breeder 23a
 
>being Frank, owner of a small breeding kennel for fluffy ponies
>people come to you because you try to get males that are smarter than average
>that means smarter and more well-behaved foals
>and because you selectively breed the three subspecies, you tend to get stronger, better, smarter versions of them
>today is sales day. you have two clients lined up.
>Prism’s foal is a male and he’s going to be the big breadwinner. White body, rainbow mane and tail.
>he’ll bring two or three hundred bucks, easy.
>Blueberry’s are a pair of matching blue females. they’ll pull about $150 each.
>all three are unicorns. a lot of people like them because they average higher intelligence than the other sub-species
>you’ve got the foals in your office in a box. you’ll give them a bath in a few minutes.
>well, it’s not so much an office as it’s one-third of your garage. big enough for a desk and a computer.
>Quickbooks FTW.
>spend an hour doing paperwork. you don’t dare let it get out of control.
>plus you know how to hop, skip and jump around tax laws. you know the write-offs, the
loopholes, and you do okay.
>nothing illegal. you can prove everything on paper, and it’s 100% legal.
>shit, you could have been one of those scumbag corporate tax lawyers
>but you loved animals. spent ten years at the vet’s office. brought home strays
sometimes.
>like snowdance.
>you miss snowdance.
you take the foals into your bathroom and wash them with baby shampoo.
>they whine a little and keep calling for their mothers. they better not pull that shit in front of the clients
>towel dry, then blow dry
>feed them each a cookie. they’ve forgotten about their mothers for now and are babbling to each other
>good. time for a quick sandwich.
>ham and cheese. quick and easy.
>yum
>”go poopies!”
>aw, c’mon.
>go into the other room. one of the blue fluffies is taking a big dump in the box. he’s stained his fluff with it.
>”GodDAMMIT!”
>put the other two in another box. grab the shitty blue one.
>”mo poopies!”
>”Fuck!”
>squeeze him over a trash can. a veritable stream comes out. you give him an extra squish.
>”owies!”
>”Shut the fuck up.”
>hose off his rearend. quickdry with a towel.
>shit… Eleven o’clock. First client arriving soon.
>put him back with the others. hope they don’t have some sort of stomach flu they’re sharing
>everything okay? all right… let’s make some money. give the foals a couple of strawberries to eat
>client arrives. some sort of stockbroker type. sent to you by another guy in his office.
>”How are you, sir?”
>”Good, good… I’m told you have a rainbow-maned pony for sale.”
>”Yes, sir… we were lucky to get a good rainbow-maned breeder. Here’s the baby.”
>lead the client over to the box with the foals. they’re quietly nibbling on strawberries.
>this is for two reasons. they look cute plus it shuts them them hell up for a while.
>the client might not purchase them if they won’t shut the fuck up.
>”Male or female?”
>”Male. About five weeks old. Just weaned.”
>”Hurm… my daughter was hoping for a female.”
>”With all due respect, sir… the males tend to be smarter and more well-behaved.”
>”Isn’t that the truth. Even with ponies the females are dumb and crazy, huh?”
>”Hah… hadn’t thought about that. Yessir.”
>the client picks up the fluffy by the tail. you grimace, afraid to tell the guy what
not to do, but…
>”owies! tail owies! mama! mama! wahhhhhh!”
>you sigh.
>”Sorry about that, sir… they don’t like to be picked up by the tail. Scruff of the
neck is usually best.”
>”Oh, I see.”
>the client puts the fluffy back down. its bottom lip quivers and it looks up at him
with big, sad eyes.
>”Sorry… she wanted a female. I’ll have to try a different breeder.”
>fuck.
>”Sorry you had to make the trip all the way out here… just a word of advice, though?”
>”What’s that?”
>”Stay away from the fluffy farms.”
>”Fluffy farms?”
>”They’ll have a wider variety of fluffies but if they’re poorly bred they get mental
and physical problems.”
>”How would I know if it’s a fluffy mill?”
>”If they refuse to show you where they keep the breeding fluffies… it’s probably a
fluffy mill.”
>”Very good. Well, thank you, anyway.”
>client leaves. fucking asshole.
>you could just slice the foal’s dick off…
>nah. you’re not that cold.
>next client arrives in a half hour. woman and her son.
>you’ve gleaned enough information that the parents divorced and the mom wants to keep
her kid occupied.
>and he’s a fan of the pony cartoon show.
>*please like rainbow dash* *please like rainbow dash* *please like rainbow dash*
>”Welcome! How are you folks today?”
>”Very good… Frank, isn’t it?”
