A Colt’s Best Friend
By: Mister Clacky
(Mr_Clacky@yahoo.com)
The gangly red colt sat alone under the apple tree. Celestia’s sun sank low on the horizon, painting the sky a palette of fire. It would have been beautiful if Little Macintosh could have managed to lift his head. His shoulders slumped, and his head hung low. A solitary tear clung to his quivering chin, each tremor threatening to send it plummeting to the rich soil below.
The soft loam of Sweet Apple Acres gave beneath his hooves as he shifted, sending the tear falling to earth. He stared at the tiny crater the droplet left behind. Left behind. A speck of moisture all alone in a sea of dryness. Alone, like me.
A few stray raindrops pattered down around him. A show of solidarity from the universe? No. Just the weather pegasi doing their jobs, oblivious to the despondent colt below. He shuffled through the orchard in the chilling drizzle, not wanting to go back to the lonely farmhouse. He wasn’t alone. Granny Smith was there, and his littlest sister Apple Bloom. The little yellow bundle was born only three weeks ago, and required all of Granny’s attention.
His yoke weighed heavily on his neck. He cast his gaze about him, taking in where his wandering had taken him. A thick old apple tree stood before him, gnarled and wild in contrast to the rows of neatly pruned trees in the orchard proper. This was Big Macintosh: his father’s tree.
Nestled below the tree’s wide boughs stood two humble stones.
One was slightly weathered from a few months of exposure to the elements. Little Macintosh’s father had been a strong, honest stallion. The folks of Ponyville knew him as Mr. Macintosh, Big Macintosh, or just Sir. The massive farm pony had earned another nickname several years ago, one that was whispered about in town: Lunger. He worked through the sickness, provided for his family until it finally claimed him. The white-faced reaper harvested him for the Well of Souls, stealing him from his pregnant wife and two young foals in their sleep. Granny Smith’s words echoed in his mind. We Apples care for the land, and it cares for us. We sustain it, and it sustains us. The fruits of this land nourish us, and when our toils end, our last act is to nourish the land.
The second stone stood shiny and new. The mound of fresh earth was still settling over the once cheerful green mare beneath. Momma. Some ponies said it was a complication of the pregnancy. Some said that she was lost without her love, and once her foal was safely away, she went to join him. Little Macintosh didn’t contemplate why. It just was, and it hurt.
Pa, gone. Ma, gone. AJ… a fresh wave of emotions overtook him. His tears concealed by the now steady rain. Applejack: his compatriot, his closest friend, his sister; gone. Off to find herself in the big city -- as if she wasn’t herself here. A soft whimper broke the silence under the old tree. Only it wasn’t from the sad little colt. Little Macintosh sniffed and wiped his face. He strained to hear the noise again.
He trotted toward the twisted old tree, his depression momentarily forgotten in the search of the mystery whimperer. He cast his eyes around the base of his father’s tree, circling it. The storm picked up, the weather pegasi accomplishing their task with gusto. As he rounded the tree to where he began, a bolt of lightning illuminated the hilltop. That was when he saw it: a bedraggled, furry ball coiled tightly behind his mother’s gravestone.
He trotted over to the tombstone, plopping down on the soggy hilltop. The little brown and white bundle moved.
“Howdy.” It shifted. “Ya wanna be my friend?”
He extended a hoof toward the tiny creature, tapping in lightly. It stirred awake, dark brown eyes blinking owlishly at him. He scooped up the soaked pup in his lanky forelimbs.
“You wouldn’t leave me, would ya?”
The pup licked him sloppily on the cheek. It was answer enough for him.
000
Little Macintosh snuck into the silent farmhouse under a full moon, the last vestiges of the storm drifting across the sky. The only sound in the quiet old house was the dripping of his coat hitting the hardwood floor. Granny Smith was asleep in her room, Apple Bloom nestled in the crib at the foot of her bed. Little Macintosh was alone in the foyer of the farmhouse. Alone. He shook his head quickly, careful not to disturb the tiny collie perched on his back.
