The Over-Horseshoe and Other Short Stories

When I first arrived in Caterlot comrades, I confess, I was a pickpocket by profession. I was mainly active on the trains.

But don’t condemn me comrade-reader, I was desperate, and it’s a worthless profession besides. You go through one saddle bag – govno: a train schedule, maybe; you go through another – more govno: a handkerchief, or a bag of hayfries say, or maybe even worse, an electricity bill!

It’s a joke, not a profession.

And as for more worthwhile things, like watches or wallets, not chertov likely.

It’s a mystery where passengers keep them these days.

And ponies have become so damned mean. You’ve got to keep your eyes open, or it’ll be your saddle-bag they’ll clean out. And they really will clean you out. It’s easily done. You’re eying out the conductor’s bag and that’s it, they’ve already cleaned you out. For crying out loud…

And as for their valuables, the passengers are so mean they probably wear them on their chests or maybe their stomachs. Places like that are tender, you see, and you can’t tickle them at all. You hardly need scratch them with your hoof and there’ll be shouting: They’ve robbed me. A disgusting sight.

It’s chertovskiy, a worthless profession.

A semi-respectable old pro, a train robber, advised me to change profession for my own good. To change trades.

‘It’s now summer-time,’ he said. ‘Look Ivan, my friend, why don’t you take a trip,’ he said, ‘to the villages. Pick out a cottage and turn the place over. And while you’re at it breathe the air. We could any one of us fall ill with the feather-flu. It’s easily done.’

‘He’s right,’ thought I. ‘I work like an elephant, without the slightest gratitude or word of thanks. Yes, why don’t I go down to a village? After all, there’s the air and a change of job. What’s more, I’m completely worn out, I could catch the feather-flu!'

It hadn’t occurred to me at the time that honest, hardworking, earth-ponies such as myself could not catch the feather-flu.

So that’s what I did. I went to Ponyville.

There I was walking about the main road and the streets. The air really was wonderful, it was village air, it was perfect, but I couldn’t make a living here. And with all this air; I really felt like a bite to eat, I wanted it all the time, as if I had a hole in my belly: as soon as I’d eaten I wanted more.

I started to pick out a cottage. I saw one inhabited cottage, it looked superb. On the fence was a notice: ‘Dr. Colgate – Dentist’.

‘If he’s a doctor,’ thought I, ‘so much the better. These doctors always keep some silver in the sideboard.’

So that day, I climbed into the shrubs that grew behind the flowerbeds in the doctor’s garden and started to watch what was going on. And what was going on was that some sort of foal-sitter, a mare with a pinkish-plum coloured coat and a mulberry mane, she even had some grapes for a cutie mark, had come outside with the five-year-old bourgeois foal. The mare was strolling around in the heat of the sun, and the little filly was running around playing with her toys. She had heaps of these toys: puppets, clockwork fly-wheels, trains… And one toy was really interesting, it looked like a spinning-top. You wound it up with a winder and it made a frightening whistling noise and spun round on the ground by itself like a merry-go-round.

And I became so intrigued by this toy he nearly fell out of the bushes. Just controlled myself in time.

‘They haven’t wound it up all the way, the stupid idiots,’ I thought, ‘If they wound it up all the way, then it would really spin.’

But the nanny had flaked out in the heat of the sun. She’d had enough of winding it up you see. She also looked like she’d had a bit too much to drink.

‘Wind it up, wind it all the way up,’ I whispered to myself. ‘Wind it up, tee karova… Damn you.’

The foal-sitter and the little filly disappeared. So I came out of the bushes. I went into the yard and looked at what was where. You’ve got to know every tiny detail: where the chimney is, and where the kitchen is too. Then I presented myself at the kitchen. Offered my services. I was turned down.

‘Get out of here,’ the pinkish-purple mare and a light blue unicorn said. ‘You’ll try and steal something. It’s written all over your face.’

They’re right, they guessed, for crying out loud – and I stole a punch bowl on my way out. Well, they said it…

The next day, I was in the bushes again. I lay there trying to think where I should begin.

‘I’ve got to climb,’ I thought, ‘in the window. Into the dining room. If the window’s not open today, that’s not the end of the world. I can wait. Maybe they’ll forget to close it tomorrow. I’m in no hurry.’

