The Chibi Problem Part 3

I scooped BabyDoll up early on a Saturday morning and plopped him into a bath. He grumbled at first when I took down his braid, but he got over it and played in the water while I scrubbed him down. He likes the blow dryer on the cool setting so it took a while to get his cinnamon hair dried and braided. I tied in some pretty plum colored ribbons as I went, and BabyDoll tried to look over his shoulder without moving his head. He was probably wishing his eyes were on stalks.

When I finally finished grooming him, he looked perfect. He seemed to think so too. When I put him down, he ran straight to the slider, "oooooiii"-ing to be let out.

Not this time, little dude, I said firmly. We're going to a show. You want to look pretty for all the other chibis, don't you?

The heero dropped from the roof onto the patio, his dark blue eyes widening at the sight BabyDoll presented. He pressed his hands against the glass gazing longingly at my little beauty. BabyDoll did his pirouette and raised his wings as if for takeoff and I swear the heero whimpered and his knees trembled slightly. I picked BabyDoll up. The heero glared at me in outrage.

Not now, I said, shaking my finger at him. He's got a show today. He can play when we get home. The heero folded his arms over his chest and turned his back.

Ooooh, I said to BabyDoll. Your boyfriend is a real tough guy. He smirked at me; his elfin face coloring and I laughed.

~*~

We won our class, but placed second in type. Not too bad, given that it was BabyDoll's first show as an adult (barely).

I don't go in for the every-Saturday-a-show life (or lack thereof), but I like to show off my cutie when a show lands nearby. At the rate we're going on points, we'll finish about 2007, but I'm not in it for the points. I just like to hear people ooh and aah over BabyDoll. I'm a proud mommie.

My buddy from Flagstaff, Pete, was there with his little marvels, and pushed over to let me squeeze in with BabyDoll and his stuff.

Pete's a hobby breeder. He usually brings one or two of his guys to a show. Somehow, we got onto the subject of the joy of chibi-ing, and Pete let me in on some of the inside stuff that people like me usually never hear about.

It's a true hobby for me, ya know, he said after BabyDoll's win. I'm not in it for the glory or the prestige. I just love these little guys. He chucked BabyDoll under the chin affectionately. This little guy of yours is a real sweetie. I get six to eight chibits every season and I've got a waiting list as long as my arm.

Some of those guys -- he waved his arm to encompass the show -- they've got like 60 breeders and they churn out 60-100 chibits a season. They sell at "affordable" prices, and a few of them don't give a shit where their chibits go.

I nodded. Same as in dogs. Responsible breeders Vs mills, I agreed.

Yep. And I don't go in for that fancy high-tech pedigree-driven pairing. I let my babies choose their mates and just do what comes naturally.

This is where I got a little lost. Other chibers don't?

Hell no! Sorry. I kinda forget sometimes that yours is a pet. You wouldn't know this stuff unless you were down in the mud with the rest of us, he grinned.

Okay, I began. You've got my attention, you gonna tell me? Please?

So he did.

I mentioned before (I think) that wild chibis mate for life. Silly me. I though they ALL did.

Pete disabused me of that misapprehension post haste.

Domestic chibis, the pedigreed, show bred ones at least, aren't allowed to mate for life. The argument being that you can't breed for looks, temperament and winners if you let the chibis make the choice. Why, you'd have the same genetic types over and over. No variety. No manipulation.

Kennel-raised chibis live in separate cages or runs. They're close to, but not with others until they're breeding time rolls around. When the chibis are in heat (an incredibly inadequate word for their mating imperative), the appropriate dominant is put together with the chosen submissive for a couple of hours. In three days, you're either "go" on that breeding, or you try again next time. The chibis are kept separate after breeding. The submissive hatches the chibits and cares for them alone.

I was appalled, if I may use that cliché. (Actually, I was livid and possibly homicidal, but I managed not to go zero. Pete doesn't work that way and he doesn't like it either.)

If my little beauty were to be separated like that with no companionship, no comfort, no affection from his mate, he'd waste away from heartbreak.

Thinking about BabyDoll and the gundam, especially the widowed trowa and the beautiful wufei that had begun courting him, I had to ask why the hell people did that.

Because, said Pete, lowering his voice, a choice-mated chibi will refuse any other, to the point of fighting and even his own death, as long as his mate lives.

BabyDoll was holding an animated conversation with Pete's juvenile duo, both of them thrumming, trilling and "oooooiii"-ing. I could imagine him detailing his adventures with the gundam and the two (!) gorgeous alphas that were vying for his attention.

I took a long pull on my soda to settle my cringing stomach.

Ya see, Pete continued, if ya keep your breeders separated until they're both literally crazy with lust, and then only give them just enough time for the actual mating, they don't have a chance to bond. Their reproductive imperative is pretty damn strong. Kinda like some people -- here he glared at a couple who was trying to crawl into each other's skin -- who get so horny they can't see straight. To me it smacks of some of the crap the Nazi doctors did, Pete muttered. But then, my little angels are more like my kids than just pets.

Mine too, I agreed softly, rubbing between BabyDoll's shoulderblades. He purred happily, leaning against my hand. Suddenly, he dived into my totebag and came up with his scythe (we never leave home without it now) and jumped up on the crate to show it off to the duo and the adult wufei.

Don't let a steward see that, warned Pete. They'll toss you right out.

I reached over and took the weapon. Sorry, sweetie, I said regretfully. You'll have to show it to them later. Is not allowed inside.

He pouted and pretended to be angry, but his braid gave him away. The young duo was awe-struck by his brief glimpse and the wufei patted BabyDoll's shoulder affectionately. Next time, he seemed to say; you can show us your toy.

I didn't mention the gundam to Pete. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I think of it as "our" gundam; maybe because I don't want to be read out on the folly of mixing domestic with wild. Maybe I just don't want Pete to be disappointed in me.

Whatever the reason, I decided that I would wait a few days and email him.

~*~

I let myself into the house from work, punched the power button on the CD and staggered into the kitchen to put away the groceries. "Bolero" began its sinuous dance through the room and I began to relax.

My vacation began the next day. Two whole weeks of doing not a damn thing. Works for me.

And then I realised that I'd been in the house a whole five minutes without being glomped by my little angel. I headed into the bedroom to see if the window was still shut, but knowing better. Sure enough, the glass was open just far enough to let BabyDoll skin through the flap.

TBC...

 

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