He tiphoofed up the stairs, avoiding the squeaky third step. Carefully he picked his way to his room and shut the door. They had had a dog once, but he was a gruff old hound, and he most certainly wasn’t allowed in the house. “No animals in the house” was a commandment right up there with “say ‘please’ and ‘thank you”’ and “‘wash behind your ears.’”
He put the napping puppy down on the floor in his room. Leaving the sleeping critter to its dreaming, Little Macintosh resumed sneaking through the house. He passed the linen closet on his way to the stairs and paused. Gently opening the door, he grabbed a towel and ran it over his wet mane and body. Wrapping the now damp towel around his neck, he ventured downstairs. I bet there’s sumthin’ good in the kitchen. His guess was validated by the remains of an apple tart hiding under glass on the table. He stole a quick bite and filled a bowl with water. He slipped back upstairs. Passing AJ’s abandoned room, he was struck by a stroke of brilliance. He set down his burden and walked inside. He pulled back the quilt and bundled up the sheet beneath. The bed would pass inspection with just the quilt. Granny would be none the wiser.
He made his way back to his empty room, towel and sheet draped over his back and the saucer balanced on his snout. The apple treat clasped in his mouth caused him to drool slightly. Empty room! He slipped the saucer onto his dresser and dropped the crumbling tart beside it.
“Here, puppy!” he whisper-called. “Oh… come on puppy!”
He darted around his room, looking under his bed, under his dresser, under his end table, under everything! But the puppy was nowhere to be found. He slipped back into the hallway. The only other door open was Granny’s. He crept down the long hall and peeked in the shadowed room. Little Apple Bloom was sleeping soundly in her crib. The quilt over Granny rose and fell rhythmically, and a furry, curled tail disappeared under the bed.
He slipped into the darkened room. Think quiet thoughts. The mantra echoed in his head as he inched up to the fourposter bed. He lifted the trailing edge of the quilt and saw the puppy huddled underneath. “Here, puppy, puppy,” he whispered.
“Hey!” Startled, Little Macintosh banged his head on the underside of the bed. “Gravenstein Apple, if’n you don’t propose… right… this…” Granny sank back into the bed with a gentle snore, still in the grip of her dream.
He lay there, still as stone, heart rumbling in his chest, for a few long moments. When Granny’s snores picked up to their usual vigor, he relaxed. He scuttled farther into the dark depths below the bed, finally getting within hoofs reach of the fuzzy troublemaker. He pulled the little collie up to his face and fixed her with a withering stare. She licked his nose. Well played, puppy.
He managed to get the furry bundle back to his room with no further shenanigans. He plopped the big-eyed rascal down and closed the door. He went to his closet and placed his father’s massive yoke flat on the floor. Taking the sheet from Applejack’s old room, he made a small bed inside Pa’s collar, and placed the scampering pup within. The pup circled clockwise three times before plopping down. It heaved a tiny little sigh before settling to sleep in a tight ball.
The little colt looked down at the sleeping collie pup, its ears twitching adorably. “Yer gonna get me in so much trouble.” He cracked a tiny smile. “I think I’ll call ya... Jacks.”
000
The sun was still below the horizon, not planning to make an appearance for an hour yet. Macintosh lay in his bed, deep in slumber. The tiny puppy leapt up and contemplated a wet lick of the sleeping colt’s face.
Slurp.
Little Macintosh screwed his eyes shut before a continued barrage of tongue and doggy breath finally forced him awake. Green eyes locked with brown, and both beings emitted a low whine. Macintosh looked over to the improvised dog bed and the untouched water bowl and apple treat.
He rolled out of his bed, sprawling Jacks onto her back. She tried to free herself from the sheets, but only managed to get more entangled. Little Macintosh, oblivious to the struggling of the tiny dog on his bed, trotted over to the ignored food and water.
“Why didn’t ya eat? Weren’t ya hungry?” Jacks whined in response, although it wasn’t possible to tell if it was an answer or a result of being hopelessly tangled in the bedding.
“Maybe you cain’t handle solid food yet?” Whine. “You need milk, don’t ya?” Whine. “Well, I know just where to get fresh milk!” Little Macintosh smiled down on the inverted puppy. She stared up at him with big eyes.
