The Dog Knows

Waking upon a pile of hay, the dog sat up. This dog was Winona, who had in the space of mere seconds had had an epiphany. Not a small realization, mind you, the profound nature suggested otherwise. Sitting on her haunches, she stared rather wide eyed at the opposite wall, processing the implications of it. Moments later she ran out of the barn, intent on sharing her knowledge with the others.

The “others” in question, were Winona’s acquaintances. Though she often sought to fashion the group as colleagues, there was a general distrust among them, more so some than others. Formed from the wiles of coincidence, it was a benefit that, for the most part, the group could participate in a lively conversation, save for the deep seated prejudice on the parts of some and the resulting misandry from those who disagreed. The conversations in part covered a large range of topics, a list of which would be unnecessary.

Trotting along the dirt path illuminated by the early sunlight filtering through the leaves, Winona was confronted by a group of squirrels. The group was an unsavory bunch, exuding an air of spite or possibly haughtiness. One who presented itself in a way to suggest leadership stepped towards her. Trying to appear confident, to intimidate perhaps, the poor creature stood still under Winona, who towered above them.

“Are you the caretaker of this establishment?” ventured the squirrel in a voice that confirmed Winona’s suspicions about the group. They were protesters.

“I hope to not disappoint you with my response, as it is no” responded Winona.

“Oh, no I am not disappointed in any way.” His voice had become much softer. “I only asked in such a manner as it is the manner which we will propose our grievances to the owner of the farm.”

Winona’s curiosity was aroused, “Then I simply must ask, what grievances do you speak of?”

The squirrel was happy to acquiesce, producing from his companions a list written on a shave of bark. He suggested that Winona sit as the list was lengthy. He cleared his throat before starting, visibly nervous.

“This document is presented to its recipient in the hopes that a mutual understanding may be reached to resolve the conflict which is presented, not as a moral wrong, but as acts considered in consensus to be unrighteous or in dissonance with public approval.

For the past time, wherein it is defined as 16 months, the orchard of this farm has presented an obstacle to the wellbeing of the standard, which has been clearly established as a misdemeanor under žalud V. The Commonwealth of the Everfree. Given the ruling dictated a period of time in which the offender had ample time to correct the error, the prescribed time has passed in which no change has been undertaken to correct the issue. Thusly, these articles are presented in accordance with the law and as such are unable to be hindered in any way by any outside parties.

The grievances which we present to the offenders are as follows

• The refusal to correct the previously outlined problem

• Gross negligence in conducting affairs as directed by the Council of bees

• Repeated ignorance of summons by the Commonwealth

If these appeals are ignored to the point of mutual contempt, swift and concise action will be undertaken by an elected committee to resolve the problem regardless of the conditions.

It is with peaceful intent that we approach this matter, and we hope the problem to be eliminated with peaceful cooperation. If the involved parties so wish to jointly end this debacle, a simple response will suffice.

Signed, Sdružení spojených Woodland veverky”

Winona politely applauded the squirrel, as much as applause could be managed with paws.

“I must ask,” she said, “What is name of your group? It sounded rather odd.”

The squirrel chuckled lightly, “That is the squirrel language. I would surmise you could learn it.”

Winona smiled back at him, “I appreciate your considerations, and I approve of your grievances, though I lack the understanding of the core issue.”

The squirrel gravely nodded in agreement: “I should like to hope that our proposal goes well, though many of us doubt that the farm owners possess the fortitude to entertain our requests.”

“Well, I bid you good luck and good day.” As Winona trotted away again, she contemplated the possible results of the squirrel’s actions. Though Winona regarded the Apple family with respect and loyalty, none had seemed particularly bright in the field of intellect. This subject bothered her somewhat, though not much.

Finally reaching her destination, Winona took a short rest. The “Club”, as it was referred to by general agreement was, in essence a hole in the wall. Underneath a house whose owner took no particular care of it, The Club was a rounded chamber with nothing to show for it, save a mound of dirt vaguely suggesting a table. The conversation was in full swing when Winona entered, apparently something worth talking about.

Natural sunlight being the only illumination, much of the chamber was still dark. Around the table 4 other animals were seated, in a manner of speaking. Entering, Winona was noticed by the turtle, Tank to be precise, who smiled at her. The conversation at the moment was being carried by a cat and an owl who were speaking lively at that moment.

“And that’s why,” Owlowiscious was saying, “he supposedly had good reason for ignoring the subpoena.”

“I still don’t understand” responded Opalescence the cat, “Your explanations are conflicting.”