>”Yes ma’am. This is… Billy, right?”
>”Right!”
>he seems like a nice, bright little kid.
>”So… who’s your favorite pony on My Little Pony?”
>”Pinkie Pie!”
>”Oh, wow… yeah. I like her, too. Well - take a look and see what you like.”
>”Oh my god they’re adorable!”
>”We’ve just got the unicorns today but they’re supposed to be the smartest.”
>”This rainbow one is beautiful…”
>”I like the blue ones! Mom! Can I get the blue ones?”
>”You can get one. Not two.”
>”Awwww…”
>”Hey, sport… you can have a lot of fun with just one pony. Play ball, teach them to talk, play games… they’re great!”
>”Okay - just one!”
>”How much are the blue ones?”
>”$175 each…”
>”That sounds quite fair! And these are the smarter ones?”
>”Yes ma’am.”
>”Is cash okay?”
>”Never a problem, ma’am.”
>you get one of the specially-designed boxes you had made with your logo on it.
>fits a foal just perfectly. have the kid pick out the one he wants.
>to the kid it’s a game. to the foals it’s like Sophie’s Choice.
>”Ummmmm… that one!”
>you scoop up the foal and put it in the box. it immediately freaks out.
>”why dawk? nuu want dawk! wann sista! wan mama! mama!”
>”Oh, he’s noisy!”
>”He’ll quiet down soon enough… just a little agitated from being separated from the others.”
>you smile broadly as you close up the box. as soon as the client and the kid look
away, you give the foal a whack on the ass
>you lean in and whisper to it.
>”Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill your mommy.”
>the foal squeaks, looking up at you sadly. give it the stink-eye and close the box.
>get paid. now you can pay for cable this month.
>the other blue foal is crying in the display box.
>”wan bwotha! wan mama!”
>”Shut up.”
>give it a whack on the behind. it keeps crying silently to herself.
>the rainbow maned foal sadly nibbles on a strawberry.
>just want to get this over with. you hate dealing with customers.
>next client comes in an hour. the two remaining foals are still clean. you silently thank jesus for that.
>phone call. someone responding to your Yellow Pages ad. they can be over in twenty minutes.
>go for it.
>woman shows up. middle-aged hippie type. ditzy. a little slow, even.
>she goes apeshit over the rainbow foal, of course.
>”Oh my god he’s gorgeous! How much is he?”
>”We were asking $325…”
>”Oh my, that’s too much.”
>”I could do $275…”
>”That’s still too much… what about the blue one?”
>”She’s… $125?”
>”Oh, I’m sorry… I just didn’t think they’d be so expensive…”
>”I could do $100 on her.”
>”Really? You could?”
>”You’re a nice lady, I’m sure you could give her a good home.”
>”Oh thank you so much!”
>package up the other blue one. the hippie broad happily takes it away.
>pick up the rainbow foal and stroke its head
>”Just you left over.”
>”wan mama.”
>”Fuck you.”
>toss it back in the box. One more client to go.
>last one is a guy… middle-aged. dressed reasonably well but has a… smell… to him.
>”It’s a beautiful pony. How much are you asking?”
>”$350.”
>you’re kind of hoping this guy doesn’t bite. he gives you the creeps.
>”That’s quite fair for a rainbow-maned pony. Sold.”
>yeesh.
>you start to put together the carrying box. he stops you.
>”Quite all right… I’ll carry him home. He’ll be safe.”
>”Yah, sure. You have fun, now.”
>”Oh yes… I will.”
>the guy picks up the squirming foal from the box and cradles it, tickling its belly with a finger
>you turn to fill out a receipt.
>out of the corner of your eye you see him hold the foal’s mouth shut and probe its anus slightly with a finger
>”He’ll do just fine.”
>fuck
>it’s a lot of money right now. things have been slow. you have a mortgage payment due.
>the poor little pony…
>you try to block the thought of this scumbag anally violating the little foal
>try to tell yourself you’re overreacting. this guy isn’t a pervert… he’s checking to
see if the foal is healthy
>yeah, right.
>you know this type. sometimes they prefer males, sometimes females. some of them don’t care what sex it is
>take the cash, give the receipt. get the guy out the door.
>try not to think about the guy tearing the poor little pony’s asshole apart or doing god knows what else
>tell yourself he wouldn’t pay good money for something he’s going to rape to death
>tell yourself the foal will be okay.
>sometimes you really hate this business.
>you sit in the living room for a long time, with your head in your hands.
>times like this you wish you still had snowdance.
>you need a drink.