He cleaned up the apple treat and stowed the rest of the incriminating evidence far back in the closet. Jacks watched patiently, a soft whine sighing out every so often. Little Macintosh turned to his new friend. “Stay, I’ll be right back.” Jacks tried to bound after him, but was foiled by the sheets. Little Macintosh took this as agreement to stay put.
He slipped down to the kitchen, which was thankfully still empty. Granny Smith would be up soon, so he would have to be quick. He grabbed a pair of apples from the counter and an oversized handkerchief. He moved swiftly back up to his room. Jacks was obediently still stuck in the sheets.
He donned his small work harness, specially made by his father when he had taught him how to plow. He wrapped two apples and one struggling puppy in the handkerchief and hung it from a peg on his harness. He looked back as Jacks managed to get her head poked through the top of the makeshift bag. “Okay Jacks, it’s time for chores.” His stomach voiced its disapproval of that plan. Jacks’ agreed with a plaintive whimper. “Alrighty, new plan: breakfast, then chores.”
As he slipped from his room and down the stairs, he grabbed a third apple from the counter and took it with him, munching as he went. Finishing his breakfast, he spoke to his furry hitchhiker. “Ya need milk, and there’s only one place to get fresh milk on the farm.” Little Macintosh trotted toward the dairy barn.
000
Granny Smith awoke and slipped out of bed. She stretched her back and grimaced a bit as her old bones cracked and popped into place. She walked to the foot of the bed and looked down with warmth at the little sleeping form nestled within. Not a peep all night. She’s going to grow up to be a quiet, sweet little filly.
Granny corralled a few loose strands of grey hair and fixed them back into her bun. She took a deep breath and sighed. The old mare cherished the few minutes she had for herself each morning. Soon she would need to bundle Apple Bloom up and take the little foal with her on her morning chores. She crossed over to her window overlooking the farm. A few dozen pictures stood vigil on a low dresser. She regarded the small army of relatives lovingly, her eyes drawn to the three displayed prominently in the center.
One was of a dour stallion, a stetson hat cocked on his head. They should have called you Sour Apple, Graven. He was a good stallion: honest, hard-working, and loving in his own way. He wouldn’t share a smile for a photographer. That special privilege was reserved for family.
To the left of her departed husband was a photo of a bright red stallion and a light green mare. Her son Big Macintosh and his wife Pistachio. Big looked awkward in a bow tie instead of his usual yoke. Pie beamed with the beauty a mare could only achieve on her wedding day.
The third photo showed Big Macintosh roughhousing with a his little doppelganger, a grinning Pie looking on with a small orange bundle in her grip. It was Granny’s favorite picture of her youngest son’s family. She sighed. Her hoof lovingly caressed the side of Gravenstein’s photo. She opened her mouth to speak when a red blur streaked across her field of vision. “What’s that colt up ter?”
000
Little Macintosh stood before the massive doors of the dairy barn. He tentatively lifted a hoof to open the door and paused. He wasn’t allowed in the dairy barn. Gentlecolts don’t milk cows. That was a chore left to the mares as a matter of common decency. Jacks whined in his ear, and he opened the door.
He cracked the door and started to make his way inside.
“You’re early this mornin’ Mrs. Smith.” One of the cows spoke out as the door swung open. The cow cocked her head at the red colt. “Why, Little Macintosh, what are you doin’ out here this morning? You shouldn’t be in the dairy barn, dohn’tcha know.”
“Mornin’ Daisy Jo.” He fixed the friendly milk cow with his best big eyed gaze. “I know I shouldn’t be in here, but I need help. Can you keep a secret?”
Daisy Jo started to answer when she saw the little canine head sticking out from the bundle on Little Macintosh’s harness. Contrary to popular opinion, she was rather clever. She put it all together in her head and smiled warmly at the colt. “Sure I can. Moo’s the word.” She pulled a hoof across her mouth, mimicking the action of a zipper. “What’s on your mind, and whoo’s in your kerchief?”
