspaper-covered feeding area.

>The ponies' little hooves crinkle the paper furiously as they try to push your hands out of the way to get at the food.

>You giggle as the fluff tickles you, then take your hands away and watch them carefully

>They bury their little muzzles in the mess and take their first bites.

 

>"Yucky!" "No good!"

>The ponies are grimacing and spitting out the food.

>Thing One turns to you and squeaks, "Wan sketties! Dis yucky!"

>The others voice their agreement.

>You feign innocence.

>"But that IS spaghetti. It's what you wanted."

>She and Thing Two wear their doubt on their faces.

>Something must seem off, but... they have no frame of reference on what spaghetti actually is except for their vague genetic programming.

>Bonehead, meanwhile, has been encouraged by hearing the holy word 'spaghetti'.

>The stubborn little colt has made a valiant attempt and already forced almost half of his portion down by swallowing too fast to taste it.

 

>The other two are starting to work up their nerve to eat again based on his example.

>But he stops.

>"Fwuffy tummy... owies..."

>The others crowd around him sympathetically as he starts shaking and heaving.

>"Uuuuu..." he whimpers.

>Before she can get out of the way, Bonehead projectile vomits onto Thing One.

>Gobs of mashed noodle and sauce hit her right in the face.

>She squeaks and backs away from him as he continues to regurgitate chunky mess onto the newspaper.

>Then starts screaming and rubbing her face against the floor, shitting herself in fear.

>God dammit, she must have opened her eyes and gotten sauce and stomach acid in them.

>You quickly scoop her up and pin her little hooves so she can't try to rub her face, then transfer her to the sink.

>Pinching her nose and mouth closed, you put her under the faucet and turn on the water.

>She squeaks in indignation at the pinching and the still-cold water hitting her in the head.

>You turn the flow down and lift her up, still holding her mouth and nose closed, then rinse the corners of her eyes.

>You hold her nose down to her chest with your thumb and force her eyes open.

>She screams more as you drip water from your fingers into them and tries to struggle free.

>All the screaming has woken Thumb up.

>You can hear her pawing at the safe room door and crying, "Heaw behbie! Behbie huwt, need mumma! Stupid doow, wet Fum out!"

>You have no time to spare her and can only listen to her scratch the door and howl piteously.

 

>You set the now-cleaned fluffy filly down on a clean patch of newspaper, then pick up the sheet containing the vomit and shit.

>You slide it out from under the bowls, fold the mess on the inside, and pitch it into the trash.

>Then grab the other two fluffies.

>You wash them off under the faucet as well, pinching their noses.

>By the time you've finished and set them back down, all three are crying softly with Thing One displaying a pair of very red eyes.

>Bonehead is still trying to eat the 'spaghetti', though his body keeps flinching in anticipated pain whenever he opens his mouth.

>Eventually he gets hold of some more, but can't wolf it down as enthusiastically as before.

>He gags and spits it back out.

>After a few more abortive attempts to eat, he waddles over to his siblings.

>A bit dumb, that one.

>You pick up the bowls and empty them into the trash as well.

 

>Poor Thumb is still scratching the door and whimpering, probably terrified now that she can no longer hear the foals.

>You open the door of the safe room.

>planeofelementalshit.jpg

>Looks like she shit herself empty in fear, then ran around once she was out of shit, tracking it everywhere.

>Thumb follows your gaze to the mess of poop she made and blenches.

>"Fum sowwy! Fum make bad poopies, Fum no mean! Sowwy!"

>Oh well.

>You give her a light swat on the nose and tell her you'll forgive her this time.

>Then pick her up by her clean back fluff and carry the squirming fluffy mare to the sink.

>You wash the crap off her hooves and belly fluff, then towel her dry as she strains to escape and jump down to the foals.

 

>Finally everyone's clean and you set Thumb down next to the foals.

>"Why behbies cwyin?" she asks, as she turns them over with her nose to check for injuries.

>"Behbies hung'y? Need foodies?"

>She looks up at you and says, "Daddy, behbies need foodies! Sketties pwease?"

>The foals all cringe and whimper their dissent.

>"No... wan sketties. No wan!" opines Thing One.

>Thumb looks at her with disbelief.

>"Behbie no wan... sketties?"

>Bonehead breaks the silence that follows with a scream as his bowels choose that moment to pass what he hadn't vomited out earlier.

>"Poopie hot! Huwt bad! Huwt wike sketties! OWWW!"

>The other fluffies start crying again as Thumb looks on in panicked incomprehension.

>You can't help but press your fingertips together as you smile.

>"Excellent."