Never Work With Children or Animals

Granny Smith looked down at the filly sitting on the couch, next to a little blue slip of paper. The slip in question informed one parent and/or guardian of the filly that she would be spending next Friday afternoon staying behind at school. “Oh, Apple Bloom. My little Apple Bloom. A detention?” She shook her head sadly.

“It ain't my fault, Granny! It's on account of Miss Chalky's a –“ she struggled to think of a word to really describe her teacher, “a dummy!”

Granny Smith recoiled. “Apple Bloom! I like to think I've raised you better than to say things like that about your teacher!”

Apple Bloom stood up on the couch indignantly. “But she is a dummy, Granny! She said cousin Braeburn didn't exist!”

That threw Granny Smith for a loop. “OK, little'un, how about you calm yourself and tell me the whole story?”

Apple Bloom took a deep breath. “Well it all started in citizenship class – you know, that special once a week one we started havin' last year – an' we was learnin' about adoption an' orphans an' stuff. An' then Rumble said he'd heard about these two mares lookin' to adopt a foal, an was it the same for a foal to have two mommies or daddies instead of a mommy and a daddy?”

“I'm with you so far, girl. What happened next?”

“Well, then Miss Chalky got real mad! She said Rumble didn't ought to talk about that, on account of it wasn't somethin' foals should know about.”

“What in the world does that mean?”

“Well, nopony in the class knew either, so we all put our hooves up to ask her on account of yer meant to put your hooves up to talk in class.”

“I remember how a classroom works, Apple Bloom. I ain't that old.”

“OK. Well anyway, we was all askin' how come it wasn't right to talk about that, an' was it rude, an' Miss Chalky just got madder and madder! An' she said we shouldn't be thinkin' about them ponies, an' a whole heap o' stuff, an' some of it didn't make no sense, but one of the things was that fillyfoolers wasn't real mares, an' coltcuddlers wasn't real stallions neither!” By the end of this run-on exercise in motor-mouthed hysteria, Apple Bloom was panting for breath.

“Well that's not how a teacher is supposed to behave at all!”

“Uh huh, that's what I thought. An' I said how that couldn't be right, 'cause of cousin Braeburn bein' a coltcuddler an' him bein' real an' I could prove it, but she just got even madder an' gave me detention! So she's a great big dummy!” Apple Bloom folded her forelegs across her chest and frowned just as hard as she could to illustrate the point. It was liable to get her angry just thinking about it: Braeburn was so real, and her teacher didn't have any call to go saying he wasn't! Why, she had half a mind to say Miss Chalky wasn't real either, see how she liked it!

Granny Smith rubbed a hoof under her chin. “Hmm. Well, I still don't approve of speaking that way about your teacher, but she's definitely not right to say that. If any of the kids in your class have friends or family who are that way, she's just confusin' them.”

“She's doing worse than that, Granny!” declared a new voice. Applejack stood in the doorway, fresh from a day's work. “Uh, sorry for interruptin', and hi Apple Bloom, Granny. Mac says he'll be home some time after dinner, by the way. But anyway, what if any of them foals in your class grow up to be fillyfoolers or coltcuddlers an' she's tellin' them there's somethin' wrong with them?”

Granny Smith gasped. “Oh, my stars! I hadn't even thought of that – and that tears it!” She stamped one hoof on the ground. Gone was the gracefully ageing fixture of the Apple family household, and in her place was the rough, tough, no-nonsense mare who had helped colonise the acres she called her own. “Apple Bloom, your teacher really is a dummy, and a lot worse besides. In fact, first thing tomorrow, I'm gonna go to the mayor and see what she has to say about all this – and I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to kick out Miss Chalky and get a better teacher.”

“What are we gonna do about that detention, though?”, pondered Applejack. “I mean, I don't like the thought of a filly bein' punished for doin' nothin' wrong, but can she just skip out on it?”

“Ah, phoey to that detention! I ain't lettin' my little Apple Bloom get locked up by some nitwit on account of tellin' the truth. If she thinks she can go around telling ponies that load of rot, she can go and soak her head!”

Apple Bloom looked up at her grandmother in awe. She had always known, of course, that she had the best granny in the world, but she had never had it demonstrated this way before. “Does this mean I don't have to do my history homework?”

Applejack chuckled. “Sorry, Apple Bloom, but that still needs doing. Tell you what though, you leave it 'til after dinner and we'll work on it together, OK?”

“OK, I guess. It was worth a shot, though.”

***

Next morning, Granny Smith did indeed head to the Mayor's office bright and early. When she got there, she was pleased but unsurprised to find a number of ponies already waiting to see their mayor, with more turning up in trickles as the morning wore on. Filthy Rich was as smartly dressed as ever, looking for all the world as if he had just stepped out of a boardroom as he discussed recent events with Thunderlane and Berry Punch while he sipped on a piping hot cup of coffee. A particularly hefty white unicorn with a rather impressive moustache was regaling a crowd of mothers and older sisters with a story of his old hoofball days, while his wife looked on indulgently. Even Featherweight's musclebound slab of a father had managed to find time in his schedule to look into the matter. Chalky's outrage seemed to have called together about half of the town, and they all seemed to be of one mind.

Eventually the doors opened up, and a startled-looking secretary lead the crowd in and bade them wait in a reception area that could almost, but not quite, comfortably hold all of them. He approached the mayor's door and cracked it open, speaking quietly to the mare inside. “Uh, madam mayor, there's a -” he turned back to them “-would you call yourselves a mob?”

“We're a group of concerned parents and guardians”, replied Berry Punch. “We didn't bring enough clubs to count as a mob.”

“Right. Anyway, there's a crowd here to see you. I think you'd better come out here rather than call them all in.”

Evidently mayor Mare decided to heed her secretary's advice, as she opened her office door wide and smiled nervously at the assembly. “Good morning, all of you. Do you mind if I ask what this is about?”

Thunderlane's voice cut above the hubbub. “This is about my little brother coming home completely upset yesterday after his teacher yelled at him for asking an honest question – and then went on some kind of bizarre rant about fillyfoolers.”

“My daughter told much the same story, though luckily she seems to be too young to really understand what was said”, contributed Filthy Rich. “It seems that Miss Chalky has some very unhealthy views on certain ponies and what they do with each other in a relationship. She was near tears when she said her teacher had told the class that Coltcuddlers somehow stole my marriage. She wanted to know,” he continued, his voice taking on a rare level of venom, “if that was why her mother wasn't around any more.”

The mayor held up a hoof for quiet. “Hold on now, I think I might be a little lost. What do fillyfoolers or coltcuddlers even have to do with a schoolteacher?”

Granny Smith stepped forward and explained the whole affair as she understood it, with occasional input from another pony in the crowd. Mayor Mare's face fell as the story went on, until by the end of it she was absolutely stunned. “Well, I never! Please, rest assured, I will not stand for a public official behaving in this way. I am going to be having a long talk with Miss Chalky, and if she does not have a very good explanation for all these accusations she may not have a future as a schoolteacher. Not here, and perhaps not anywhere, ever again!”

The assembled crowd cheered, with a multitude of sounds ranging from Granny's characteristic whoop to a hearty “YEAH” from Featherweight's father. As the noise died down, a single question came from somewhere in the back of the room cut through the crowd's good mood in an instant. “If we're gonna turf out the teacher we have, who's going to take over?”

“Ah.” replied mayor Mare. “You know, I hadn't thought of that.”