He reached over his shoulder and grabbed the handkerchief, laying it in front of him. The diminutive collie staggered out of the bundle. His words tumbled out with the speed of youth. “This is Jacks, I found her last night by Big Macintosh. She was lost and all alone, so I took her home. But she didn’t eat, so I thought ‘Maybe she cain’t eat yet’ so I thought she needed milk. So I came here. Can ya help?”
Daisy Jo looked down at the pair, seemingly competing for the best puppy dog eyes trophy. She smiled. “Sure I can.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” He hopped in an excited circle. Suddenly he stopped and sat down. “Uhm … so … do I just …” He made some awkward motions with his forehooves.
“No, no, no. Just you give the little lady to me and I’ll take care of everything.”
He passed Jacks over to Daisy Jo who disappeared back into the barn.
Macintosh drew lazy circles in the dirt while trying not to strain his ears to hear the goings on beyond Daisy’s stall door. He glanced furtively around the barn, seeking any sign of Granny Smith. She’s gonna be here any minute! C’mon Daisy, hurry up! Daisy’s heavy steps soon interrupted his thoughts and he looked up.
Daisy shrugged open the stall door and plopped the satisfied looking pup down in front of Little Macintosh. “There, all taken care of. You bring the little lady back every couple of hours, and dohn’tcha forget now.”
“I won’t forget, promise.” He scooped up the contented collie and settled her on his back. “Thanks again, Daisy Jo.”
“You’re welcome. Just dohn’tcha forget now.” She smiled as the little colt timidly poked his head out the door, then bolted across the pasture.
000
Granny Smith had finished feeding Apple Bloom her first bottle of the day. She was burped, swaddled, and secured in an improvised harness that allowed Granny to perform her chores while keeping the little bundle with her.
Her first stop was the dairy barn. She had seen Little Macintosh sneak in there this morning from her window. She didn’t know what the little colt was up to, but she intended to find out.
She bustled into the barn. “Morning girls.”
The cows turned turned in unison. Daisy Jo answered for them, “Good mornin’ Mrs. Smith.”
Granny grabbed a pail and made her way over to Daisy. “So, I saw Little Macintosh come in here from my window. I hope he didn’t bother you.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Smith. He’s a perfect young gentlecolt, dohn’tcha know.”
“I’d like to think so, but then again, he isn’t supposed to be botherin’ you ladies.”
“Oh, he wasn’t a bother at all.” Daisy smiled an easy smile that Granny couldn’t see from her position.
“Why was he in here?” Granny asked, finishing up with Daisy quicker than usual.
“Moo,” Daisy responded.
“Pardon?”
“Moo.”
“Daisy Jo, I would really appreciate knowing why my grandson was sneaking around.”
“Moo.”
“Daisy, we go way back, you and I.” She smiled at the obstinate cow. “You can tell me.”
“Moo.
“Daisy, I need to know!”
“Moo.”
“Consarn it, ya stubborn bovine. Don’t ya be keeping secrets from me!”
“Moo.”
“Fine!” Granny grumbled as she continued with the milking. Once finished with the cows, she made to leave. “Good day, ladies.”
“Good day, Mrs. Smith,” Daisy Jo said with a victorious grin.
Granny slammed the door on the way out.
000
Little Macintosh wandered the orchard, Jacks nipping at his hooves. It was a slow time of the year. His chores were done and it wasn’t even noon yet! His pa’s voice echoed in his head. There is always work to do on the farm, and it’s better you should find it than it should find you!
His circuit was nearly complete. He found himself a few more chores: he fetched some wire and closed up a small hole in the chicken coop, he mended a section of fence by the red delicious trees, and he pulled the weeds in Granny’s herb garden. That kept him busy for a few hours, now he needed to get Jacks back to Daisy Jo for her noon feeding.
He stopped abruptly. Jacks bumped into him and fell back on her haunches. He turned to the puppy and pointed down. “Jacks, sit.” The puppy remained on her haunches. “Good girl.” He tousled her ears with a hoof before scooping her up and depositing her back in the handkerchief.
Keeping a wary eye out for Granny Smith, he snuck toward the dairy barn.