That night I went over to the house and tried the window to see if it would give. And it did! They’d forgotten to close it, zaebis`!

I slipped out of my jacket to make myself lighter, calmed down the grumbling in my stomach and climbed up.

‘There’s a table on the left,’ I thought, ‘and a sideboard on the right. The silver’s in the sideboard.’

I climbed into the room: it was dark. Though it was a clear night, it’s always hard to see what you’re doing in other pony’s residences. I felt around with my hooves – was that the cupboard? I opened a box – govno: children’s toys. Dammit. Yes – puppets and fly wheels…

‘For crying out loud!’ thought I. ‘I’ve got into the wrong room. Blow me if I’m not in the nursery. For crying out loud.’

I lost heart. I thought about going into the next room, but was scared. I’d lost my bearings. If you end up in the dentist’s room, she’ll stick a drill in you just out of habit!

‘For crying out loud,’ I thought. ‘I may as well take some of these toys. Toys cost bits too you know.’

So I started to get the toys out of the box. I came across the spinning-top. The same one they had been playing with the other day in the garden.

I smiled.

‘It’s the same one,’ I thought. ‘I’ll certainly give it a spin later. Definitely. I’ll wind it up all the way. But right now I’m in a bit of hurry comrades.’

I started to hurry and dropped something; it clanged as it hit the floor.

Then I saw that the little filly was stirring on the bed. She got up and went over to me on uncertain hooves.

At first I was startled.

‘Go to sleep,’ I said. ‘Go to sleep for crying out loud.’

‘Take your hands off!’ shouted the foal. ‘Take your hands off my toys.’

‘You little…’ thought I, ‘I could get caught.’

Meanwhile the foal was bawling and starting to cry.

‘Go to sleep you little squirt!’ said I. ‘I’ll crush you like a louse.’

‘Get your hands off. They’re my toys…’

‘Wrong,’ said I, shoving the toys into my sack. ‘They were yours it’s true, but now you can whistle for them…’

‘What?’

‘You can, I said, whistle for them.’

I threw the sack out of the window and then jumped out myself. I jumped out awkwardly and bruised my chest.

‘For crying out loud,’ I thought. ‘I could catch the feather-flu from this.’

I sat down in a flowerbed, rubbed my chest and caught my breath.

‘I’d better,’ I thought, ‘gallop as fast as I can.’

I pulled the sack up to my shoulder, and was about to start running when I remembered the spinning-top.

‘Stop!’ thought I. ‘Where’s the spinning top? I haven’t forgotten the spinning-top have I? For crying out loud.’

I felt the sack, it was there. I took the spinning-top out. I really wanted to give it a spin. I just couldn’t wait.

‘Why not?’ I thought, ‘I’ll wind it up just to see.’

I wound it up all the way and let it spin. The spinning-top buzzed and rocked from side to side.

I burst out laughing. I fell over on the ground laughing.

‘That’s what it’s like,’ I said to nopony in particular, ‘when it’s at full tilt. For crying out loud.’

‘I know isn’t it great? I love spinning tops!’

I looked up and was shocked to see a bright pink mare with a mane that looked like that confectionary… What’s it called? Candy cotton! That’s it! I was shocked to see a pink mare with a candy cotton mane. Sookin syn! Where had she come from?!!

The spinning-top hadn’t even finished spinning when suddenly somepony in the house shouted:

‘Theif!...Stop burglar-pony!’

The pink pony in front of me gasped in surprise:

‘So these aren’t your toys after all! BURGLER-PONY! HE’S OVER HERE!’

I jumped up, and was about to run somewhere when somepony whacked me on the head. But they didn’t hit me full on. Amateur. Though I crashed to the ground, I jumped straight back up.

‘Was that a rubber chicken that hit me?’ I thought, ‘What kind of loh pony carries around a rubber chicken?!!’

So I ran off, doing my best to cover my head with my hooves.

I ran for a mile, and then remembered I’d forgotten my jacket.

I was so upset I was nearly in tears. I sat down in a ditch.

‘For crying out loud. I’d better change professions. This is a worthless profession, it’s worse than the first. I’ve been deprived of my last jacket. I think I’ll try train robbery instead. For crying out loud.’

And I set off for the train station.