Owlowiscious huffed with indignation, “Well, I was trying to explain in the clearest terms…”

“Clearest in what manner? Your reasoning is like your explanations, it’s evanescent, I can’t remember them.”

Throughout this exchange, Winona and Tank watched bemused.

“What happened today?” she asked Tank.

“Not today, but some time ago” he replied. “Apparently, word is that someone, a bear I think, refused a direct summoning.”

“Huh…” Winona’s response was lackluster, she was distracted by a conundrum which perplexed her. She turned to Tank: “I was just wondering, what…” she cut off momentarily trying to work through the question, “what is the distinction between the phrases someone and somepony?”

She was answered by someone else entirely.

“One is used to describe something unknown, the other is used because ponies can’t be bothered to associate with other creatures in general.”

Winona turned with a sigh: “Do you have to be so full of yourself sometimes?”

Lounging in a dark corner, Angel looked as if he could care less. He yawned, “I’m not full of myself, it’s only the answer to the question.”

Tank looked back at him.

“Is that fair justifications for your heavily implied contemptuousness?”

“I should think so.”

In arguments, Angel was not so much a master of debate as he was one of aggravation. His responses were borderline dismissive at times, maintaining a debonair that exuded both confidence and a lack of empathy for most things.

“Well, what are your reasons for your opinion?” asked Winona.

“Do I need any?” the response was concise, a barely vocalized hint of mockery floating on the edge.

“If you prefer us to regard your opinions and respect your integrity, then it would be favorable.”

Angel leaned forward, his smile never leaving his face: “When do I ever contribute to your discussions?” He leaned back again: “You say you would disregard my opinions if I did not provide “reasons” for them. In response, quite sincerely, I have to tell you this: your “ultimatums” do not matter to me, I have my say and you have yours. If I have no reasons for my accusations, who are you to tell me that my opinion is invalid?”

Owlowiscious shook his head, exasperated.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

Angel looked back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And what are your reasons for that statement?”

Owlowiscious did not respond. He simply turned and flew out of the chamber in frustration.

“You really are a piece of work” spoke Opalescence.

Angel grinned back at her.

[Shoh] [Not a surrogate placeholder]

An onslaught of dust blown by the wind made its way into Winona’s face. She cursed her predicament as she rubbed her face with her paws.

“Such audacity” she cried, pawing at the air: “the wind and the earth conspire against me!”

Earlier she had excused herself from the proceedings in the Club to go for a walk. Greatly intrigued by the news of the bear that had defied the council, she decided to visit the individual. The day had thus far been agreeable until the previously described incident.

The dust briefly turning her mood lemon sour, Winona sat in the shade for a moment stewing in her displeasure. Luckily, the mood was dispelled by a soft gust of wind, sans the dust. The wind brought with it a sweet fragrance, indescribable yet homely. Winona found it a great deal humorous that a fragrance of all things could not be attributed to a description, much less a specific quality.

A short while into her trip, a sudden burst of reasoning crushed her resolve, namely that she had no idea where to go. She pondered her discontent before deciding to find her destination herself. It was generally agreed to be exceedingly foolish traipsing aimlessly about the forest at any time of day, save for a peculiar hour wherein every single inhabitant of the forest’s circadian rhythm overlapped. That was a quiet time indeed. Many who claimed to be scholars decried the notion of such a time existing and went quite out of their way to pretend it did not exist. Winona for one did not know, nor did anyone else, (or at least they preferred not to tell) and evidence was not present, the task of gathering all the forest’s unique species in one space for observation a gargantuan and deadly one.

It was a surprise when she finally found her destination, a small cave partially hidden under a grass outcropping. Several small mushrooms grew around the entrance, fairly normal save for the fact that they were lime green. Feeling particularly adventurous, Winona decided to take a small nibble. She could imagine the responses of those who she related the tale to, oh the ridicule she would face.

“What’s next? Are you going to try nibbling on ponies?” said a small voice in her head.

“Now I think that’s quite an over exaggeration” she responded, which to an outside observer would seem to be a nonsensical response to no one in particular.

“Look at yourself though,” came the voice again, “you’re acting against simple logic; what compels you to such outlandish actions?”

Winona had to concede the fact that she indeed had no idea why she had done such a thing, a small portion of her conscious mind was now calling for a vigorous self-examination. Dismissing these notions momentarily, she decided to accomplish her goal which she had set for herself, which was to say, to meet the bear.