000
A bush stirred nearby, a pair of binoculars sticking out conspicuously from the leafy boughs. The helmeted mare swept the horizon, looking for sign of the AWOL colt. Her stakeout appeared to be a bust when a swatch of red caught her attention.
“Aha! There he is, Private Apple Bloom! And with a bag of contraband besides!”
The little bundle strapped to the mare shifted, a shock of red mane spilling out from under the tiny cockeyed beret perched precariously on her head. Her big doe eyes batted open.
“That’s right, Private! Keep alert now!” Granny half cooed, half ordered. “Hold fast until we can see the whites of his eyes, then we strike!”
Private Apple Bloom grimaced in concentration, undoubtedly focusing on the battle to come. Suddenly her countenance softened to one of relief.
“Stay focused Private! The enemy is almost upon us!” Granny hunkered down, preparing to spring into action. A pungent aroma hit her. She fought the urge to gag.
“GAS ATTACK!”
000
Something bolted from the bushes ahead of him, trailing a green streak and a brown cloud. He cocked his head a moment, then continued on his way. The dairy barn was just ahead. He cast a furtive glance from side to side before galloping across the clearing.
He made it into the barn unnoticed. “Daisy Jo?”
“Welcome back, Little Macintosh.” He passed Jacks over to the kindly cow. “I’ll be back in a moo-ment, dohn’tcha know.” She made an exaggerated face, causing Macintosh to chuckle.
She brought the satisfied dog back some long moments later, hoofing her over to the colt.
“Thanks again, Daisy Jo. I really ‘ppreciate it.”
“Dohn’tcha worry about it. Just make sure ya come back in a few hours. Pups need to eat every few hours.” She smiled down at him.
“I won’t forget!” The colt and puppy scampered out the door.
000
Little Macintosh kept to the schedule, sneaking unnoticed into the barn every few hours.
He managed to keep his secret for the whole day. He put Jacks to sleep in her improvised bed, then settled down in his own. His body yearned for sleep, but his mind needled him endlessly. He looked across the room at the secret half hidden in his closet and sighed.
Jacks ran in her sleep, causing her to spin within Big Macintosh’s oversized harness. What am I doin'? I ain’t lyin’, but I ain’t bein’ honest either. Granny’d understand, right? But, what if she don’t?
He rolled over, facing the wall. Screwing his eyes tight, he tried to force himself to sleep. He counted apples rolling down a hill. One... two... Then Applejack was there, rolling down the hill, laughing. He chased after her. A playful tackle left them tangled up, rolling down the hill, laughing all the while. Then she was gone. Little Macintosh sat in the rain, inexplicably at the top of the hill. The two headstones towered over him. A third grey stone pushed itself from the soil.
He woke with a start. His fur was damp with sweat and the covers disheveled from his tossing. A half-forgotten dream pressing on his heart, he lay there blinking back tears. He hardly noticed Jacks’ light footfalls as she hopped onto the bed. The pup jumped gingerly over the young colt’s neck and screwed herself into a ball, her head resting under his chin. He stroked her once with a free hoof, the little collie heaving an oversized sigh.
Comforted, he fell back into a dreamless sleep.
000
The small red enemy combatant and his unknown compatriot sauntered into the building. His bovine co-conspirators engaged him in traitorous dialog. The bovine leader escorted the smaller one to the back of a small partitioned space. The red one waited impatiently in the foyer for the contraband exchange to take place.
Daisy then fed the cute little collie.
Hanging inverted high in the rafters was a grizzled old agent and her young apprentice. Their night vision goggles glowed green in the shaded barn interior.
The older mare looked down at her young comrade. “I want ter ask ya, Solid Bloom. Do ya think love can bloom even on a battlefield?”
The foal gurgled happily in response.
“I think yer right, he does look happy. Let’s go cook breakfast.”
000
The next few days flew by on pegasus wings. Little Macintosh happily did his chores each day, making sure to sneak to the barn every few hours so Jacks could eat. Daisy Jo kept his secret from Granny, no matter how hard she pried. Granny continued to pry and pretend she didn’t notice the little paw prints in her garden. Sweet Apple Acres found a new rhythm.
Then something amazing happened.
Little Macintosh was mending a fence. Jacks was stalking a vicious looking butterfly, when a bright light flashed in the distance. A tsunami of colors rippled across the sky. It was beautiful. Magnificent, even. More spectacular than a thousand blossoming fireworks. Jacks ignored the butterfly, her attention fixed on the prismatic wave passing overhead. She tumbled backward clumsily as it stretched across the farm.
Little Macintosh stared at the corona of color streaking across the sky. His mind raced in the way only a little pony’s could. It’s like a million shootin’ stars! I gotta make a wish! He thought hard about what he wanted most from the universe. It wasn’t a hard choice. He screwed his eyes shut and wished as hard as he could. A thunderous boom answered for the universe.
000
Granny Smith stood in front of the kitchen sink, looking out the window while finishing washing the dishes from dinner. Every so often she would gently push the small swing holding little Apple Bloom with a rear leg. Little Macintosh was playing up in his room before dinner;
She was pointedly ignoring the distinctive patter of puppy paws intermingled with her grandson’s energetic tromping.
The sun burned on the horizon, setting on another day. She placed the last of the dishes into the drying rack. She scanned the horizon one last time when she saw a small orange speck bobbing down the path toward the house.
“Macintosh! Come down, quick!” She checked that Apple Bloom was securely in her swing. “Now hold tight now, lil’ one, we’ll be right back.”
With that, she dashed outside.
000
Little Macintosh heard his grandmother’s yell. He swiftly hid Jacks in his closet. “Ya be quiet now, I’ll be back in two shakes.” He looked out the window and saw Granny Smith standing by the gate. Looking down the lane, he could just make out an orange filly running toward the house. Applejack.
He ran with all his strength down the stairs and out to the gate. He got to Granny just as Applejack wrapped their grandmother in a tight embrace. “I missed y’all sumthin’ fierce!”
Granny held her close for a few moments. “We missed ya too. Why don’t we go inside, hmm? I’ve gotta pie on the sill. That sound good?”
“Boy, does it ever! The vittles there was so small!”
Macintosh followed behind the two mares, young and old. A warm smile stretched his face. They made their way into the kitchen. Applejack stopped to coo at Apple Bloom who cooed back. Granny sat out a slice of pie for each of them. They all dug in as Applejack talked all about Manehattan’s tall buildings, how Aunt and Uncle Orange talked so fancy, and how there weren’t any roosters at all!
Macintosh sat and listened, enjoying the sound of his sister’s voice as much as the content of the stories. He stood and mussed her hair.
“Hey! What’s that for?”
“Stay right here. I gots somethin’ for ya.”
“Really?” Her eyes brightened.
“Eeyup, but ya gotta stay right here while I get it.”
“Okay!” She made a big production of sitting down and staying perfectly still.
He trotted upstairs and slipped into his room. Jacks sat waiting on his bed, her big brown eyes turned up at him. “Guess what?” he asked. Jacks tilted her head quizzically. “AJ’s back!” He scooped up the pup in a foreleg. “She's the bestest sister ever! I jus’ know you're goin' ta love her. Well, sometimes she’s stubborn, and Apple Bloom’s nice too, but she’s super nice and fun!”
He stood at the top of the stairs. “Close yer eyes!” He waited a beat. “Are they closed?”
“Yes!” came the immediate response.
He settled to his haunches at the foot of the stairs, placing Jacks in front of him. “Okay. Ya can open yer eyes now.”
She opened her eyes and looked at her brother. He dipped his head, directing her attention down.
“She sure is a cute critter!” She trotted across the room and scooped up the tiny collie in her forelegs. Jacks placed a dozen fast licks on her chin. “I think she likes me. Whatcha been callin’ her?”
He shuffled his hooves. “Well... I’ve been callin’ her... Jacks.”
“Ya cain’t call her that! She looks more like a...” The little pup whined. Applejack had stopped giving her attention. “...like a Winona!”
She put the excited puppy down and wrapped him in a tight hug. “Winona’s the bestest gift ever.”
He squeezed her back and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Nnope: you are, Sis.”