Trotting into the cave, Winona was surprised to find the air was exceedingly warm. She saw a soft glow further in, orange light illuminating the dull grey walls of the cave. A peculiar wooden sign lay propped up, and Winona noticed upon closer examination, a message scratched into it. Please knock, it read, a message that fascinated Winona to no end. She wondered exactly who she was about to meet, the possibilities exciting her. First though, adherence to request was necessary. Winona knocked on the board, several times. As she did so, she regretfully remembered that she had entirely forgotten to elucidate her companions on her earlier enlightenment. She cursed her flighty and whimsical nature.

Her brief thoughts were forgotten once again by a voice calling from deeper in the cave.

“Come in! Just don’t touch the bread.”

Not one to refuse an invitation, albeit an odd one, Winona walked further in. She came upon a brown bear who did not notice her. Engrossed in something or another, the bear was sitting upon a stool that Winona thought to be several sizes too small for the bear, it looked as if it would break from the slightest shifting of weight.

Only after several moments of silence save for the crackling of a fire did Winona register that there was a fire in what appeared to be a makeshift chimney.

“There’s a fire here?” she asked. Her momentary confusion had erased any trace of tact she might have had at the moment.

The bear turned around: “You would not believe how hard it was to make a ventilation shaft.” He began to turn back, but stopped.

“Oh right, good afternoon”. There was a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

“Good afternoon, might I ask how you are today?” Winona responded amicably.

“Ah, today I am very...succinct you might say”

Winona was utterly baffled by his response.

“Succinct?”

“Succinct like a tree that has had too much to eat. It is the kind of feeling that accompanies elation of the most complex order.”

“I understand”.

Winona didn’t understand. The bear continued.

“It’s a good thing someone happened to drop in on me. I have a question of very...succinct importance. Could I venture to ask for your assistance?”

“I can not fathom a reason to the contrary.”

The bear turned around fully this time, clasping his paws together.

“Wonderful, magnificent, would you like something to drink? Don’t ask for tea though, I despise it.”

To Winona the entire exchange thus far had felt very surreal, the bear’s demeanor quite unlike anyone she had ever met. The bear came back with a crude mug. He inexplicably had glasses on.

“You know, I grabbed a pair of these a while back” he said idly inspecting the lenses, “Now I can see as if I were young! Ponies make some fascinating inventions don’t they.”

“I see not a reason to disagree”

“Of course you don’t. Now onto my question, when writing, how does one use a semicolon?”

She was confused, “Well, I am sorry to say I have no knowledge on that sort of thing. I’ve never had an inclination towards the subject in the first place.” Winona paused, another strange question coming to mind, “Writing would be rather hard with paws don’t you think.”

The bear regarded her with skepticism for a moment, then began laughing.

“You say that” he could barely speak through his laughter, “yet here I am, a practicing writer, and look at me!” He showed Winona huge, but similar paws. “Though I will admit learning to hold a quill was the greatest challenge I have faced in my entire life, I have succeeded.” He triumphantly held his own mug high in the air before drinking its entire contents. “But no matter,” he started again, “tell me, what is your name?”

“Winona”. A clear and precise response.

“Winona…an interesting name.” He thought for a moment, “Well then I guess it would only be kind to tell you my name; i’m James.”

“James?”

“I heard it once. It has a sort of ring to it, it’s very…succinct.”

“Anything else particularly succinct that you can tell me about?” The prevalent sarcasm was close to outright mockery.

“Not at present. But I can tell you this, I adore litotes.”

The directionless banter continued for an indeterminate amount of time. Winona wondered how long she had been there, the cave a horrid indicator of time. The notion that she had overstayed her welcome all but disappeared long ago, James seemingly pulling discussion topics out of empty space.

“I should tell you,” started James, “that I am a certified blueberry inspector.” As he said this, he looked stoically into the fire, stroking an imaginary beard.

“That is perhaps the most eloquent revelation you have told me today” Winona commented dryly.

He looked at her, tears forming in his eyes: “When I pick those blueberries, the meals of hundreds are on the line. Imagine if you had a blueberry and it was…” he paused, a look of absolute horror passing over his face. “Sour.” He spat out the word like venom and looked at her with fire in his eyes: “And if that ever happens, I don’t know what…”

It was at this point that he sat back down and stared at the floor. After several minutes, it was clear that the conversation and by extension the visit was over. Winona walked out quietly, fearful that a single sound could send the hunched figure into a rage. Blinking a few times in the late afternoon sunlight shining through the branches, she headed back home feeling very miffed.